She felt his fingers twitch beneath her hand, where she had grasped his on the hilt. It was not the movement that made her understand his meaning, but the look he gave her. He was pressing the weapon gently into her hand, just as he had once pressed her knife-blade to his heart. Then, he had asked for mercy. Now his eyes asked it again, the same steady plea, the same patient wait for judgment. Only the tremor in his hand was different, and new.

Her fingers tightened over his, and she pushed the hilt back toward him. Her jaw tightened as she forced the sword away from her, refusing it. She began to hear the murmurs around them, began to feel the eyes on them as they stood unmoving. But she did not look away, or step back.

It was he who moved first, lowering the sword and catching up her hand. He raised her hand to his lips, and closed his eyes briefly. The gathered onlookers saw contrition and gallantry. She could only feel the harsh rasp of his breath against her fingers and the desperate strength of the hand gripping hers like a drowning man.

It lasted but a moment, and then he had let her go. He was in command of himself. He moved toward the man he had left gasping and clutching his arm in the dust. Ranulf moved to give his hand in aid, and the man fairly cringed from him. But Ranulf held steady, offering his hand until the man recovered, grasped it, and heaved himself up.

Gwenllian beckoned Davydd, and spoke to him quietly while keeping her eyes trained on Ranulf.

“Go quickly and find Hugh Wisbech, to tell him we serve ale and bread now in the hall, and bid the minstrels play.” She watched Ranulf look to where the other men lay bloody, and knew instinctively that he did not want to approach them. Still Davydd did not move. “Go now, we will not wait until the appointed hour to feast, run you and tell Hugh.”

Davydd ran, and she crossed to where Ranulf stood. Still everyone watched him, muttering to each other as they waited to see what he would do.

She raised her voice to be heard. “Be ye pleased on a day warm as this one, to refresh yourselves within the keep,” she urged. It was not a particularly hot day, and so she put all she knew of command in her look, daring them to stay here. “The ale is fine, and plenty.”