It was Madog who answered. “My lady cousin did value your life, though why I cannot know. But make no mistake that I hold it at nothing, do you speak of her with dishonor.”

Ranulf stayed in his relaxed pose as the silence peculiar to such moments fell over them. All eyes were on Madog, including his own. He could feel the eagerness of the men to see the infamous lord of Morency with true steel in his hand. He had heard them speaking of it low, in the castle and on their journey. The only admiring words said of him, here or most anywhere, concerned his sword arm. He felt them hoping for a demonstration, and he had seen enough of Madog ap Rhys to know the Welshman was too honor-bound to cut him down without defense.

He felt an uncommon stab of jealousy, seeing Madog rise to champion that nameless lady. But strange, that all the men would look at him so, as if they sought to defend her the same. “I’m sure she is as worthy of honor as any of your Welsh women,” he allowed with a smirk, “and surely would I obey her, were her legs wound round mine and she offered me her comfort again.”

Only a silence more tense than any before, distilled and frozen offense at his implication, answered him. The moment drew out, taut as a rope that must break at any second.

Without warning, a helm – his own, which he had not seen in weeks – clattered at his feet, breaking the silence. An instant later, the hiss of steel sounded and firelight caught a blade that was thrust down and swiftly sheathed in the soft earth between his wide-spread knees. It was his own helm, his own leathern armor that was next dropped on his leg, and his own steel before him. It was all he could do to keep from shouting his triumph. He would have welcomed any weapon, but his very own was all that he had wished and more.

He followed the gleam of firelight up the blade to where a thick-gloved hand grasped the hilt and found the green boy who had guarded his back through the long journey, wearing leather armor and helm. Ranulf turned his eyes to Madog, and found with amazement that he was nodding to the boy, acknowledging with respect the stream of Welsh the young one let out. And now all eyes turned to the boy challenger, flickering from Ranulf to the gawky near-man, every one of them brimming with anticipation.