"De Braose stole the land from Bran and his people. King William promised justice, but betrayed Bran and kept the land for himself."

"He is the king," countered Garran. "It is his right to do with it what pleases him."

"Oh? Truly?" said Merian, growing angry again. "Is that what you think? You would sing a different song if the king's greedy eye was on your throne, brother mine. Or has Baron Neufmarche already bought your throne for the price of a wife?"

"Merian!" warned her mother. "That is beneath you."

"Non! S'il vous plait," put in the baroness. "Do not tax her so. She has had the… traumatisme, yes? She is not herself. In time she will see that the famille Neufmarche means only good for the people of this realm."

"Thank you, Lady Agnes," said Garran. "As always your judgement is most welcome." To Merian, he said, "Bran's affairs are nothing to do with us. He has become an outlaw and a rebel and will pay with his life for his crimes. Of that I have no doubt."

"Do not speak to me of crimes," Merian said, her face flushing hot. "Abbot Hugo and the sheriff rule with blood and terror. They hang the innocent and subject the Cymry living beneath their rule to all manner of torment and starvation. They are the real criminals, and chief among them is King William himself." She tried one last desperate appeal. "Listen to me, please. Bran and his people are preparing for war. They mean to take the fight to the invaders, and there is every chance they can succeed, but they need help." Glancing at Queen Sybil, whose face appeared unnaturally white and pinched with worry, she said, "Join us. Help us overthrow this wicked throne and restore the rightful king to Elfael."

"No," said her brother. "We will speak no more about it."

"Then there is nothing more to say." Merian turned on her heel and prepared to walk from the hall and out through the gates. Stunned by her brother's outright rejection, the only thing she could think was returning to Cel Craidd, and that if she hurried, she might make it back before the night had passed.

"Where do you think to go, Merian?" King Garran called after her.

"To the greenwood," she said. "I am needed there. It is plain to me now that I have no place here."

"You will not leave the caer," Garran informed her.

She spun around and stormed back to confront her brother. "Who are you to tell me where I will or will not go?"

"Father is dead," Garran replied. "Until you are wed and have a husband, I am your guardian. Moreover I am king and you are a member of my household. You will obey me in this."

"My guardian! When did you ever lift a finger to help me, dear brother?" demanded Merian. Her defiance gave her a terrible aspect, but Garran stood his ground. "I am a lady in my own right, and I will not submit to your ridiculous rule."

"You will never see those outlaws again," Garran told her with icy calm. "Never. You will remain here for your own protection."

The audacity of the command stole the warm breath from her body. "How dare you!"

"It is for your own good, Merian," said her mother, trying to soften the blow. "You will see."

"I see very clearly already, Mother," Merian retorted. "I see I was wrong to come here. I see that you have all made your bed with the enemy. Where once there was a family, I see only strangers. Mark me, you will yet curse this day."

"You are much mistaken, Sister," Garran said.

"Oh, indeed," agreed Merian. She began backing away. "Thinking my own flesh and blood would understand and want to help-that was my mistake." She turned once more toward the door. "But do not worry, dear hearts. It is not a mistake I will make again."

She pulled open the heavy door, stepped through, and slammed it shut behind her with a resounding crack. She marched out into the yard, her heart roiling with anger at the unfeeling hardness of her own nearest kin. How could they fail to see the need and refuse her plea for help? Their intimate contact with the Ffreinc had corrupted them, poisoned their judgement and tainted their reason. That was the only explanation. Merian shuddered. She, too, had come very close to succumbing to that same corruption once. If Bran had not rescued her she would be like her brother now-perhaps married off to some odious Norman nobleman or other. She would rather be dead.

Merian strode to the stable, brought out her horse, and led it to the gate-only to find it closed. "Open it, please," she said to the gateman, a young man with a bad limp.

"Forgive me, my lady-" he began.

"Spare me!" she snapped. "Open the gate at once. I am leaving."

"Lord help me, I cannot."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why not?"

"My lord King Garran said I was to keep it locked and let no one in or out until he told me otherwise."

"Oh, he did?" she said. "Well, I am sure he did not mean me. Open the gate at once."

"Sorry, my lady. He mentioned you especially-said it was more than my life was worth to let you pass." The young man crossed his arms across his chest and stood his ground.

Merian stepped around him and moved to the gate. At that moment there came a call from across the yard, and three men-at-arms issued from the hall and ran to apprehend her. "Now, now, Lady Merian, come away from there," said the first to reach her. "You are to follow us-king's orders."

"And if I should refuse?"

The warrior made no reply, but simply wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her off her feet. She shrieked her outrage and kicked at his legs. The remaining two warriors joined the first, and all three laid hold; Merian was hauled back to the hall in a spitting rage and thrown into her room.

No sooner had the door been shut than she began hammering on it with her fists, shouting to be let out.

"Scream all you like; it will avail you nothing," came the voice of her brother through the planking of the door.

"Let me out!" she cried.

"When you are prepared to listen to reason," he replied blandly, "and pledge to rejoin your true family."

"To the devil with you!"

Her only reply was the sound of the heavy iron bar dropping into place outside, and her brother's retreating footsteps.

When a painstaking search of the hunting run and woodland surrounding the tree where the captive's cast-off clothing had been found failed to turn up any trace of their human prey, the hunters moved down the run and deeper into the forest. Owing greatly to Count Rexindo's many wrongheaded interventions, the company was subtly led farther and farther away from any path Gruffydd might have taken, thus spending the entire day without discovering their quarry or raising even so much as a whiff of his trail. As twilight began to glaze the trails with shadow, the frustrated company was forced to conclude that the captive king had miraculously eluded their pursuit. It appeared that Bran's audacious plan had worked; all that remained was to suffer the wrath of a very angry earl and then they, too, would be free.

The Spanish visitors endured an extremely acrimonious ride back to the fortress, the earl fretting and fuming all the way, cursing everything that came to mind-most especially, Count Rexindo's ineptitude and the incompetence of Spaniards in general, as well as his own misguided complicity in a fool-bait scheme which had not only cost him a very valuable prisoner, but also had returned a powerful enemy to the battlefield. "Courage, men," counselled Bran as they paused before the doors of the hall. "It is soon over." To Ifor and Brocmael, he said, "Are the horses ready?"

The young men nodded.

"Good. Whatever happens, be ready to depart on my signal. We may have to bolt."

They entered a hall much subdued from the previous night; where before the walls had reverberated with song and laughter, this night's supper was taken in sullen silence and bitter resentment. Count Rexindo and his retinue braved the blast of ill-will with stoic silence as they listened to Hugh d'Avranches alternately berating one and all for their gross failure and bemoaning the loss of his captive. As the drink took hold of him, the livid, simmering anger gave way to morose distemper, with the earl declaring loudly for all to hear that he wished he had never laid eyes on Count Rexindo and his miserable company. This, then, was the signal for the visitors to make their farewells and remove themselves from the castle.