Cooped up indoors, the men found a new way to occupy themselves. The great hall was cleared of its benches and tables and became a center for various forms of combat, armed and unarmed. After a day or two and some near misses, Lady Anne ordered the tapestries removed for safekeeping.

I began to see where Red had developed those skills I had observed during our flight from lake to sea. The men practiced with swords, and with sword and dagger together, and with staves. They wrestled and used hands and feet as weapons. My brothers could have picked up a new trick or two.

Bored with the morning sewing routine, the girls were often discovered clustered in the doorway, gasping as Ben executed a low dive under John’s sword stroke, followed by a flying kick that sent his assailant’s dagger sailing through the air perilously close to the viewers’ admiring faces. Or exclaiming, as Red demonstrated his method for breaking a headlock applied by a very determined enemy—an effective maneuver, if unethical. And it was not only these three that used their time thus. Red had a small but lethal fighting force, any of whom, I thought, could have given Cormack a good run for his money. And that was saying something. It intrigued me that these cowmen and foresters and millers were able, in a matter of moments, to transform themselves into skillful warriors of deadly purpose. Lord Richard had scorned Red for his reluctance to confront the enemy. But I thought, he will be ready when the time comes. As he was before. If I were his enemy, I would not be making slighting remarks. I would be getting ready for the combat right now. It took me some time to remember that I and my kind were the enemy; I had almost fallen into the trap of thinking I belonged here.

That this was far from the truth was demonstrated to me soon enough. Lady Anne had thawed a little since her brother’s visit, but only a little. She shared my concerns, I think, watching her son put his newly mended leg to such energetic use. I had been pleased with my handiwork, for the stitches had come out cleanly, and the wound looked healthy. He would never lose the long scar his assailant’s blade had cut into the flesh, but he was demonstrating daily that the leg itself was as good as new. I was somewhat relieved. But this success did not earn me the respect of the household. Instead, there was muttering about how I had done it, and a half-spoken suggestion that one so young and witless could not have achieved this spectacular result without the use of sorcery, or something so close to it that you would not notice the difference.