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as if she’d grown out of a dress she’d worn as a girl. Hugh was at once enthralled and offended.
    I suppose times have been hard for Saxons. But she has a Norman husband .
    Torod reappeared, indicating their room was ready, and directed them to it. The two Saxon girls were just finishing their task. They seemed nervous and wouldn’t look at the Normans. Once they’d left and the door was closed, Hugh burst out, “Something odd is going on here, Antoine.”
    “I agree. It’s a strange atmosphere.”
    The brothers readied themselves for the meal, assisting each other with their chain mail since they hadn’t brought a valet. They descended to the Hall, where several men-at-arms were gathered, shouting loudly at the harried Saxon servants. Ram’s men sat apart, watching the others with an air of disgust.
    Renouf gave no indication where they were to sit, but they naturally went to the head table as befitted their rank. They exchanged a glance of dismay at the lack of courtesy. The two Saxon girls, Hugh assumed they were Bemia and Aediva, waited on the head table. Lady Devona reddened when they served her food. He was somewhat taken aback when one of the girls carried food to the unkempt woman slumped against the wall, and shared it with her. The still recumbent dog looked on with interest, tongue lolling as it panted.
    “Get that madwoman out of here!” Renouf bellowed. “Into the kitchens with all of you. Damn Saxons!”
    Brigantia lumbered to her feet and barked at Renouf whose anger was evident. “Get rid of that hound before I cut its head off!”
    Obviously agitated, Bemia and Aediva dragged the woman and the protesting dog into the kitchen. Hugh saw that Devona was close to tears, fighting for control.
    “Peasants!” Renouf spat. “Saxon peasants.”
    Hugh felt anger rise in his throat and clenched his jaw. No one at the head table spoke as the meal continued amid the raucous noise of the men-at-arms. Hugh and Antoine exchanged disapproving glances at the bad manners being exhibited. Devona seemed to be having difficulty eating.
    “Eat something, woman!” Renouf shouted, tossing a piece of bread torn from his trencher at her. “You’re skin and bones.”
    “I’m not hungr—”
    “Eat, woman!” Renouf bellowed.
    Devona cringed and leaned forward to eat. She raised a trembling hand to move her wimple aside. Her sleeve fell back to reveal angry red marks on her wrist. Hugh understood now why he had detected the scent of marigold. She must have used it to take the sting from the welts. She quickly withdrew her hand, but not before the wimple had shifted slightly and he saw the purple bruise high on her cheekbone. He stole a glance at Renouf who was engrossed in explaining something to Antoine. His blood boiled. The animal was abusing this fair lady. He remembered Ram’s observations. No wonder we Normans are hated .
    He experienced a bone-deep desire to cut the man up and feed him to the dogs. He opened his mouth to accuse Renouf but then saw the pleading look in Devona’s eyes as she shook her head ever so slightly. He had an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and promise her she would never be hurt again.
    Antoine was carrying on the conversation. “Tell me, Sir Renouf, what of the Saxon thane of this manor?”
    “Dead!” Renouf said, his mouth full of food. “At Stamford Bridge.”
    “That would be your father, Lady Devona?” Hugh asked gently, a feeling of relief sweeping over him that her father hadn’t died at Hastings thus his death couldn’t be laid at Hugh’s door.
    “Yes,” she whispered. “He was slain by a Norwegian giant who took a stand with a battle axe on the bridge. It’s said he mowed down at least two score Saxon warriors before he was impaled on a spear thrust from under the bridge.”
    “Well,” Renouf guffawed, “That was two score fewer Saxons for us to dispatch at Hastings, eh?”
    Hugh bristled with anger at the brute’s callousness and caught the