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Wulfric
"Wulfric. Get over here and get on your horse. Willheard. Mount your horse, too."
Wulfric felt his face turn red the way it did when he was angry. That kind of words from his father would've been a rebuke. From Coenred, they would have been painful but acceptable. From this treachery-brewing peasant whimp? Unbearable.
Still, Wulfric knew that showing their internal disputes before Faramund's men would be even worse than the humiliation Thornden was trying to put him through. Thornden would pay, but later.
"Baldwic," he said, fighting to keep his composure and succeeding for the most part. "Me and Wilheard's horses."
"Yes, sir," the young soldier replied quietly, as if suddenly shy of being the center of so many people's attention. Wulfric thanked his luck that he had named the correct soldier, but then again, Wilheard's steed was so tricky that not many cared or were able to look after it, and Baldwic was a good horseman and dutiful.
Deliberately slowly, Wulfric took the reins of his horse and mounted, while Wilheard acted with double the speed and half the show. Wulfric made a note to himself to discuss the finery of giving a lordly impression with his little brother.
When he was sitting on his horse, he gave Thornden a glance, not bothering to conceal his anger and dislike for the man. He spoke in a voice loud enough to reach the men mounted closest to them, but not Faramund's soldiers: "Next time watch whom you try to boss around, soldier." Before Thornden could say anything, he added in a tone he deemed nobleman-like: "But let us not bicker here now. There are more important things at hand."
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