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What was she doing? Was she mad? Hugh stared at Edlyn, but she pushed at him. “Go on.”

Richard gloated and his men jeered as Hugh shoved back his part of the bench and slowly rose.

“Oh, stop looking like a beaten dog,” she scolded. She rose, too, and stepped away from the table with him. “The knights won’t mind if you sit with them.” She lowered her voice. “And while I have them interested in the story, I want you to steal their weapons and get us out of here.”

Relief and indignation mixed in his chest. Relief that she had reasons for chasing him away. Indignation that she had humiliated him. Indignation that she planned to use him. Indignation…well, the indignation far outweighed the relief. “You want me to get us out? With a sword? Not everything can be solved with violence.”

His sarcasm scorched her, but she did no more than pinch him as she pointed at a bench at the far end of the head table.

“Parkin? Allyn?” he asked.

In a low tone, she said, “Not captured.”

He was reassured. Women and children were notoriously difficult to rescue, and the less he had to worry about, the better.

Seeing the anxiety that briefly etched lines on her face, he knew she saw it otherwise, and he touched her hand.

She gripped him hard for one brief moment, then stepped back. “Almund is recovered and roaming the castle. He will free the rest of your men.”

“That’s a help,” Hugh said encouragingly as he seated himself.

She nodded and smiled, then returned to the head table.

He’d lied, though. A wizened old man had no chance against the dungeon guards.

Still, Hugh had to admit she’d come up with a plan. Not a good plan, but a plan. Unfortunately, it hinged on her storytelling ability, and as he stared around at the rough bunch of mercenaries who made up Richard’s troop, he hadn’t much faith in their willingness to listen.

His neighbor, as seedy a knight as any he’d ever seen, turned to him and on a wave of mead-sour breath said, “Great little light skirt you got yourself, my lord.” He stared hungrily at the sweet sway of Edlyn’s hips as she walked away. “We’ll all get a bite of that later.”

In silence, Hugh stood, grabbed the lecher by the throat, and lifted him off the bench. The knight kicked and tried to squeal, but Hugh towered above him and his grip on the cur tightened as he struggled.

In a great mass, Richard’s men leaped to their feet and started for Hugh. Hugh swung the offensive knight in a circle. The limp and booted feet knocked half a dozen warriors down. They scrambled to stand. They swung their fists. They pounded each other by mistake, then on purpose. Shrieks of wrath and pain rang in Hugh’s ears—his shrieks, others’ shrieks, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. He went down in a pile of tackling bodies. He wanted to kill this rabble. He crunched his knuckles into their faces. He dodged some blows. Others slammed his face and belly.

The battle shifted somehow. He heard bellows of rage and saw bodies lifted and flung—away from him. He struggled to his feet and found himself back to back with someone, fighting like a madman.

They were winning. Winning!

Then the shouted words of the man at his back suddenly made sense. “I’ll kill you, you asses! He’s mine!”

Hugh spun on his heel, and Richard did the same. They stared at each other, enemies who despised each other.

Fighting equals.

Then Richard grinned through split lips. “Besides,” he said, “he’ll bring either a great ransom—or great amusement.”

His knights muttered and wiped blood from their faces. Right now, they didn’t care about the ransom. Left on their own, they would have battered Hugh to death, but they’d been trained to obey Richard, and that put a rein on their tempers.

The servants dragged away unconscious warriors, and when the knight who had started it stirred, they kicked him into submission and hauled him away, Hugh knew not where.

Hugh wiped blood off his face and winced at the swelling his fingers explored. Edlyn would have to examine this. Edlyn…she stalked toward them with her herb bag in hand.

She didn’t look happy.

Prudently, Hugh stepped back and pointed at Richard. “Take him first.”

“I will,” she answered. “You deserve to suffer a little longer.”

Richard sat docilely for her ministrations, but he addressed his knights the whole time. “Sheep aren’t as stupid as you men. Think! The earl of Roxford is the royal commander. The prince will want him back. Simon of Montfort’ll want him hanged. We can make as much money off of him as we could in a year of fighting.”