Who’s in charge?”
"My—my husband’s dead," said a small, fragile-looking brunette with huge brown eyes. "I suppose—"
"If he was in charge, let’s make it you, unless someone argues. Get going," Raoul ordered. "Don’t flutter, mistress, just do it."
The brunette turned away from Raoul. Kel watched her, thinking she would crumble or delay. Instead the woman squared her shoulders against the no-nonsense gray cotton of her dress. Her chin went up. She began to call out names, her voice firm as she went on. A slender man carrying a longbow and quiver came to stand beside her. Those her hesitated at her orders behaved after that.