She was older than Gwenllian, and looked well used to this sport. Instead of protesting like a demure maiden when a broad hand reached out to fondle her ample breast, she sighed and flushed and pressed her full hips against the lap she sat in, closing her eyes.

Gwenllian rested her free hand against the tree and slowly, silently, brought the tip of her sword around to where these lovers played at love. And she waited.

A second later, the woman opened her eyes. She blinked, and then her eyes followed up along the blade at the man’s throat until they reached the level of Gwenllian’s fist. Anticipating her shriek, Gwenllian pressed the tip of the sword more firmly against flesh, impressed in spite of herself that he made no move under so obvious and sudden a threat – unlike the woman, who had screeched and run off into the night. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

“You’ve ruined my dinner, my lady Gwenllian.”

She stepped from behind the tree, keeping her sword tip pressed firmly on Morency’s collarbone as she pivoted and faced him. He looked bored, as though he had expected this and she disappointed him by acting as he knew she would. But the set of his mouth told her as well that he was angry, frustrated, and she took her measure of triumph in thwarting his pleasure.

She jerked her chin to indicate the spit over the fire, where the rabbit roasted. “The meat does not burn, and you dine tonight. Naught is ruined of your dinner.”

He smiled, a genuine smile of amusement that stunned her by being so fit to his features. “But the sweet has fled and you replace it with your steel. The best of it, ruined.”

No response came to her. She merely watched him, waiting for his hand to come up and knock the blade away. Or perhaps he would lunge at her legs and pull her to the ground. It was attack she was watching for, not the slow spread of his smile.

“I carry nothing but the knife you gave me, and that so dull it barely took the skin off my dinner,” he informed her. He paused expectantly, but she did not lower the sword. “Your arm will tire soon enough,” he said with a shrug.

With that, he turned his attention away from her and toward the fire. It was a neat dismissal, well calculated to make her feel foolish.