She blinked. Would not Edward think it strange, would the king not want them at Ruardean? But she could only say, “So soon?”

“If it pleases my lady. I have neglected it too long, and I would have my people make acquaintance of their new lady.”

She inclined her head in what she hoped was a believably meek fashion. “As it pleases my lord.”

The men had begun to call to him, and so he took his leave and walked back to where they practiced. Suzanna was talking again, but Gwenllian ignored her chatter as they turned away and began walking down the enclosed walkway that surrounded the bailey. There was something in the manner of the men that held her attention, and she found herself stopping at the nearest arched window so that she could watch them, unseen. They had put her strongly in mind of her own men, their comfortable bantering, but now she could see at a glance that it was not so comfortable among this group.

There was a burst of laughter, then silence – a sure sign that at least one among them was not as amused as the rest. Immediately following this, there was a distinct tension in the group, the kind she was sure meant that there was a challenge issued. One man detached himself from the group to call to a squire for his sword. With a sinking sense of dread, she saw it was Morency. It was easy to identify the fool he would fight by the pale, pained expression on the man’s face.

It sent Suzanna into raptures to see the famed Ranulf of Morency reach for his sword with a grim look on his face. But when he turned back to the white-faced man and the others made a space for them to fight, the poor fool seemed to stammer apologies and threw down his weapon. Suzanna was vexed, but only for a moment.

“The insult must be grave indeed,” she said with not a little excitement when Morency gestured to the fallen sword, bidding the man to pick it up, rejecting the apology.

It was a quick fight, finished swiftly when Morency disarmed the man on the fourth blow with a brutal and unrelenting strength. It should have been enough to disarm the opponent, especially for a practice yard, but he pinned the man beneath his blade, point at his throat, and forced him to yield. Arrogant man.

Gwenllian turned away again and they made their way back to the solar. The girl beside her chattered on about what could have sparked the display, but Gwenllian did not answer. She kept seeing how he moved with the sword, each and every movement calculated to humiliate his opponent with an efficiency that in other circumstances would be deadly. It seemed a lifetime ago, that night when they crossed swords. She thought herself lucky beyond measure now, even as the pride of her triumph over him returned to her.