Celia, too, but that was a dull resentment. Her they hated in an active, burning way.
Why?
Everywhere she went she felt their eyes pierce her like sharp blades, though when she faced them, their expressions were dull and blank. Even just crossing the bailey her spine crawled with the feeling that she was a target.
For a while she had continued to go out into the countryside to collect wild plants to supplement the food. She had also hoped for a meeting with her outlaw, with Golden Hart, so she could seek his help. But one day she had been struck by a large stone, thrown with vicious intent. She had fled back to her guard and stopped her wanderings.
She talked to Dorothy about it as she prepared for bed one night. “Is it my imagination, Dorothy, that the people here hate me?”
The woman combed out Madeleine’s long chestnut hair. “Why should they, my lady?”
“I don’t know. Do they say anything to you?”
“No,” said the woman sourly. “Hold your head still, do.”
Madeleine realized her maid must be as cut off as she was. No wonder she was surly. “Would you like to share my English lessons, Dorothy?”
She felt a particularly hard yank on her hair. “No, I would not, my lady,” snapped Dorothy. “The very idea. Teach them to speak proper. That’s more to the point.”
Madeleine sighed. “I wonder when I will hear from the king.”
“Doubtless he has better things to do than bother about your affairs,” said the woman, driven for once into loquacity. “Why, if matters are everywhere as they are here, he must be driven mad by the wretches. Refusing to do their work, always complaining, trying to leave their proper place as if they had a right to wander wherever they will. Heathens, that’s what they are, for all they pray in a Christian church.”
It was true that people continued to slip away from the manor in ones and twos. Paul put his guards on the village, but still his daily rages against Golden Hart marked another family gone. When the headman of the village came to report that the ox-herd and his family had escaped, Paul turned a deep, engorged red, then a frightening white.
“What?” he roared. “Go after him! Bring him back!”
No wonder he was in a rage; Madeleine felt a spurt of panic herself. The ox-herd was one of the essential people on any estate, and though his full skills would not be needed until harvest time, who would look after his beasts? Without oxen they would surely starve.
“No one knows where he’s gone, Lord,” stammered the man.
“Find him,” ordered de Pouissey. He lunged forward and fastened his beefy hands around the man’s throat. “Find him!” He shook the man, who made nasty gurgling noises.
“Aunt,” cried Madeleine. “Stop him!”
Dame Celia shrank back. “Why? He’s just another troublemaker. Let him strangle.”
Madeleine ran forward and grabbed her uncle’s thick arm. “Uncle, stop!”
He released the man’s throat and flung Madeleine off so that she was sent sprawling on the floor. “Keep out of my way, you wretched girl!‘” he snarled. His hounds leaped up and stood over her, growling, keeping her on the floor at his feet. She stared at their bared fangs and could imagine them tearing at her throat.
Her uncle looked down at the headman, who was kneeling, clutching his throat and choking. “If any of the oxen die,” he said flatly, “you die. Now get out of here.”
On hands and knees, the man went.
Paul de Pouissey turned on Madeleine. “Interfere with me again, Niece, and I’ll yoke you to the plow.” With that he snapped his fingers and lumbered out into the courtyard to whip more work out of the laborers. With a disdainful curl of their lips the two hounds abandoned Madeleine and followed.
Shakily, she rose to her feet. She looked to her aunt, but found no help there.
“Stupid girl,” the woman snapped. “Don’t you know better than to interfere in men’s affairs? I don’t know what they taught you
Why?
Everywhere she went she felt their eyes pierce her like sharp blades, though when she faced them, their expressions were dull and blank. Even just crossing the bailey her spine crawled with the feeling that she was a target.
For a while she had continued to go out into the countryside to collect wild plants to supplement the food. She had also hoped for a meeting with her outlaw, with Golden Hart, so she could seek his help. But one day she had been struck by a large stone, thrown with vicious intent. She had fled back to her guard and stopped her wanderings.
She talked to Dorothy about it as she prepared for bed one night. “Is it my imagination, Dorothy, that the people here hate me?”
The woman combed out Madeleine’s long chestnut hair. “Why should they, my lady?”
“I don’t know. Do they say anything to you?”
“No,” said the woman sourly. “Hold your head still, do.”
Madeleine realized her maid must be as cut off as she was. No wonder she was surly. “Would you like to share my English lessons, Dorothy?”
She felt a particularly hard yank on her hair. “No, I would not, my lady,” snapped Dorothy. “The very idea. Teach them to speak proper. That’s more to the point.”
Madeleine sighed. “I wonder when I will hear from the king.”
“Doubtless he has better things to do than bother about your affairs,” said the woman, driven for once into loquacity. “Why, if matters are everywhere as they are here, he must be driven mad by the wretches. Refusing to do their work, always complaining, trying to leave their proper place as if they had a right to wander wherever they will. Heathens, that’s what they are, for all they pray in a Christian church.”
It was true that people continued to slip away from the manor in ones and twos. Paul put his guards on the village, but still his daily rages against Golden Hart marked another family gone. When the headman of the village came to report that the ox-herd and his family had escaped, Paul turned a deep, engorged red, then a frightening white.
“What?” he roared. “Go after him! Bring him back!”
No wonder he was in a rage; Madeleine felt a spurt of panic herself. The ox-herd was one of the essential people on any estate, and though his full skills would not be needed until harvest time, who would look after his beasts? Without oxen they would surely starve.
“No one knows where he’s gone, Lord,” stammered the man.
“Find him,” ordered de Pouissey. He lunged forward and fastened his beefy hands around the man’s throat. “Find him!” He shook the man, who made nasty gurgling noises.
“Aunt,” cried Madeleine. “Stop him!”
Dame Celia shrank back. “Why? He’s just another troublemaker. Let him strangle.”
Madeleine ran forward and grabbed her uncle’s thick arm. “Uncle, stop!”
He released the man’s throat and flung Madeleine off so that she was sent sprawling on the floor. “Keep out of my way, you wretched girl!‘” he snarled. His hounds leaped up and stood over her, growling, keeping her on the floor at his feet. She stared at their bared fangs and could imagine them tearing at her throat.
Her uncle looked down at the headman, who was kneeling, clutching his throat and choking. “If any of the oxen die,” he said flatly, “you die. Now get out of here.”
On hands and knees, the man went.
Paul de Pouissey turned on Madeleine. “Interfere with me again, Niece, and I’ll yoke you to the plow.” With that he snapped his fingers and lumbered out into the courtyard to whip more work out of the laborers. With a disdainful curl of their lips the two hounds abandoned Madeleine and followed.
Shakily, she rose to her feet. She looked to her aunt, but found no help there.
“Stupid girl,” the woman snapped. “Don’t you know better than to interfere in men’s affairs? I don’t know what they taught you
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