worthy of our attention.”
The animal had shrugged Linnea off as if she were, indeed, only some minor weight thrown heedlessly upon him and shed just as heedlessly. But though she lay crumpled ignominiously against the rough wall of the pantry, the dog stood over her as if to attack, his huge head lowered, his hackles raised. His great yellow teeth bared.
“To calm,” the boy spoke once more, though there was less of command and more of hilarity in his tone. But at least he gripped the beast’s studded collar now, affording Linnea the faintest reprieve from her fear of being eaten alive.
“Is it your wont to barrel unannounced through shielded passages? Methinks a bell to chime at your neck would serve us all a good warning.”
Linnea pushed herself upright, but slowly. Her veil had come loose during her fall and hung askew, so she pulled it off and knotted it in her angry fists. Her tumbled hair she thrust carelessly behind her shoulder as she faced the snarling hound and its grinning master.
“If you would let me pass,” she muttered, curbing her tongue though the effort came close to choking her.
“Go back the way you came,” he said with a smug moue. “Unless you do flee from something—or somebody. My brother’s body?” he added with the coarse innuendo too common to youthful males. Before this day Linnea had understood little of the vulgar implications, save that they were somehow vulgar. But after her grandmother’s unsettling explanation of what men and women did together, followed by Axton de la Manse’s disturbing hints and now this boy’s crude words, she understood far more than she wanted to.
“Your brother is occupied with one of his men,” she bit out.
“One of his men? Ah, but you could not be more wrong. He is not of so perverse a nature—nor am I,” he ended on a boastful note.
Linnea glared at him. Was she to make sense of that? She chose not to even try, for she’d had enough of male coarseness for this day. “Let me pass. Boy,” she added, as fury got the better of common sense. She gathered her unfamiliarly heavy skirts in one hand and started forward as if to push past him in the narrow passage. But the dog lunged forward and she leaped back, and all the while the boy hooted in derision.
“Boy, you say? Man enough to control this mighty beast, and man enough to control you as well.”
Sweet Mary, but that was the very last straw. First his huge oaf of a brother threatening her with his husbandly rights. Now him, with his nasty smirk and vicious pet. “Know you how easy it is to fell one such as he?” she hissed, too angry to guard her words any longer. “To paint a joint of mutton with oil of belladonna and feed it to this thing you call a dog would be no difficult task for me.” She drew herself up in the face of his startled expression. “Best you and he stay well out of my way.”
Then, afraid to push past him, but more afraid to go back into the hall and chance meeting his brother, she stepped firmly toward the boy, though passing on the side away from the animal he held so tightly to him.
Thankfully he let her go and she did not dally in the short passageway that connected the hall to the castle offices. Through the chamber she hurried. But she noted the disorder in the office, the ledgers spread open on the table, the money box also open—and empty.
A curse upon them all, she swore. They were thieves who robbed her family of right and respect and belongings.
Once beyond the offices, however, she hesitated yet again. Where to fly, now that there was no solace to be found anywhere within these heavy stone walls? Sister gone. Father useless. Grandmother more torment than comfort.
The chapel bell tolled sext, and it was as if it called an answer to her desperation—or once again St. Jude did. Linnea knew that Father Martin was to aid in Beatrix’s escape. Maybe she was hidden in the chapel. Even if she weren’t, the priest might have some word of her
The animal had shrugged Linnea off as if she were, indeed, only some minor weight thrown heedlessly upon him and shed just as heedlessly. But though she lay crumpled ignominiously against the rough wall of the pantry, the dog stood over her as if to attack, his huge head lowered, his hackles raised. His great yellow teeth bared.
“To calm,” the boy spoke once more, though there was less of command and more of hilarity in his tone. But at least he gripped the beast’s studded collar now, affording Linnea the faintest reprieve from her fear of being eaten alive.
“Is it your wont to barrel unannounced through shielded passages? Methinks a bell to chime at your neck would serve us all a good warning.”
Linnea pushed herself upright, but slowly. Her veil had come loose during her fall and hung askew, so she pulled it off and knotted it in her angry fists. Her tumbled hair she thrust carelessly behind her shoulder as she faced the snarling hound and its grinning master.
“If you would let me pass,” she muttered, curbing her tongue though the effort came close to choking her.
“Go back the way you came,” he said with a smug moue. “Unless you do flee from something—or somebody. My brother’s body?” he added with the coarse innuendo too common to youthful males. Before this day Linnea had understood little of the vulgar implications, save that they were somehow vulgar. But after her grandmother’s unsettling explanation of what men and women did together, followed by Axton de la Manse’s disturbing hints and now this boy’s crude words, she understood far more than she wanted to.
“Your brother is occupied with one of his men,” she bit out.
“One of his men? Ah, but you could not be more wrong. He is not of so perverse a nature—nor am I,” he ended on a boastful note.
Linnea glared at him. Was she to make sense of that? She chose not to even try, for she’d had enough of male coarseness for this day. “Let me pass. Boy,” she added, as fury got the better of common sense. She gathered her unfamiliarly heavy skirts in one hand and started forward as if to push past him in the narrow passage. But the dog lunged forward and she leaped back, and all the while the boy hooted in derision.
“Boy, you say? Man enough to control this mighty beast, and man enough to control you as well.”
Sweet Mary, but that was the very last straw. First his huge oaf of a brother threatening her with his husbandly rights. Now him, with his nasty smirk and vicious pet. “Know you how easy it is to fell one such as he?” she hissed, too angry to guard her words any longer. “To paint a joint of mutton with oil of belladonna and feed it to this thing you call a dog would be no difficult task for me.” She drew herself up in the face of his startled expression. “Best you and he stay well out of my way.”
Then, afraid to push past him, but more afraid to go back into the hall and chance meeting his brother, she stepped firmly toward the boy, though passing on the side away from the animal he held so tightly to him.
Thankfully he let her go and she did not dally in the short passageway that connected the hall to the castle offices. Through the chamber she hurried. But she noted the disorder in the office, the ledgers spread open on the table, the money box also open—and empty.
A curse upon them all, she swore. They were thieves who robbed her family of right and respect and belongings.
Once beyond the offices, however, she hesitated yet again. Where to fly, now that there was no solace to be found anywhere within these heavy stone walls? Sister gone. Father useless. Grandmother more torment than comfort.
The chapel bell tolled sext, and it was as if it called an answer to her desperation—or once again St. Jude did. Linnea knew that Father Martin was to aid in Beatrix’s escape. Maybe she was hidden in the chapel. Even if she weren’t, the priest might have some word of her
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