“Aye, Pennaeth Du,” came the answer. “I see them now. Is Richard he leans on, and Madog with them. He moves slowly for the hurt you did him.”

She cinched the binding around her leg to stop the trickle of blood. It could be tended later, and she had no desire to stand before the lord of Morency with bared and bloody legs. Much preferable to remain in her shirt of mail and the dirty surcoat. She reached for her veil, winding it under her chin, over her head and knotting it on the side in a gesture so ingrained as to be without thought.

Even as she finished that task, she spied the pail of water that had been placed there for her, between twin oil lamps. It was one luxury she did not forego, needing the light when there were wounds to be tended. The sight of the water instantly made her aware of the sweat in her hair, on her face. She had not washed just now, before placing her veil. Everything backward – she seemed unable to do anything in the proper order, lost as she was between irritation at her own rashness and the glory of having defeated him. For even now, her anger at herself was fading into wonder.

I bested him, she thought exultantly as her hands dropped into the cool water. Then as she pulled the headscarf free again, And any other day, he may well have bested me.

But – Morency. To best Ranulf of Morency. It was impossible to hold back the smile.

She cleaned off the sweat and turned, drying herself and composing her face as they brought him in. Without looking at them, she gestured at Richard to sit him on the fallen log that lay at the foot of another tree, close to where her squire had built the modest fire. It was the most stable and comfortable place for such work, and he would need to brace his back. All this she knew without looking, and that she would find him white-lipped against the pain.

The leather strap from her purse would serve. “Go,” she said to her cousin as she reached for it.

“I think it unwise to leave you here alone with him, Pennaeth Du,” said Madog softly, in Welsh. “You’ve hurt his pride more than his bones. He’ll do you injury if he can.”

She looked to Morency, who sat staring at her with disgust clear in his face.

“He’ll do me no injury,” she answered, certain. “Nor can he, as I’ve proven this night. Go now, and he is spared an audience.”