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Gryffyn was watching the man carefully, smelling Colvyn’s defeat. It fed his courage. “But you did not,” he said. “You did the right thing, Colvyn. You are helping me rid Nether of the English. Once we have my sisters back, we can recruit more Welsh to help us purge the castle. What Welshman would not live for the opportunity to kill English?”

Colvyn wouldn’t answer him, mostly because whatever he managed to say, Gryffyn would twist to his own advantage. There were over one hundred men now waiting to ambush the funeral party from Nether and Colvyn would not interfere with that plan. Perhaps they would be more successful with more men than he was yesterday with just a select few. A few of those big English knights were as formidable as the devil himself and Colvyn didn’t look forward to facing them again.

As the morning began to deepen and the minutes ticked away, Gryffyn finally gave the orders to move on the town but remain concealed. He didn’t want the English spooked, so the men had orders to hide and wait for the signal. That signal would be as the knights gathered at St. Peter’s church and moved Trevyn d’Einen’s coffin into the entry. With the knights focused on the coffin, and the funeral in general, it would be a perfect time to strike.

With eager anticipation, they laid the trap.

*

As the morning dawned bright and cold, the party from Nether Castle set off for Machynlleth. The sky was surprisingly clear and birds were singing as the group of four knights – Keller, Rhys, Gart, and William – two ladies, and fifty men-at-arms plodded down the muddy, rocky road. George and Aimery had been left at Nether to man the castle’s defenses.

It was one of Izlyn’s very few trips out of Nether and she was excitedly inspecting the world around her as she sat next to her sister on the wagon bench. On the wagon bed behind them was their father’s coffin, into which Izlyn had asked Keller to put a note she had written to her papa. He may not have been much of a father but he was the only one she had, so she had written him a note telling him that she was sorry he had died. Keller thought it was rather touching.

The smell of wet grass was heavy in the air as they traveled and, at one point, they passed a field of Nether sheep that were being guarded by four d’Einen men and two black dogs. The spring lambs were several months old now, fat and fluffy, and Izlyn kept pointing to them as they played in the early morning sun. Gart figured that she wanted one so he spurred his charger forward, galloping across the field, and jumping the rock barrier that kept the sheep contained. As Keller and the others watched, he herded a few of the little sheep into a cluster but the moment he dismounted, the sheep bolted away. Everyone laughed at Gart’s expense as the man mounted his charger again and gave chase.

Izlyn was practically standing up on the wagon bench in raw anticipation as she watched Gart chase down frightened little sheep. He finally managed to capture one, returning to the wagon with the sheep slung across his thighs. It was bleating with fright but he brought it up to Izlyn so that she could pet it. Even though sheep was the primary revenue of Nether, Izlyn had never been allowed contact with them. Therefore, the opportunity to pet the little sheep thrilled her.

Gart eventually put the sheep back with its flock as the party continued to travel onward towards Machynlleth. The land was very mountainous and the scenery dramatic, and birds of prey flew high overhead, searching for their morning meal. Chrystobel was enjoying the journey immensely, enjoying the landscape and enjoying watching her husband up at the head of the party. The last time she had seen him dressed in full battle regalia, he had been entering Nether’s bailey as the new lord of the castle. At the time, the sight had frightened her. Now, it thrilled her. He looked so proud and strong and handsome riding on ahead. As she admired him from afar, Izlyn grabbed her hand and pointed frantically to the roadside again.

A family of cotton-tailed rabbits were foraging in the morning sun and there were several babies. Izlyn was beside herself with glee and Gart, riding just behind the wagon, saw what she was pointing at. He rode up beside her.

“Lady Izlyn,” he said. “If rabbits excite you, I can only imagine you want to eat one.”

Izlyn looked at him in horror, shaking her head. Gart teased her. “I’m sure you have had many rabbits to eat,” he said. “They are quite delicious. Mayhap I shall capture all of them, make a rabbit stew, and then use their hides to make a cape for you. I will put their little white tails on the front of the cape as an ornament.”

He was indicating his neck and Izlyn frowned terribly at him, scowling to the point where Gart had to look away or risk laughing in her face. He was looking at the rabbits again, who were coming up on their right as the party passed down the road.

“Ah,” he delighted, seeing Izlyn making faces at him out of the corner of his eye. “I love roast baby rabbit. I think I shall go and catch one for myself.”

He pretended to spur his horse forward and Izlyn threw out her arms to prevent him. But the most surprising thing of all was the sound that came out of her mouth. It was something between a grunt and a yell, bursting forth, and everyone turned to look at her with great surprise. Especially Chrystobel. She stared at her sister with shock.

“Izzie!” she gasped. “You… you made a sound!”

Izlyn was torn between embarrassment and surprise herself. She had indeed startled herself with the outburst but it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Her voice, bottled up for ten long years, had made an astonishing return. She looked at Gart, who was smiling at her. The man had the expression of encouragement on this face and his smile broadened when he made eye contact with the girl.

“Do you want me to catch the rabbit and eat it?” he asked softly. “I will not do it if you do not want me to.”

Izlyn’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she could hardly breathe. She was excited, thrilled, and joyful. Life was joyful to her now, a life with English soldiers who were so very kind to her. Especially Gart. She had indeed decided to marry him but he would never know it unless she told him. Fear had kept her silent for ten horrible years. There was no longer any reason to be fearful. There was no longer any reason to remain silent.

Izlyn shook her head to Gart’s question. He was smiling openly at her and she knew he was teasing her. The attention had her happy and content. She pursed her lips, struggling to form words that she hadn’t formed since she had been a toddler, and it wasn’t easy. She was afraid that she had forgotten how. Her lips twitched and her tongue moved. She was trying so very hard to say something to Gart, struggling to bring forth words that had been bottled up inside of her for so long.

Gart could see that she was laboring to speak. His manner turned surprisingly gentle for the man who, most believed, utterly lacked that quality. Perhaps he did, but not where it pertained to a terrorized twelve-year-old girl.

“Tell me, Izlyn,” Gart said softly, encouragingly. “Do you want me to eat the rabbit?”

Izlyn slapped her hand on the wagon bench as if forcing herself to speak, pushing the words out and feeling as if she was vomiting as she did it. She wasn’t used to things coming out of her mouth, but out it did come. She slapped the bench again as if compelling herself to project, fighting with every fiber of her being to bring forth a sound. It was on the tip of her tongue… she could feel it on her lips!

“N-nay,” she finally spit.

Chrystobel burst into tears, throwing her arms around her sister and hugging the girl tightly. Gart, grinning like a fool, came alongside the wagon and reached out, taking Izlyn’s little hand and kissing it sweetly. The men-at-arms surrounding the wagon had no idea why the child’s word was such a great feat, but Rhys, on the other side of the wagon, understood. He had been told the child was mute, too, so he began to clap, applauding the great effort, as Chrystobel hugged her sister and wept. Up at the head of the party, Keller and William heard the commotion and reined their chargers back to the wagon.

The first thing Keller saw was Chrystobel holding her sister and sniffling. He threw up his visor and looked at her with great concern.

“What is wrong?” he demanded gently. “Why are you weeping?”

Chrystobel looked at her husband, wiping the tears on her face. “Izzie spoke!” she exclaimed. “Gart asked her if she wanted him to eat the rabbits and she told him ‘nay’!”

Keller looked at Izlyn, surprised. “She did?” he asked, awe in his voice. “Izzie, is this true?”