Peter Kilkern introduced himself and announced in a clear crisp tone what he expected from his tenants. “I care not how hard you work or what revelry you make, but my fee for farming my land will be seventy-five percent of all harvested crops.”
The crowd had gasped, and he in turn had silenced them with a raised hand. “I am not finished.”
The crowd’s mumbles faded, and it was with heavy hearts they continued to listen.
“Tenants will not be allowed to hunt on my land—”
That was when Brigid’s husband John spoke up.
“How are we to live?”
Peter Kilkern turned glaring eyes on him. “Who asks this?”
John stepped forward without fear. He was a large man in height and width, and handsome. All the women in the village had vied for his attention, but he had lost his heart to Brigid, for how could he not? Brigid was beautiful, tall, slim, long reddish-blond hair and the face of an angel.
“I am John, and we have lived well under Philip Kilkern’s fair rule, and his lands thrive because of our care.”
Peter Kilkern’s voice turned harsh. “My lands best continue to thrive because of your care. And you will not hunt off Kilkern land; the animals are for my hunting and feeding pleasure, not yours.”
John tried to reason. “Your land stretches far and wide; it will take days for us to reach land where it is permissible to hunt for food.”
“That matters not to me.”
“How can it not?” John asked. “Do you not care if your tenants starve?”
Peter Kilkern’s dark eyes glared like an animal ready to attack. “You dare question me?”
Brigid stepped forward, her instincts to protect her husband, but Reena’s father stilled her steps with his large hand and whispered, “Do not be foolish.”
John kept his tone calm and reasonable. “Hungry tenants cannot work hard.”
Peter Kilkern advanced on John. “Tenants work hungry or not.” And to everyone’s horror, and before anyone could react, Kilkern pulled his knife from its sheath and struck at John, slicing his arm open from shoulder to wrist.
“No one is to challenge my edicts,” the man raged, his face red with anger.
Brigid screamed and ran to her husband as several men nearby reached out for John as he dropped to the ground in agonizing pain.
Brigid had worked frantically to stem the bleeding and to piece his savaged arm together. Fever soon set in, and within a week John died, after having suffered greatly. Everyone in the village had offered Brigid their help, but that winter proved difficult for all. There was barely enough food to feed everyone, and without game from the surrounding woods, many went hungry. Reena’s father had gone hunting in an attempt to find food; he suffered a broken leg, and by the time he managed to return to the village, his leg had begun to heal, though not properly. Her father lost much weight, and now he walked with a severe limp that limited his ability to farm the land.
Reena had taken over her father’s farming chores, but they proved more demanding than she had expected. Average in height and slim, she had never lacked strength or fortitude in completing any task, but the constant struggle with the land overwhelmed her, and she began to lose weight until she barely resembled herself. Her once full breasts shrunk to a mere handful, her curving waist, which had flowed to curving hips, were no more, and her face had lost its fullness. If it were not for her long, shiny black hair, many would think her a young lad; it fell to the middle of her back and was straight, not a curl or wave to it. She wore it tied back, rarely pinning it up, preferring it loose and free.
When possible, she had helped Brigid attempt to keep up the parcel of land that John had so successfully cultivated. There were many nights when she had been too exhausted to eat and fell into bed only to begin her arduous chores again at sunrise. The second winter proved more disastrous—several older villagers died, along with two babies, barely two years.
Reena could not, would not allow another horrendous winter to pass. All the villagers had worked together to help one another, giving food to those who had none, helping to farm another’s plot along with their own, but it had taken its toll, and they were beginning to hoard their food for themselves for fear of starving.
It could not go on, especially with what had recently happened to Brigid. Peter Kilkern had mostly kept to himself, his men keeping count of the tenant fees paid with the harvest. One day Kilkern rode up on his steed as the villagers arrived at the keep to pay their fees. Brigid had been among them, and her beauty had caught his eye. He had approached her and made it known that she would do well to please him, for then she and her friends would not go hungry.