The frozen demeanor of the woman at his side did nothing to help. Robert grunted as the cart slammed over another stone, then nearly bit his tongue clear off when they bounced over a large hole in the road. “My backside shall never be the same,” Berthilde grumbled from her place in the back of the cart. Aleene did not make a sound. She steadied herself by holding to the plank upon which they sat, her knuckles white with the strain. Her face, though, showed nothing but an icy indifference. He had tried over the last couple of days to speak to her as they made their slow way through the countryside. Aleene would not acknowledge him with even a nod. As they passed through several burned-out villages, she paid more attention to the few remaining people, all sick and hungry. Aleene gave away their own meager provisions, then turned back to him, her face devoid of emotion. He thought he detected a hint of defiance glinting in her black eyes the first time she gave a poor woman some of their bread.
