The earl looked around suspiciously. "How in the devil's name…?"

Count Rexindo, impatient and keen to be off, spoke up, and Alan offered, "The count says that clearly the dog is useless. Our prey cannot be far away. He suggests we spread out and raise the trail ourselves."

"Yes, yes," replied Earl Hugh. "You heard him, eh?" he said to the Ffreinc noblemen. "Go to it-and give a shout when you find the trail."

So all scattered, each a separate way. The count led the search farther down the run, and several of the Ffreinc followed that way. Bishop Balthus led lords Galindo and Ramiero to the opposite side of the run and began searching there-all of them knowing full well that Gruffydd would not be found.

Caer Rhodl

Merian's fingernails dug deep grooves in her palm, and she fought to control the rage she felt roiling inside her. She did not expect the ladies Neufmarche to understand, much less accept the least part of what she had to tell them. They would refuse to listen, call her liar, heap scorn upon her. So be it.

Her mother and brother, however, could be counted on to support her. Once she had explained what had happened the day she was abducted-as well as all that had happened since-she knew they would rally to her aid without question. She drew a calming breath and organized her thoughts, deciding how she would relate the events of the past two years in the greenwood. Then, raising her head, she squared her shoulders and put her hand to the latch. She pushed open the door to the hall and stepped inside. They were all assembled to hear her: Lady Agnes beside her daughter, Queen Sybil, and in the next seat, her brother, Garran; beside him sat her mother, the dowager Queen Anora. The two Ffreinc women sat erect, grim-faced, clearly unhappy; they had heard the accusations Merian had laid at their feet. Her brother, the king, appeared no happier; drawn and somewhat haggard, he was torn between his own family and that of his new bride. Only her mother looked at all sympathetic, offering her a sad smile, and saying, "Do come along, Merian. We have been waiting for you."

"Pray forgive me," she said, moving farther into the room. She saw there was no chair for herself. Very well, she would stand; it was better this way. Taking her place before them, she folded her hands and glanced at each in turn. "I see you have been discussing the problem of Merian already."

"You're not a problem to be solved, my dear," her mother replied. "But we thought it wise to talk a little among ourselves before seeing you again. You will appreciate how awkward-"

"Some of the things you have said," said Lady Agnes. "These allegations-"

"If it please you, my lady," interrupted Garran, "we will yet come to that. First," he declared, turning to face his sister, "I want you to know that these are grave charges you have made, and we are taking them very seriously."

"Naturally," replied Merian, feeling more and more like a criminal with each passing moment. She rankled against the feeling. "Be assured, Brother, I would not have declared them if they were not true."

"We do not doubt you, Merian," her mother put in quickly. "But you must see how difficult this has become-"

"Difficult?" Merian snapped, her voice instantly sharp. "Mother, you have no idea. Living in the greenwood with the dispossessed who have been driven from their homes and lands, whose hands have been cut off or eyes gouged out for petty offences and imaginary crimes, is difficult. Living in a hovel made of sticks and mud and covered with animal skins in deep forest where the sun cannot penetrate and stifling every stray sound for fear of discovery is difficult. Creeping place to place, careful to stay out of sight lest the Ffreinc soldiers see you is difficult. Hiding day on day from a sheriff who slaughters any unfortunate who happens to cross his path-that is difficult. Grubbing in the dirt for roots and berries to feed-"

"Enough, Merian!" snapped her brother, his tone matching hers. "We know you've suffered, but you are home now and safe. There is no one in this room who wishes you harm. Mind your tongue and we will all fare the better for it."

"Your brother is right, mon cher," said Agnes Neufmarche, controlling her tone. Her Welsh was fair, if simple; that she was able to speak it at all Merian considered a revelation. "We are your family now. We seek nothing but your good."

"How kind," Merian retorted. "And was it for my good that your husband the baron pursued me and tried to kill me?"

"Of course, you have endured the ordeal terrible," Agnes granted loftily. "Yet, knowing my husband as I do, I cannot… accepter?…accept this as the truth."

Merian stiffened. She had been expecting this. "You would call me liar?"

"Jamais!" said the baroness. "I suggest only that perhaps in your fear you mistook the baron's, ah… l'action as the assaut…"

She glanced to her daughter, who supplied the proper word. "As an attack," said Sybil.

"Is that what you think?" challenged Merian. "You were there that day, Sybil. You saw what happened. Is that what you think? Bran was forced to flee for his life. He took me with him, yes-at first I thought he meant to abduct me for ransom, but it was to save me. He saw the danger I was in before I did, and he acted. When the baron discovered our escape he sent men to kill us both."

"Very well!" said Garran irritably. "Granting what you say is true, what can be done about it now?" He stared at his sister, his lips bent in a frown of deep dissatisfaction. "It's been two years, Merian. Things have changed. What do you want me to do?"

There it was: the question she had been anticipating, her sole reason for coming. "I want," she replied, taking time to choose her words carefully, "I want you to join with us. I want you to raise a war band and come help us recover Elfael."

"Us?" wondered Garran. It was not a response Merian had anticipated. "Have you lived so long among the outlaws that you no longer know where your true loyalties lie?"

"My loyalties?" She blinked at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

"What your brother is saying," offered Anora, "is that the affairs of Elfael are nothing to do with us. You are safe now. You are home. What is past is past."

"But the fate of Elfael is my worry, Mother-as it is for all Cymry who would live free in their own country." She turned to her brother, the king, and his nervous young queen beside him. "That is where my loyalties lie, Brother-and where yours should lie too. Unless that bit of French fluff beside you has addled your mind, you would know this."

Her brother bristled. "Careful, Merian dear, you will go too far."

"I am sorry," she said, changing her tone from haughty self-righteousness to appeal. She smoothed the front of her gown beneath her hands and began again. "I truly do not mean to offend. But if I cannot speak my mind here in this room among those who know me best, then perhaps I do not belong here anymore. In any event, the urgency of my errand leaves me little choice." She licked her lips."Baron de Braose has been banished from his lands and holdings in England and Wales, as you may have heard by now. Elfael is in the hands of Abbot Hugo de Rainault and the king's sheriff, Richard de Glanville. Without the baron to back them up, they are weak. This is the best chance we've had in many years to drive the invaders from our land-but we must strike soon. The sheriff has brought more men, and we must act quickly if we are to keep our advantage. If you were to-"

"We know all this," her brother interrupted. "Elfael belongs to the king now. I should not have to remind you that to go against Red William is treason. To raise rebellion against him will get you drawn and quartered at the White Tower and your pretty head fixed to a pike above the gates."