“Davydd will stay here if it please him. Madog,” she said, looking at him steadily. “If Lady Eluned will have you, you will go wherever the men of Ruardean go.”

His face was inscrutable. He was their best fighter, her right arm. Her mother would put the might of Ruardean into the hands of Llewellyn, and these men were the might of Ruardean. Madog might keep them safe.

“They will follow you,” she fairly whispered. “You will lead them.”

He looked as if he might contradict her, or refuse it. But in the end he only nodded once and said, “Aye, Pennaeth Du.”

Beyond that, there was little else to say. It was not long before the party, so newly arrived, was ready to depart. She watched them saddle their horses as Hugh sent servants to them with full wineskins and more ale for their journey.

Ranulf had slipped silently to her side. He watched the preparations in silence with her for several minutes and made no move to ask what had passed. She heard him tell Madog that a Morency rider was sent to the priory with the message that Lady Eluned’s party would seek shelter, a courtesy so that none of this road-weary party must ride hard ahead of the rest. There was mocking in his tone, as ever, but for the first time she knew it was not real. She could see, now, that it was only his instinct to hide any true warmth of feeling in a flood of derision.

This small measure of thoughtfulness toward her men (not my men, she reminded herself, not anymore) might have broken her. Stone, she thought. I must be stone now, for this moment. She held herself very still and watched as one of the men approached. He stepped forward quickly and held something out to her.

It was Aidan, who worked metal well enough to repair small things when they were far from a smithy. He handed her the spare buckle to her sword belt, given to him weeks ago when it had been damaged. She stared at it silently for a moment, at the lent-lilies etched into the metal, a symbol from the Ruardean coat of arms. He had taken care to preserve the design, had even etched the flowers more deeply. It had been polished it so that it looked new, ready to fasten at her hip.

“You do fine work, Aidan,” she finally said. “Very fine. I thank you.”

She held it in her hand, feeling the weight of it as she fixed her eyes on the veil covering Eluned’s dark hair. All the anger and resentment she had so recently felt was a distant thing, gone except in memory and replaced with a heavy sadness, as her mother prepared to ride away. The mounted party turned to the gate. Dirt rose up at the steady march of the horses hooves.