She set her jaw, gripped the trunk of a tree and swung herself around to where a narrow and faded dirt track led deeper into the trees. If he were another man, and not Ranulf Ombrier of Morency, it would not be different. She commanded men. She did not lust after them. But she understood now, with a knowing that burned in her loins, how her men could so easily turn to crude talk.

Many was the time she had heard them, and knew they did not soften their language for her ears. Why should they? When she was among them, she was a soldier too. Anything she had felt or wanted in the dark of night had seemed almost chaste compared to their talk. Thanks to their immodesty, she knew how men lusted for women, how they longed to mate. She knew as well that she was lacking in all the things they desired; her hair was black and eyes a dull gray, not the blond-haired and blue-eyed beauty the bards sang of. Her breasts were not plump, hips barely rounded, flesh hard and lean – not sweet and soft. It was an advantage that she was thus.

A sound came from her right, and she stilled her feet. Again she became the hunter, the soldier, banishing womanly and lustful thoughts with a simple flex of her sword arm. There was a smell of roasting meat – rabbit – and a soft murmur, a laugh.

She had not traveled deeply into the trees. They were but a few minutes’ walk to the village, which meant it could be anyone: a villager or traveler from the main road, or bandits. But no... so quiet, it must be a small party. Her hand gripped her sword and pulled it slowly from the sheath, careful not to make a sound as she listened closely and advanced until she saw a glimmer of firelight between the trees.

A woman laughed there. A soft laugh, from a soft woman who flirted with her lover, no doubt. Gwenllian saw the flash of a skirt reflected in the light from the fire and almost moved on. But sense told her that Morency might find his way here, too, and do mischief to these lovers. He would take their silver did they have any, and dinner and anything else of value. As she debated whether to stay here and watch for him or to continue her hunt, the renewed thought of how men lusted to mate, against all reason and caution, decided her.

She gripped the sword more tightly and found her silent footing between the trees, approaching the couple from behind. The man sat against the tree that separated Gwenllian from the scene. She used shadow to hide herself, balance and skill and hard will to keep her breath even and her moves unheard until the tree was in front of her. She looked around the trunk, assessing the woman on the opposite side.