CHAPTER FIVE
“Asmara has grown.”
In the darkness of the early morning hours, Cader was watching Llandarog Castle from a distance, knowing that Asmara had gone with Blayth and the others to secure entry to the castle. He had been hesitant to let her go, but he also knew that she was quite capable. Still, it made him nervous that she was out of his sight.
He was unable to help her should she need it.
But his brother’s softly-uttered words broke his concentration and he turned to see Morys heading towards him, through the skinny cluster of trees. He hadn’t talked to his brother in many years until the summons to Carmarthen Castle, and even though they’d been traveling together, they still hadn’t spoken very much. They were so used to ignoring each other that it came naturally. Therefore, Morys’ appearance was something of a surprise.
“Aye,” Cader said belatedly. “She has seen eighteen years now. She is a woman grown.”
Morys nodded as his attention moved to the castle in the distance. “Dragon Princess,” he muttered. “That is what they call her now.”
Cader snorted softly. “She hates to be called that,” he said. “She simply wants to be a warrior, like any other man.”
Morys looked pointedly at him. “But she is not like any other man,” he said. “She is a woman, and a beautiful one. Has she not even been betrothed yet?”
Cader rolled his eyes at the touchy subject. “What man wants a wife who can best him in a fight?” he said. “Nay, Brother, no betrothal yet. No suitor of any kind. Until I can get her to behave like a woman, there is no point.”
“Yet you send her into battle.”
“Because she is an excellent warrior.”
“It is your fault for making her one.”
Cader turned to look at his brother; Morys was older than he by fourteen months, so there wasn’t much of an age gap between them at all. They’d grown up together, played together, fought together. When their father died, Morys decided that he was head of the family and he’d gone out of his way to make his brother feel insignificant and weak. Morys was married, but he’d never had children, while Cader’s marriage had produced two daughters. Their branch of the family was dying out and it killed Morys to realize that. He always had to be the bigger, stronger, and smarter brother, but his one failing had been in his inability to father a child, male or female. Oddly enough, he liked to make Cader feel guilty for only having females.
But Cader wasn’t feeling guilty today. He was proud of his daughter.
“Is that what you came to tell me?” he finally asked. “That it is my fault for making Asmara a warrior? I didn’t ‘make’ her a warrior, you know. She chose to be one. There was no way to discourage her.”
Morys eyed his brother in the weak light. His younger brother who was kind and compassionate, everything Morys was not. He’d tried for a very long time not to hate him for it, but he couldn’t quite seem to manage it. There was so much about Cader that he hated.
And so much he was jealous of.
“So now you have an unmarriageable daughter on your hands,” Morys said quietly. “Will she be a spinster, then? Or will she lead your armies?”
Cader wasn’t going to let his brother mock him. “We have not spoken to one another in over five years,” he said. “If you are going to taunt me about my children, then you can go back to your men. I have no need or desire to tangle with you.”
The line in the sand had been drawn already. Morys simply dipped his head. “I was not taunting you,” he said. “I was merely asking a question since I have not seen Asmara in so long. What of Fairynne? Has she married?”
Cader shook his head. “She has not.”
Morys pondered his brother’s unwed daughters but he could see that any further comment about them would not be well met. In truth, he hadn’t come to taunt his brother. He really didn’t know why he’d come, other than he’d missed the man and didn’t want to admit it.
“Well,” he sighed, “Asmara has gone with Blayth and we must be moving our men into position so we are ready when they open the portcullis. My scouts say that we can skirt the village over to the east and come in through the trees directly across from the castle. They will not see us until it is too late.”
Cader nodded, turning to the men nearest him and issuing a quiet whistle. As the men stood up and began to come to him, he turned to Morys. “I will tell my men to be ready to move,” he said. “Are your men ready?”
“They are.”
“Then let us depart.”
Cader’s men came to him and he quietly issued orders. When those men left to rouse the rest of Cader’s army, Cader happened to see that Morys was still standing there.
“Is that all?” he asked.
Morys nodded. He started to turn away, but something made him stop. When he spoke, it was without looking at his brother. It was almost as if he couldn’t bear to.
“Why did we stop talking to one another, Cader?” he asked softly. “I have forgotten.”
Cader looked at him. “You called me weak,” he said. “Do you not recall?”
“I am not certain. Mayhap.”
