The Merchant's Daughter by Melanie Dickerson

But which wolf was he planning on throwing her to?Ī pleased smile spread over Edward’s thin lips. Her brother wasn’t concerned about her, she knew - he wanted to solve his own troubles by throwing her to the wolves. Someone who is prepared to smooth over our trouble with the new lord and pay the fines so we don’t have to work in our lord’s fields.” He began rolling the stick between his fingers, smirking at it. “Nay, I do not.” She glared back at him, wishing she could think of a scathing retort. Maybe you know of someone who might marry you. You’re seventeen years old now and well beyond the age of accountability. “If you are wise, you will try to think whose bread you need to butter to see that you have a home after today.”Īnnabel’s back stiffened, and she prepared for whatever offensive thing her brother would say next. “Do you want to end up sleeping in ditches and begging bread? Help with the harvest? It’s too late to start doing your share now, little sister.” He flung the words at her, jabbing his stick in her direction with each phrase. “I’ve decided to help with the harvest this year.” She crossed her arms as her brother moved closer to her. For the past three years he had stood by, just like the rest of her family, refusing to do any of their required work in the fields, putting them all in this situation. What will happen to us? To you?” He thrust the stick at her face.Īnnabel bit back annoyance at her brother’s derisive tone. Even if the hallmote is lenient, I’ve heard he is far from forgiving. “I know that.” The manorial court, or hallmote, was being held today, and a jury of twelve men from their village of Glynval would decide the penalty for her family’s neglect of their duties. “Mother was summoned this morning to appear before the hallmote.” When he lifted his head, his green eyes fixed her with a hard look. She blew on her burning thumb as she hurried from the kitchen.Įdward stood propped against the wall in the spacious front room of their stone house, scraping under his fingernails with a sharp stick. He thinks he doesn’t have to help with the work, but I should abandon my task and come running whenever he calls.

Spying the bucket of water she had used to wash the peas, she plunged her hand into it. But as the pot swung forward on its hook, the cloth slipped and her thumb touched the lid. Snatching a cloth from the table, she used it to pull the boiling pot toward her and away from the fire.

She jumped up, banging her shin on the iron kettle on the floor. As she hurried to finish shelling the pea pod in her hand and see what Edward wanted, the pot over the fire began to boil over. A bead of sweat tickled her hairline while only the barest puff of warm air came through the open door. Annabel sat in the kitchen shelling peas in to a kettle at her feet.

The Merchant's Daughter by Melanie Dickerson