Free Shadows at Stonewylde by Kit Berry Page B

was the youngest of seven. Since they’d left home she’d generally been able to avoid them and was no longer bruised by their casual violence or intimidated by their constant tormenting. But by asking them to keep an eye on her, Maizie had given them the perfect opportunity to resume their cruelty.
    ‘Go and get me the food she’s left,’ commanded Sweyn, watching Leveret fiddling with the loom. She decided not to protest and went into the pantry to fetch the cake and cheese. She was sure he’d already have eaten a good meal in the great Dining Hall tonight, but Sweyn could always find room for more. He took the plate from her without a word and began to eat. The moment she sat down he spoke again, through a mouthful of food.
    ‘Get me some cider too.’
    She stood up once more and poured him a tankard of cider from the small barrel in the pantry. She hoped he wouldn’t drink too much because he never held his drink well. But he downed it in one long, noisy draught and demanded another. It was when she sat down again and was commanded once more to get up and stoke the fire that Leveret realised he didn’t plan to let her do any weaving at all.
    The door opened and Gefrin stood at the threshold grinning. At seventeen he was a year older than Sweyn but seemed the younger of the two. He was lankier and more scrawnily built, although the two years spent farm labouring had developed his strength and stamina. He had an inane grin that rarely left his face and took his lead from Sweyn, who was marginally brighter than him. They were close as brothers, paired by their position in a large family and united in their enjoyment of teasing Leveret, whom they both deeply resented.
    ‘Alright? Mother gone already?’
    ‘Yeah. Get Gefrin a tankard too, Hare-brain.’
    When she returned with it they both sat and looked at her.
    ‘Don’t improve with age, does she?’ laughed Sweyn.
    ‘Still ugly and skinny. I pity the man who ends up with her.’
    ‘Doubt anyone’d have her – nobody’d be that desperate.’
    Leveret ignored them. They’d been mocking her looks since she was a small child and by now she thoroughly believed what they said.
    ‘Is there anything else or can I get on with the weaving now?’ she asked evenly.
    ‘Are you getting uppity?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Is she meant to be weaving then?’ asked Gefrin, gulping at his cider.
    ‘Yeah, and she’s upset Mother good and proper tonight. Her cheeks were bright red – you know how they go when she’s rattled.’
    ‘Can’t have that, can we?’ giggled Gefrin, shaking the lank hair from his face.
    ‘No we can’t,’ agreed Sweyn. ‘Poor old Mother. Things have slipped since we left, haven’t they? I think Leveret needs to be taught a lesson tonight.’
    ‘Yes, a good lesson. What did you have in mind?’
    ‘Let’s have a little think. More cider, Lev! More cider, and then you can wait out in the scullery. Shut the door behind you.’
    They wouldn’t let her take a cloak or shawl and made her stand in the chilly scullery for a good half hour. When she was summoned back inside she was shivering and pinched with cold.
    ‘Don’t stand next to the fire!’ said Sweyn sharply. ‘No point trying to warm up, not where you’re going.’
    ‘No, not where you’re going!’
    They both laughed and Leveret took a deep breath, keeping her eyes down. She contemplated running, but there was little point – Gefrin’s long legs were faster than hers and having to chase and catch her always made them worse.
    ‘Mother’ll be really angry if I don’t do any weaving,’ she said neutrally.
    ‘Too right she will,’ agreed Gefrin.
    ‘I expect she’ll punish you for it. Poor Lev.’
    Sweyn heaved himself up from the chair and burped loudly. He gripped her arm and swung her round so she stumbled into him. Then he pushed her away into Gefrin who also shoved her hard, making her fall into the table and bang her hip. They laughed again; this had been a favourite