He did not even have to say anything. She would have died rather than cause a scene. Mistress Birta emerged from the kitchen with the meat, dressed and wrapped since it was the frater’s portion. She greeted Hugh but he replied with a monosyllable. Hanna appeared from the back room and watched as Liath took the meat from Birta and then retreated toward the door. Hugh walked two paces behind her, as if he was driving her. The traveler looked up. He was a grizzled, weather-beaten man wearing a fur-lined riding coat. He studied the scene with interest. Liath felt his gaze on her back as she left.
Outside, Hugh hit her. At least he was wearing gloves, so the blow did not sting quite so badly. “Did I give you leave to come down here?”
“I had to fetch the meat—”
He slapped her again. Unable to help herself, she covered her cheek with a hand. Lady, it hurt. From the shadowed eaves of the inn came a movement, stifled; someone was watching them.
“You will ask my permission. Any time you go anywhere. Wait here.” Hugh went back inside. Liath waited.
Hanna crept out from the side of the inn: “Liath—”
The door opened and Hugh came out, Mistress Birta following behind him as if she were his bonded servant. “Of course, Frater,” she was saying with her hands placed just so and her expression as fixed with good cheer as any image carved into wood, “I’ll have my boy Karl deliver everything from now on.” She cast a piercing glance toward Hanna, and Hanna retreated hastily back around the corner of the inn.
“Come, Liath.” Hugh grabbed her by the arm, his fingers as sharp as talons, and dragged her forward. She shook his arm off and kept up on her own. He said nothing more, the whole walk back. Nothing more the entire day, but he dogged her movements everywhere, and he hit her any time he thought she might be getting the least rest or respite from the cold.
She slept fitfully that night. The next day, and the day after, passed the same. And the next, and the next, until the days blended together into one seamless blur of cold misery and she lost track of time passing. The weather remained cold, but it was not yet bitterly cold. She settled her dirty heap of straw well in among the pigs. Trotter liked her best and allowed her to sleep huddled up against his rough back.
Once, brushing down the horses, she heard Hanna’s voice outside. She ran to the door. There stood Hugh surveying Hanna with coldest contempt.
“Your young brother is to deliver goods, no one else,” he said. “So I arranged it with your mother.”
“I beg you, Frater, if you would only let me speak with—”
“I told you to go.”
Hanna turned and saw Liath.