Richard jumped at the sound of a voice - a fact that made him mortally ashamed almost immediately - and whirled around to face the sound, his hand instinctively flying to the dagger at his side. The thing was ceremonial more than functional, the fitting trappings for the wedding of a warrior nobleman, but it would serve a purpose if he needed it to.
However, the voice, he realised at once, did not sound in the least bit threatening. Neither, for that matter, looked the woman from whence it came. She was a small red-head, dressed in a fashion the like of which he had never encountered before, and the sympathetic look on her face gave the impression of motherly understanding rather than any kind of malice. Still, Richard could not dispel the shiver of unease that ran up his spine and he stood, his body tense, his dark brows deeply creased, as he watched her with the sharp eyes of a hawk.
"Then explain yourself," Richard commanded in his most Dukely voice, his hand still tightly clasping the hilt of his dagger, waiting on any provocation to draw.