He looked to his right, where Madog ap Rhys walked through ankle-deep mud in grim silence. To Ranulf’s left was another armed man, no less grim and watchful, with scraggly blond hair and an aspect that was Norman in every particular. There were fourteen who had led him through the wilds these four days now, all well-seasoned men and cautious, but they bore the unique attitude of Ruardean: a quiet camaraderie, as quick to work as to laugh, communicating in whatever language rose to the lips without fear of being misunderstood.

Most often it was Welsh they spoke, especially whenever the young one was near. It was a youth who led the party, thin and gawky, issuing what could only be orders in the strange tongue he had heard used as often as French in Ruardean’s halls. From what little he could see, the boy-leader shared the features of Madog and some of the other men, the same features of the nameless healer woman who had vanished and abandoned him to this fate. Perhaps it was her brother, but he could not see past the muck that dirtied the boy’s face and did not care to after the days of trudging through rain and mud.

He had counted three others of the same aspect, undoubtedly the Lady Eluned’s Welsh kin, and all from the party who had originally captured him. The rest he had seen at the keep, sparring in the yard. They were less hostile now, though no more friendly. The young one kept to his back; the others treated him with the wary respect most usually reserved for rabid hounds. Only Madog ap Rhys spoke to him directly, and that only when Ranulf addressed him.

It put him on edge. He felt seen and unseen at the same time. It was like it had been in his youth, his life at Morency. There was easiness and kinship among all who surrounded him, but he stood apart. He was watched carefully, treated with meticulous respect, and as separate from them as though an ocean encircled him.

At midday of the fourth day, they stopped at a clearing. The forest was so dense that he had thought no sun shone above the canopy, but they turned and found a green and open space that sparkled with new light. He squinted at his first sight of blue sky that day, not fooled into believing the respite would last long.

“Are Welsh skies always so fickle?” he asked the nearest man, the blonde Norman who never left his side.