“You said you were ashamed of a brother who was so weak.”
Morys almost turned to look at him. I was stupid for saying so. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it, nor could he bring himself to apologize. He remembered exactly what he’d said to his brother, and when he’d said it. He was only hoping that Cader hadn’t remembered. Then he would have nothing to apologize for.
But Cader did, indeed, remember. Morys simply nodded his head and began to walk away, but a word from Cader stopped him.
“I will say this to you, Morys,” he said quietly. “I am not weak. I have never been weak. I am able to show emotion and feelings that you were never able to, and if you believe that to be weak, that is your misfortune. But I will tell you this; my daughter, Asmara, is anything but weak. She is the strongest woman in Wales and tonight, she will prove that to you. Mark my words. And when you see how strong she is, you will tell me so. Are you listening? I will hear it from your own lips.”
Morys still couldn’t bring himself to look at him or even agree. Without another word, he continued on, heading into the darkened trees and for his army, which was preparing to move out. Cader watched him go for a few moments, thinking of his haughty, arrogant brother. He didn’t exactly hate the man, but it was close.
But tonight, they had to put their feelings aside for a common goal.
To take Llandarog Castle back from the English.
It smelled like a barnyard.
That was Asmara’s first thought as she slithered in through the narrowed window of Llandarog’s tower and ended up falling to the floor. It was dark, quiet, and smelly. Fortunately, the chamber was also empty and she quickly found her feet, pulling Fairynne through the opening behind her.
But the women huddled near the open window for a few moments as their eyes became acclimated to the near total darkness. The tower itself was small in diameter, so there was only one room per floor. They had no way of knowing just how many floors there were because the base of the tower seemed sunken into the hillside. Since it was an hour or so before dawn, they couldn’t hear anyone stirring, but that didn’t mean an entire army of English soldiers wasn’t sleeping on the floor below them.
They had to get moving.
Asmara pulled her sister close.
“We must find a way to get to the wall on the west side,” she whispered. “It is attached to this tower and if there is an opening on to the wall, it will be on the level above us. Follow me and stay close; do not wander and do not make any noise. Do you understand?”
Fairynne nodded, but it was clear from her expression that she was frightened. Perhaps helping her sister had seemed brave enough until they entered the lion’s den, but now that she was here, she wasn’t so sure. Still, her pride prevented her from doing anything other than pretending she had some measure of bravery. She held tight to the rope that was coiled over one shoulder and down under one arm, just like the rope that Asmara was holding, and when her sister began to move, she followed.
There was a flight of stone stairs built onto one side of the room; a hole in the floor had stairs going down to the floor below while a small flight built into the wall went up to the floor above. Staying close to the wall, the sisters mounted the stairs that led to the floor above, making their way silently until Asmara could just stick her head through the hole in the floor above them, peering into the chamber to see if there anyone was there.
Fortunately, it was empty but for a few shields and metal-tipped staffs against the wall. It also contained a small door that led to the wall walk, just as she’d hoped. As far as Asmara could see, there didn’t seem to be anyone on the wall walk, so she came to the top of the stairs, holding out a hand to her sister to indicate caution. Even though there didn’t seem to be anyone around, they still needed to proceed carefully. Once they were on the wall walk, they could lower the ropes for Blayth and the others.
Their goal was so close, but yet so far. The wall walk was just a few feet away, but it seemed like it stretched for a mile. Once they left the tower, they would be exposed to the ward below, and Asmara’s heart was thumping in her chest. The apprehension was almost more than she could bear, but she had a task to complete and she focused on it. As they neared the doorway that opened out into the wall walk, she came to a sudden halt and backed up against the wall to stay out of sight.
Fairynne looked at her sister curiously as Asmara took the hemp rope and tied a loop at one end of it. The curtain wall had battlements, meaning it had regularly spaced, square openings so defenders could shoot enemies below and then use the battlements for protection from incoming enemy projectiles. It also meant that if they could get the big loop of the rope around one the solid square features in between the openings, they could use that to anchor the rope so the men waiting below could climb up the wall.
Soon enough, Fairynne understood what her sister was doing and she, too, tied a big loop in the end of her rope. The wall itself was perhaps eighteen to twenty feet high, and their ropes weren’t quite so long, but long enough that Blayth and his men would be able to get hold of them when lowered.
