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reins of her palfrey from him. The old courser was plain and brown and unremarkable, but had a good nature and a willing heart. She patted its neck.
    “Now, Hazel, how about a quick trip across the meadows to pay Father a visit?” She raised her eyebrows at Dafydd as she spoke to the animal, not asking his permission, but seeking his agreement.
    “Right you are, Mistress Megan,” he said with a nod as he set about tightening girths.
    “Huw! Brychan! Come, now, boys. It is time to leave,” she called to her charges, who ran to her, giggling, and climbed aboard their patiently waiting ponies.
    In moments they were out of the shade of the woods and under the strong summer sun. Megan let Hazel plod slowly across the fields, both of them savoring the warmth and peace of the moment. Now she could see Penlan, the low white farmhouse that had been her childhood home. The sound of ax on wood echoed around them, and she could soon make out her father in the yard, chopping and stacking fuel for the coming winter. As if sensing her approach, he stopped his work and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, as he looked toward the meadows. Megan waved, and the boys kicked their ponies into bumpy trots.
    “Well, well, well, who are these two fine knights I see charging toward me? Why, it is young Master Brychan and Master Huw!” Twm laughed as the boys came to untidy halts beside him. “I feared for a moment I might be under attack.”
    The children jumped down and hugged the old man, having grown close to him during their visits with Megan.
    “Can we go and search for eggs, please, sir, can we?” asked Brychan, his younger brother clamoring behind him.
    “You’d best ask Megan about that,” Twm told them.
    Megan nodded.
    “Go on then, run along,” said Twm. “But don’t go finding fleas’ nests and mice, mind, or you’ll have us all in trouble.”
    As she watched him with the boys Megan thought how much he must have longed for a son of his own. It still warmed her heart that he had shown no disappointment at his only child being a girl, and that he had treated her with no less love and respect than he might have shown her brother, had she had one. Megan slipped lightly from the saddle and embraced her father. She was never more homesick than when he held her close and tight, as he had done for so many years, being all the family she had.
    “Let’s look at you,” her father demanded, holding her at arm’s length again. “As I thought, paler and thinner than last time. Is Lord Geraint short of food this summer? I’ve a barn full of corn.”
    “Which you would rather burn than give to anyone but your precious horses, Father.”
    “True enough. Ah well, come inside and have a bowl of cawl at least. Will you join us, Dafydd?”
    “Thank you, no, Twm. I shall stay with the horses.”
    “As you will. Now, daughter, while you eat I shall tell you of my bay colt. You have never seen such a fine animal in your life,” he said as he led her indoors. “Though the silly creature tore his stifle on a briar. The wound is healing, but I fear the scar will be a bargaining point for a buyer come next spring. But I’ll wager you can work your magic on him for me.”
    The thick walls of the old house kept the rooms wonderfully cool in the summer heat. Megan was always impressed at how clean and tidy her father kept his home, and a pot of cawl was always ready, hanging above the fire in the broad, low fireplace. He had had to be father and mother to her, and he had taken to his tasks with determination, seeking perfection in everything he did. Now, as an adult, she realized how hard her mother’s death had been for him, understood the enormity of his loss. The love that her parents had shared had been a beacon of light for her in a dark and dangerous world. She wondered if she would ever have the chance to find such a love herself. As her father talked excitedly about the latest young horse he had bred, Megan saw the