Page 10 of The Herald's Heart
From the back of the crowd a voice arose. “That is no ghost. ‘Tis Liar Larkin, the foundling.”
“Aye, she’s na one of us,” echoed Wat the miller.
“She’s an orphan, forced on us by the abbess,” shouted another voice.
“She gives herself airs with that Norman speech,” said the voice at the back of the crowd.
Behind her, she felt the big man tense. She peered at him over her shoulder. A frown of concentration decorated his face, as if he tried to solve a puzzle.
Shouts of “throw the lying wench in the dungeon,” merged with yells of “fetch tar and feathers.” Cries of “stone her” echoed among the more general rumble of confusion and outrage.
The knight pushed her behind him. “There will be no talk of stones or tar,” he commanded, “until the truth is told. There will be no judgment until the earl returns. You all know I carry the king’s writ and hold authority, even over the earl. Hence, I hold authority here. This woman will wait his judgment under my protection. As long as she remains so, none shall do her harm or insult. Is that understood?” The chaos reduced itself to small murmurs and shifting bodies.
“I saw the writ he speaks of wi’ me own eyes at the alehouse. We’ve no choice but to listen to him,” Alice’s shout sounded over the general hubbub.
“She should be punished for frightin’ us all like she has,” said Wat, who looked eager to see Larkin powerless.
“I’ve done no wrong.” Stepping out from behind the knight, she said, “Who was it who fetched the abbess when your son fell and broke his leg this Sunday past, Wat?”
“The liar’s made fools of us all,” protested a woman. Wat’s wife, Larkin realized from the high-pitched screech.
“Was it foolery when I brought you to your dying mother?” She stared pointedly at the miller’s wife. “Or the midwife to your sister, Alice Cook?”
Alice blushed and bent her head.
“Nay,” shouted Mistress Miller. “The help ye’ve given us was good and valuable, but we helped you in turn. We accepted ye, despite yer lies of noble birth, and forgave ye because the abbess spoke for ye. We treated ye with kindness, and look how ye’ve returned that kindness. Ye’ve no excuse for scarin’ folk like ye done.”
That voice from the far edge of the crowd yelled, “Defend your actions Liar Larkin, if you can.”
The crowd pushed in on the stairs that led to where she stood.
“Halt!” Her captor’s order held them back. He turned her to face him. “Say now what is the truth of this ghostly business, or I might not be able to stop them,” he demanded.
She turned away to look at the crowd in the bailey. “I am sorry I frightened you. I did not mean to. I only meant to scare off the earl so I could search the keep for proof that I am who I claim to be. That I am Lady Larkin Rosham.”
“Those lies again, wench.” The guard, Cleve, spoke. The crowd’s silence showed their support of him. “All have heard how Lady Larkin was murdered by the Scots. Were you truly that lady, none would believe you, so have done. Ye’re naught but an orphan what lived on the charity o’ the abbess and ne’re will be anything else.”
“I want justice for the fright she’s caused us all and the work lost because of her,” Wat Miller shouted.
“Cease, Wat. Ye only want revenge ’cause the wench would not let you under her skirts,” Alice said.
The crowd laughed as Wat ran from the rain of blows his wife showered upon him. The villagers followed to watch the fun. Larkin sighed and turned to find the giant talking with Cleve and Alice.
“Come,” he said to the guard and the cook. Then he clasped Larkin’s wrist and tugged her after him. “I’ve decisions to make.”
