She seemed to catch his mood, her eyes narrowing, assessing. And then, from one breath to the next, the air in the room changed. Though nothing about her had changed at all, she was transformed from uncertain girl to fearsome opponent. It was only a shift in her balance, a miniscule change in her stance, a focused stillness to her. She stood ready, wary, alive.

Something inside him, wound so tightly only an instant before, relaxed. He let go a breath he had not known he’d been holding, and leaned lightly against the bedpost.

“My preparation to be Lady Morency was interrupted by your blade, not my own,” she said.

He smiled, and inclined his head in acknowledgement. It was nothing but the truth, and one he was happy to admit now as the relief spread through him. This was closer to the Gwenllian he knew, and she was no shy soft thing.

She glanced toward the bed, then back at him.

“Was it here you killed him?”

He felt the smile slide from his face, but could do nothing to stop it.

“Nay.”

Her eyes held him, wide and gray, compelling truth from him.

“Where?”

“The north tower.”

She would have lain there, with Aymer. The realization hit him with an unexpected force. Years ago, if it had been different, she would have lain in the room where he had crept in the night to slay his foster father. He tried to imagine her young and helpless at Aymer’s side, and could not. She stood here now in that ready stance, a challenge in her voice and her eyes unflinching. In this moment, he could believe what she had said a lifetime ago: she feared no man.

Nevertheless, he wished she had not spoken of it. It had brought a vivid picture of the killing, a breath of the bloody past here to this room, one of the few places in Morency where he had no memory of evil deeds happening.

She opened her mouth to speak, and for fear she would speak of Aymer, he spoke first.

“Neither was there murder done in your own chamber, lady, but if you fear the dead will haunt you there, the priests will come to bless the rooms.”

Her expression was one of deep offense.

“I need me no priest’s mumblings to keep me safe,” she said.

“How lucky for you.”

He pushed himself off the bedpost and stepped closer to her. She did not flinch as he came on, which satisfied him even as it angered him.

“You have not your arms nor servant to protect you.”

“Nor need of any.” There was the hint of question in it, as though she invited him to confirm it even as she dismissed it for folly.

“Nay, though you wander alone at night, only to catch sight of the sea.”