He immediately thought of the dull knife that he still carried, after an argument this morning that he’d thought had gained them only delay. But apparently it had also gained them this unwanted attention. He knew from days of watching her exactly what she carried in the way of arms. A sword, a dagger, a throwing knife tucked into her boot. These, and his dull blade, against an untold and hidden number of what were surely outlaws and thieves, the kind of men who waited in these woods for passing travelers with goods worth stealing. Maybe even that whore he had found yesterday had set these men upon them, eager for coin after she had been interrupted in her trade.

The Ruardean wench turned her face to him, her slim body drawn taut, signaling danger in every muscle. She held up four fingers, then two – six men in all had she seen, then. They were close by, and to slip away unseen and unheard would be no easy task now. He could feel their intention as well as she obviously could, that the thieves would come toward them any second, heading off to find the spot where they had been discovered this morning. Not twenty steps and they will be upon us, and we with nowhere to go but the open road. The look in her eye told him she thought the same thing and was assessing, considering how best to act in this small moment they had to choose.

An excellent thing to contemplate, how to save one’s skin. He swiftly turned his own mind to it.

He could run. It was his first thought. It’s her sword and her armor they’ll want. Run and leave her to contend with them. They were focused on her as easy prey, and their shock would be as great as his own when they realized this “boy” had unexpected skill. It might be easy for him to get away while they tried to subdue her and take her arms. And he could make his way to the town and then to a port and then out of England, out of Edward’s reach.

Even as his heart beat faster with the thought of flight, she pulled her long dagger from her belt and held the weapon out to him, hilt first. “Take it,” she whispered, with her typical confident command. Her face was resolute as she moved within an inch of his face, her voice no more than a breath between them. “Nor can I know if you will prove treacherous to take this advantage and run, but I trust there is honor in you yet, Sir Ranulf.”

He found he could not break her look even to glance at the blade she offered. Distantly, he worried that he might have flinched at his knightly title. No doubt she had used it with purpose.