Madog nodded. He did not like this, she knew. He would rather they waited for the other men to return from Ruardean before they left court. But so eager was she to be away from the watchful eye of the king and the whisperings of his court that she would gladly travel with men whose loyalty she could not claim. When her own men returned and found them gone, they would be met with a message to carry on to Morency. They could now be no more than eight days behind.

“Lord Morency has said the journey is but four days, do we push hard and meet no trouble.” She could only hope the roads were clear enough to allow such an easy passage.

“My sword is ready if there be need,” he said. “Yours too, Pennaeth Du.”

He called her by her old title, affection and respect and a thousand memories bound up in the words, and she thought she might suffocate from the weight of it pressing on her heart. She was not a chief, not anymore. It would be calamity indeed if she reached for her sword.

“You will ride next to the lady, Madog? I would have you in the rear.”

Morency had appeared as though from nowhere, and though his words were easy enough, there was an undercurrent of disapproval that was unmistakable.

She stiffened. “My cousin will be pleased to ride behind.”

Madog nodded, expressionless, and walked away. Morency stepped close and appeared to check the girth on her courser. Instead, his hand came to rest lightly on the boot that concealed her knife. “Is better if you do not speak Welsh, Pennaeth Du.”

The shock of hearing those words in his mouth jolted her. He did not look at her. He had not looked at her all morning. But he murmured her Welsh title and touched his hand to her ankle, and all her thoughts surged toward him.

“What harm in it?” she asked.

His hand lingered, laying claim to her body with a touch, and her breathing became scarce. Just so, he had touched her through the long hours of the night, and again in the early hours before dawn. She had woken with the sun to find him gone, and her body unfamiliar to herself. To dress felt different, to walk, to sit a horse.

Only the place where she had slipped the knife had felt familiar, and safe, and hers again. And then he touched her there and even that was lost to the heat of him.

“I would know how you command your men.” There was a note of warning in his voice that sparked an anger in her breast.

“I command them as I will, for they are mine,” she answered in a tightly controlled voice. Seated on her horse, preparing to take to the road again, it was impossible not to recall their journey here and all his arrogance in the days they had travelled. Infuriating man.