For all Hugh Wisbech’s good work, there were still expanses of land that had lain fallow too long. It must be given to capable vassals to be managed. Two knights more did he owe to Edward’s service. The best fighting men could be made knights at Christmas and the empty land given to them as knight’s fee.

“Of those with proper training, only four are of good character and stout of heart,” the marshal said finally.

Ranulf could have laughed at that. Men of good character and stout heart, who would be commanded to follow a lord who had run from Edward’s summons and was himself a popular example of deplorable morals. But they would follow, he knew. Not as he had seen Gwenllian’s men follow her, no – his men followed him because they must.

How to win their hearts? He wanted to ask her. To even think of it, to realize how much he wanted it, felt dangerous. Like it was the edge of a great precipice, he quickly moved away from the thought. He looked away from where she worked, turning his eyes to the fields where workers toiled to bring in the harvest.

“I must see these four good men in combat.”

The marshal brightened at this.

“A contest, my lord?” There was no mistaking the hopefulness in his voice.

It had been Hugh Wisbech’s proposal, that he had obviously shared with others, to arrange a small tournament. All the fighting men of the Morency estate and all those who wished to prove themselves, gathered to celebrate a successful harvest and the homecoming of their lord and lady. And to watch him fight, he knew. That was to be the prime attraction. As it ever was.

“It will be no grand affair,” he clarified, his voice firm. He had rejected Hugh’s idea. He did not want so many eyes on him when he picked up the sword. “The men you name, and a few seasoned others, to spar in the yard.”

The marshal’s face fell.

Ranulf turned and walked, bidding the man to follow him down the tower, off the wall.

“I will inquire if there be squires to my knights who are of age, though I think there are none. In a week’s time, sooner if it can be done,” he instructed over his shoulder as he came down the stairs, giving the names of those battle-tried knights who would take part in the sparring.

At the bottom of the tower he lingered, considering Davydd. He did not know the boy’s ability, but it was possible he was ready to test himself against the garrison men. It was Gwenllian who would know, and at that moment she crossed the yard before him.