Nadia de Barbec tried to hide her disgust as the servant girl led her into the mouldering banquet hall. The smell of rotten thatching almost made her retch.
“Good evening and welcome,” sir Gerrick said, standing to bow to his guest. He stood at the head of the long table piled high with all manner of fine foods. She guessed that six months worth of livestock had gone into this banquet. She courtsied once without bowing her head.
“Your hospitality knows no end,” she said.
“But of course. A pity though, I was expecting your father.”
Nadia remained standing by the door, trying hard not to look at the other men present, men who were all watching her intently. She was under no illusions. Any one of them would slit her throat at a sign from Gerrick.
“He has other business to attend to that keeps him in Dane.”
“Indeed.” Gerrick sat down. “Then you’ll have to do. Take her.”
Nadia’s blood ran cold as his men dragged her out of the hall and threw her in the obliquet, breaking her arm in the fall.