With both ropes looped at the end, it was finally time to act. Asmara dropped to her hands and knees as she crept onto the wall walk, keeping a low profile until she could see just where the English soldiers were. As soon as she emerged onto the wall walk, she could see the English – there were a few in the darkness, over by the gatehouse, and only three on the vast wall walk, as far as she could see. The men on the wall walk were also over near the two-storied gatehouse, clustered there, as one of them sat on the edge of it, his legs dangling over the side.
Clearly, these were men who were not expecting an attack this night, but something had their attention over by the gatehouse because that was where they all seemed to be gathered. Asmara wondered if they had sighted her father and Morys, who would be moving their army into position in anticipation of the gate opening. If that was the case, then the element of surprise would soon be lost. With that in mind, Asmara knew she had to move quickly while their attention was diverted.
She and her sister may not have another chance.
Heart pounding, palms sweating, Asmara moved to the battlements. Quickly rising to her feet, she looped the rope over the nearest stone square and tossed the rope down the side of the wall. Fairynne was a little slower in getting her rope secured, so Asmara quickly moved to help her, making sure both ropes were over the side so the men could climb up. Peering over the side of the wall, she could see men moving towards the ropes through the darkness.
They were coming.
But so were the English. No sooner had they thrown the ropes over the side than someone saw them. Shouts drifted in their direction and the women turned, startled, to see the men from the gatehouse looking at them. A brief moment of horror in realizing they’d been seen was replaced by determination as Asmara swung into action.
“The staffs and shields,” she hissed, pointing to the tower. “Quickly – we must get them. I will fight them off. You must protect the ropes until the men can mount them!”
Fairynne might have been young and foolish at times, but she shared Asmara’s sense of determination. She, too, understood that this was critical, so she rushed ahead of her sister into the tower room and began grabbing items. She shoved a shield at her sister and then a staff, and as Asmara ran back onto the battlements to fight off what was sure to be an incoming horde of English, Fairynne also picked up a staff and returned to her post by the ropes. She wanted to be armed in case anyone made it past her sister.
She was prepared to fight to the death.
Asmara, too, was ready for them. She stood her ground several feet down the wall walk, giving her sister and the incoming Welsh plenty of room as she faced off against several English soldiers who were now heading in her direction. Two of them had torches, lighting up the faces of the enemy against the early morning darkness. Although she’d been nervous about facing a moment like this, as the reality of it approached, Asmara found that she wasn’t nervous at all. She was angry; angry that the English were here, angry that she had to fight them off. Anger fed her bravery. With the shield in one hand and the staff in the other, she braced herself.
Oddly enough, the English were slow to move. Seeing two women, and really having no idea why they were there, had them moving cautiously, which was to the advantage of the Welshmen on the ropes. Four of them were already climbing, Blayth being one of them, and he was already almost halfway to the top. But the English weren’t looking at their walls, at least not yet. They were still trying to figure out why two women were on the wall walk and that distraction would work against them. As several of them moved closer to Asmara, their manner remained almost timid.
And she sensed it. Asmara was, if nothing else, extremely intuitive. She could see that they were quite confused and perhaps even slightly interested. She could only surmise that they didn’t see what was going on behind her, and that men weren’t climbing the walls at that very moment and that, soon, the castle would be under attack. It was dark enough that they could only see two women on the walls, but if they moved those torches any closer, they would soon see the ropes being used.
Then, it would turn into battle.
Therefore, Asmara took a step towards them, lifting her staff and shield, and smiling hugely. He had a lovely smile, in fact, with straight white teeth and slightly prominent canines. It was a gesture that lit up her entire face, something not missed by the English. Not only was a woman on their wall walk, but a beautiful one at that.
“Cyfarchion,” Asmara said in Welsh. Greetings. “I would wager to say that you did not expect to find two lonely women here tonight.”
The Englishman had no idea what to make of it. The man in front, an older man in well-used mail, peered strangely at her.
“Lonely?” he repeated. “What are you doing here, lass? How did you get here?”
Asmara turned her smile on him. “What else would I be doing here?” she said. “I am looking for a little… amusement.”
The English soldier was greatly confused by her response. He indicated the shield and staff in her hands. “What kind of amusement?”
Asmara shrugged lightly, hoping she could keep them talking until someone got to the top of the rope and she could have help fending them all off.
