‘And what would I have done if he had killed you, all alone out here in this vile place?’ Cynric shot her an unpleasant glance. ‘From what I saw, Egil did mean you harm, boy,’ he said to Bartholomew. ‘He was choking the life out of you.’ ‘He was!’ agreed Julianna. ‘I saved your life, but now you think I am a murderess.’ ‘Well, so you are,’ said Michael unsympathetically. ‘Where did you learn such things? Not at Denny, I am sure.’ ‘It came naturally,’ said Julianna, not without pride. ‘I just knew what needed to be done and I did it. My uncle, Thomas Deschalers, always said I should have been born a boy. Then I might have been a fine warrior.’ Bartholomew gazed at her in revulsion. The woman had just struck a man dead, so that even now her hands were red from the blood that had splattered onto them, and she was boasting about it. He sat back on his heels and felt a wave of sickness pass over him. Egil had been killed instantly, his skull smashed like an egg under the great rock she had used.
