“Call him not a prisoner, when that is what he is?” She looked at her mother’s rigid stance, at the anger that burned bright, and rolled her eyes in defiance of it. “Oh, no – you mean I should not call him Morency. Sweet Mary, let us not call a man by his lawfully given title and the lands he holds.”

“They are your lands!” her mother shouted back. “And his title bought with blood. I will not call him by a title that cheats you of your rightful claim.”

Gwenllian held up her hands, seeking to ward off the old argument. It was fruitless to tell her mother that she wanted no lands besides these. Ruardean would never be hers. Whether her father defied all expectations and returned at last, or stayed wrapped with madness in Jerusalem, or even did he die tomorrow, Ruardean would not be hers.

Little William, that sweet brother whose worshipful face she so missed, was heir to this marchland estate. The very thought of him calmed her. Would he be watching now, from Lancaster’s window, the same scene she watched here? Knights practicing in the yard and dreams of chivalry and glory lighting the long summer days. No matter his dreams, she hoped her brother made a good apprentice, that he watched and listened, that he learned enough in these tender years to be a worthy lord of this household she loved so well.

She did not resent it. But she wondered that it did not make her crave her own lands. Married by proxy when she was no older than William, she had been excited as a girl to imagine herself the great lady. But that excitement had died with her husband. She’d never met Aymer of Morency, the man who had been her lord husband in name only. She had not had a chance to meet him before Ranulf Ombrier had murdered him in his bed. And then had been named Lord Morency by a grateful king.

Drawing a calming breath, she looked away from her mother and tried to speak rationally, disciplining herself against the childish paths her temper followed when her mother led the way.

“Is an old argument, mother. I will never care for the Morency lands as you do, or the power they would bring us.” But even saying it, she knew she would do all she could to uphold the claim, if called upon by the court. It was pointless to fight her mother, who resented so deeply that Gwenllian was cheated of lands. “So let us be done with that and speak to this new madness of yours. It does not serve to take Lord Ranulf to Edward, even did he agree to go.”

“There is naught for him to agree to. Your guard will escort him there. And it is not madness, Gwenllian.”