“You fight me,” she said. “If I lose, I become your prisoner. But if you lose…”
The soldier folded his arms in front of his chest expectantly. “I will not lose to you,” he said. He wagged an irritable finger at her. “Come along, now. Why are you here? Tell me the truth. And tell me how you got here.”
Asmara lifted her shoulders. “I flew in, like a bird,” she said. “If you beat me in a fight, then I shall tell you. But until you do, you will simply have to take my word for it.”
The soldier opened his mouth to reply but something behind the woman caught his attention. In fact, he watched in shock as two men vaulted over the top of the battlements. But his shock wasn’t so great that he didn’t realize what was happening. Suddenly, he let out a bellow.
“Breach!”
The game was over. Realizing that Blayth and his men were showing themselves, Asmara did the only thing she could do – she charged the English soldiers standing in front of her, using the shield to literally scoop them backwards. The older soldier tried to grab her, but she kneed the man in the groin so hard that he immediately fell to his knees, blocking the way for the soldiers behind him to charge.
That moment of respite allowed Asmara to bring the shield up and slam them in the face. She caught two of them squarely, with one of them falling straight off the wall walk and into the bailey below. But there were still men to take their place and she fell into a frenzy, striking and stabbing at everything that moved.
The English were unprepared for her onslaught. Because they’d been on watch when she’d come onto the wall, they had nothing more than crossbows with them, no broadswords, and now they had a woman who was fighting furiously, driving them back further, and further still. She was doing a marvelous job of fighting them off, but there were more of them than there were of her.
It was only a matter of time before they turned the tides.
Unfortunately for the English soldiers, there were now men on the wall walk that were not English, men who had climbed the wall on ropes evidently provided by the very woman they found themselves fighting off. The only possible explanation was the Welsh were going to try and take the castle, so the English were scrambling to gather their weapons and preparing to fight off the invaders.
Very quickly, chaos reigned.
But Asmara didn’t back away and she didn’t run, not even when she saw more English soldiers running for the wall walk. She held her ground, fighting and struggling, kicking and punching, until one of the soldiers managed to rip the staff from her hand. He turned it on her, preparing to strike, when a big body suddenly appeared between Asmara and the English.
Blayth had arrived.
The man had carried his short sword with him up that treacherous rope, and he dispatched two of the English soldiers before the rest began to run, backing away from the enormous Welshman with the deadly strike. When one man tried to challenge him, he punched him in the face, sending him to the ground and, in the same motion, stealing the man’s broadsword. Armed with a big weapon now, he moved menacingly towards the rest of the soldiers rushing up to the wall walk as Asmara, Aeddan, and Pryce tucked in behind him.
“We need to get into the room with the pulley that will open the portcullis,” Blayth said. “If I had to guess, I would say it is on the upper level of the gatehouse. Aeddan and I will hold off those coming up the ladders if Pryce and the lady can make it into the chamber on the upper level. See how they are already trying to form a blockade on the chamber entry?”
They could all see a group of soldiers with torches bunched up around an opening that led into the second floor of the gatehouse. Oddly enough, if there was a door on the opening, they hadn’t shut it. The doorway remained unsealed.
Asmara could see the portal clearly, and she could feel the thrill of battle rushing through her veins, for a variety of reasons. To begin with, she loved the rush of battle and the feel of a weapon in her hand. But it was also her first time fighting with Blayth and she was beginning to see what all the fuss was about. He was absolutely fearless in movement, fluid in motion, and moved with surreal power. She’d never seen anything like it in her life.
As the four of them moved towards the gatehouse, more English soldiers came running at them. Blayth and Aeddan were in the lead, fighting the men back, and as they did so, Asmara managed to pick up a short sword that someone had dropped in the chaos. As Blayth and Aeddan fought off the onslaught, and tried not to get pushed off the wall walk themselves, Asmara dropped to her knees and pushed through the legs of the men who were fighting.
She was in a perfect position to do a lot of damage, and damage she did. Men ended up with cut Achilles’ tendons or sword thrusts to the backs of their knees. In fact, Blayth had no idea why men were falling away from him so swiftly until he saw Asmara on her knees amongst the English, slashing viciously with her sword. It was one of the more impressive things he’d ever seen, and he found himself fighting off a smile at the very plucky Dragon Princess.
Now, he understood what men had been saying about her.
