He couldn’t see her clearly. The light behind her threw her face into darkness, and when she moved away to enter the hut, she stepped quickly and turned her back before his eyes could adjust from daylight to the dark interior. She worked at the table, setting a leather pouch on the boards, drawing some implement nearer, as all the while he wished her to turn to him. And didn’t wish it. Then wished it again.

The man called Madog carried a stone jar, full of boiling water dipped from the pot in the coals, over to where the woman stood. Her hands reached out to take it and she turned her head slightly, but not enough to see her face. She must be the woman of the powerful gray eyes, for Madog could not hold her silent gaze. Ranulf could feel her command from across the room, an uncomfortable shame rising in him for the sin of his earlier lustful thoughts.

He had forgotten what she was, the nature of her. Forgotten how she’d looked at him, and how he had obeyed her without question. She was no wench to be bedded when he healed. He was half afraid to know what she was.

It was Madog ap Rhys who spoke. “I ask your pardon, my lord. Was I who felled you when we came upon you these four nights past.” The man was like to choke on the apology, but he met Ranulf’s eye steadily. “I sought to protect my lady and saw danger where perhaps there was none.”

Ranulf nodded gingerly, not trusting his head. “My pardon you have, and your lady as well, for tending me in my distress.” He waited for her to turn in acknowledgment, but she busied herself as though the men were not there at all, pouring out some water, dropping leaves into the jar, pulling a large stone from her pocket. His eyes followed her hands as though it was the Mass she performed, smooth and measured movements as she ground the herbs, wielding the heavy stone with no sign of clumsiness.

An ordinary woman. She was mortal, and ordinary, and his fevered brain had run wild.

“The lady is my cousin, a woman of good virtue.” Madog moved closer, drawing Ranulf’s eye to him as he approached. “Is her you have to thank for your life,” he explained, his voice low. He fixed Ranulf in a stare that was all too familiar. “For though I struck you in innocence, I tell you true – I would have left you for the wolves, Ombrier.”