them. Get them to clean up on the way.”
“Yes, sir.” Idris was at the door already.
“We are going to have a party,” the Reverend Llwyd announced. “I am going to hurry around to all the women and send them up with all the food they can gather together. Ninian Williams and his good wife are giving a party to celebrate the engagement of Ceris to Aled Rhoslyn. Now, on your way, is it?”
Idris exited the house so fast that the door was left swinging on its hinges.
The Reverend Llwyd grabbed his hat and his cloak and followed the boy outside, though he did take the time to close his door behind him. The shadows of little boys slunk past him as he hurried along the street, knocking on doors, issuing hurried commands. Most of the women, eyes wide with anxiety for men out with Rebecca, agreed to call at various farms on their way out to Ninian Williams’s so that there could be a proper community celebration when the men came home.
Before setting off for the party himself, the Reverend Llwyd returned home for his Bible. He set off on his way with it tucked under his arm. He paused twice in his walk along the village street to bid two strangers a good evening and to wish them God’s blessing.
Word had somehow been kept from Marged. The crowd was smaller than usual since only the men from the vicinity of Tegfan had been called out. It was easy to see that Marged was not of their number. It was a relief. Geraint did not know quite what danger they were facing. Perhaps they were being foolhardy. But no, they were not that. There was Mrs. Phillips to rescue. And a human life was worth any risk.
His spies could see no one lurking in the vicinity of the Cilcoed gate except Thomas Campbell Foster, who had been invited to come early and to stay late. But it was a great deal earlier than usual—not even quite dark. One felt strangely exposed to view when not enclosed by total darkness.
He led the way down onto the road as usual and proceeded along the road to the gate as usual, riding upright at the head of his men, in full view of whoever might be inside the tollhouse. His spies had said only Mrs. Phillips was there. But his flesh crawled as he neared the gate.
And then a little whirlwind came rushing out through the door brandishing a large club and swearing eloquently enough to put a navvy to the blush—in Welsh.
“Get away from here,” she said when she ran out of swear words. “Cowards and bullies. The Earl of Wyvern will give you what for, he will. And I will smash the knees of every one of you. Come and get it if you dare.”
Geraint smiled behind his mask despite himself. He rode as close as he dared, bent from the saddle, and spoke with quiet courtesy. “We wish you no harm, Mrs. Phillips,” he said. “We have come to rescue you. There are those coming after us who plan to hurt you simply because Wyvern promised you his protection and they wish to teach him a lesson.”
“Oi.” Mrs. Phillips peered suspiciously up at him. “I know you. I know that voice. What are you doing here dressed like that for, then, my—”
He bent lower toward her. “Let it be our secret, my dear,” he said for her ears only. “I promised that you would be safe from harm, did I not? Let me keep my promise, then. You will ride up with me and I shall take you to a place of safety.”
“This is my gate,” she said. “It is my job to defend it. I have to charge you all—all except you—for passing through it. Duw, you look like a corpse with that mask on.”
“I believe you have served the road trust well, Mrs. Phillips,” he said, trying not to think of the urgency of the moment. “I am pleased with the service you have given. I am going to see to it that you retire honorably and comfortably on a pension from Tegfan in a cottage somewhere on the estate. Will you come with me? I am afraid my men are going to destroy the gate and the house—after your possessions have been removed. This will be a lesson to those who will be coming in an hour or so’s time.”
“The real Rebecca?” she said. “Shouldn’t we stay