She was fearless, indeed.
In fact, he’d seen her fighting off the English the moment he’d arrived on the top of the wall. She’d had a shield and a staff, and she was creating serious problems for several English soldiers who were trying to fight back. For a brief moment, he’d admired the woman and her obvious skill, but then it occurred to him that the lovely, leggy woman who had his interest was in a great deal of danger, and that brought about a side of him he never knew he had. Certainly, he was fearsome in a fight – there was no one more fearsome – but the thought of Asmara in danger did something to him.
It spurred him to another level of fighting fervor.
He’d rushed up behind her, putting himself between her and the English, and that’s when men started dropping. Blayth was fighting to claim the castle, but he was also fighting for Asmara. As if the woman needed his help. But the chivalrous man in him was determined to give it.
In the midst of everything, he was trying not to feel like an utter, complete idiot.
The English had cleared up now between his slashing and Asmara’s stabbing, so he reached down and pulled her to her feet amidst wounded English on the wall walk.
“Well done,” he told her. “I think there are a few men around here who may never walk again, thanks to you.”
Pink-cheeked from exertion, Asmara looked at her handiwork of injured men, kicking one soldier when he didn’t move out of her way fast enough. He groaned when she kicked him again.
“Do you think so?” she asked seriously.
He nodded, his eyes glimmering at her. “I do,” he said. There was a warm moment as they looked at each other, and Blayth felt something shocking bolt through his veins. Fear? Excitement? He didn’t know. He couldn’t ever remember feeling it before. All he knew was that when he looked at her, he felt a distinct shock, but there was no time to linger on the sensation. He pointed to the two-storied gatehouse. “Now, let us see if we can lift that portcullis. Hurry, now; dawn is upon us and there is no time to waste.”
Asmara charged off, swinging her sword and engaging men who were far better protected than she was, but it didn’t seem to matter to her. She used those long legs to kick, and she wasn’t afraid to aim for a man’s groin. She did whatever she had to do in order to disable them. Once she had them off-balance, she lashed out, gravely injuring or even killing. Blayth saw her do it twice as they pushed their way to the gatehouse. Just as they neared the open door, a large soldier emerged.
Unfortunately, Asmara walked right into him and he reached out, clamping a big hand around her neck and giving her a good shake. The sword dropped from her grip as her hands moved instinctively to the big mitt around her neck, squeezing the life from her. She kicked out, twice, and caught the man in the abdomen and thigh, but not hard enough to cause him to dislodge his grip. Just as her vision began to dim, Blayth thrust his sword into the man’s belly.
Asmara fell aside as Blayth stabbed the man again and then tossed him over the wall walk. When he should have been heading into the gatehouse to locate the mechanism for the portcullis, he found himself more concerned for Asmara. He pulled her to her feet.
“Are you well?” he asked. “He did not hurt you, did he?”
Asmara was rubbing her neck where the soldier had gripped her. “Nay,” she said. “Thanks to you. I think he was trying to kill me.”
Blayth’s lips flickered with a grin. “What was your first indication?”
Asmara stopped rubbing her neck and looked at him, thinking he was making some kind of nasty remark about her. But she saw the grin, and the mirth in his eyes, and a smile creased her lips.
“I am not entirely sure,” she jested in return. “It could have been that big hand on my neck. Or the fact that he was English.”
Blayth snorted, a humorous sound. “It was both, demoiselle,” he said. “But never fear; I would not let him do it, to you or to your sister. You were both quite valuable this night.”
Asmara’s smile vanished as she started looking around, almost in a panic. “My sister,” she gasped. “Where is Fairynne?”
Blayth turned around, too, looking for the tiny woman who had helped liberate a castle. The sun was starting to rise and the sky above was turning shades of blue and gray, casting a moderate amount of illumination on the castle. He thought he could see the younger ferch Cader sister over by the tower, still near the ropes that she had helped secure. He pointed.
“Over there,” he said. “But I would not worry over her. It seems that both ferch Cader sisters can take care of themselves.”
Asmara could see Fairynne also and it eased her mind considerably. “That is not a bad thing,” she said. “We have always been able to take care of ourselves.”
He cocked his head slightly. “You should not have to. Menfolk should protect you.”
“There are no menfolk that can protect me any better than I can do for myself.”
His smile was threatening again. “What about English soldiers who try to break your neck?”
She grinned and averted her gaze. “I would have overcome him, eventually.”
“And yet, you did not have to,” he said. He paused before speaking again. “I would do it again if you needed me to.”
There was something chivalrous in the way he said it, something that made Asmara look up and take notice. There was fighting going on all around them but, at the moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the whole world. When their gazes met, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that was difficult to describe. There was something… warm there. Something that suggested his concern for her wasn’t purely soldier to soldier. It was simply man to woman.
She began to feel faint for an entirely different reason.
God, how the man could make her heart race!
But the warm moment was dashed by the sound of the big portcullis as it began to lurch open. Chains groaned, iron creaked, and men began to yell. When Asmara and Blayth ran to the edge of the battlements to see what the fuss was about, they could see Morys and Cader’s men at the gatehouse below. Blayth turned quickly, rushing from the wall as he gestured to the open door of the second-floor of the gatehouse.
“Help them raise the portcullis,” he told Asmara. “I will go down below. I have a feeling the English will not take kindly to their new visitors.”
With that, he quickly descended the ladder that led to the bailey below, and Asmara charged into the second floor of the gatehouse, helping Aeddan and Pryce and two other men fight off English soldiers who were trying to do them great harm. Once Asmara entered the fight, the English limped away with kicked groins and other unmanly injuries, pain she wasn’t afraid to inflict, and the portcullis went up just enough so that Morys and Cader were able to flood in with their hundreds and hundreds of men.
Within an hour, the English of Llandarog Castle were subdued and the banners for Edward I were torn down from the battlements as the fortress was once again claimed by the Welsh. Even in the town of Llandarog, which had been shut tight against the battle, the peasants were starting to emerge, cheering the fact that the great castle was now in the hands of the Welsh. They began bringing food and drink to the castle in droves, and the men of Morys and Cader’s armies soon found themselves stuffed with sausages, marrowfat peas, and watered ale.
A feast fit for victors.
When Cader got over his anger at Fairynne’s part in securing Llandarog, he realized that he was most proud of his daughters. Blayth had told him that breaching Llandarog would not have been possible if it weren’t for the women warriors. He was, in truth, quite pleased with them, and when Asmara wanted to sit and eat and drink with Morys’ men, he didn’t stop her. She’d earned a place among them. But he sat with his own men, across the bailey, with an exhausted Fairynne sleeping on his lap, and watched his oldest daughter as she listened to Morys’ men tell great stories of valor.
But the feasting and stories of valor soon came to a halt when they received word from Howell stating that his siege of Gwendraith Castle had suffered a setback and they’d been unable to breach the castle. His missive asked Cader and Morys to spare what men they could, including Blayth, and send them along to Gwendraith to aid in claiming the castle.
Morys decided that Cader and a few of the men should remain with Llandarog while Morys took his men, and more than half of Cader’s, on to Gwendraith. Cader didn’t argue with him; he was happy to remain at the castle they’d worked so hard to capture. Before the day was out, Morys and his men rode out for Gwendraith, which was less than ten miles from Llandarog. To the cheers of the peasants of the village, Morys took his men and headed off to another battle.
Much to Asmara’s dismay, Cader had intentionally kept her and Fairynne with him. She was furious about it and had argued strongly but, in the end, Cader would not be swayed and Asmara marched off to sulk. What she didn’t know was that Cader had his reasons, petty or no – his arrogant, conceited brother who, when told Asmara and Fairynne’s roles in the breach of Llandarog, couldn’t even congratulate them. Asmara had proven herself worthy, as had Fairynne to a certain extent, but Morys wouldn’t acknowledge them. His pride wouldn’t let him.
It was pride that was starting to drive an even deeper wedge between him and his brother. And because of it, Cader kept his daughters with him. While Morys and his men went on to confiscate Gwendraith Castle, and remain there, Cader and his daughters, and his men, remained at Llandarog.
Asmara didn’t know why her father wouldn’t let her go join up with Morys’ army, but her father seemed particularly embittered after the siege of Llandarog. He didn’t want to talk about Morys at all, even worse than before. All Asmara knew was that it would be some time before she saw Blayth again, and in those weeks of separation, she didn’t forget about the man. On the contrary.
She was very much looking forward to the day when she would see him again.
And she knew she would see him again.