The Merchant's Daughter (12 page)

“But please, you don’t understand.” She felt panic rise inside her. She clasped her hands and leaned toward him. “I promise my motives are pure. I only want to read it. Surely there can be naught wrong with that.”

He backed away a step, his face beginning to turn red.

She realized she was staring and cast her eyes down at the stone floor.

“I am not at all sure your motives are pure. A
woman
reading the Word of God? Are you able to interpret the Scriptures? You aren’t even dedicated to God. Never said your vows. Nay. You are to rely upon your priest to give you the interpretation of God’s Word. I will tell you what you need to know.” He gruffly cleared his throat.

What? That men and women are disgusting in their lusts and care for no one but themselves?
“I wish to read it. Please.” Her voice began to tremble. “Will you not allow me to come to the church, to read it here on Sundays after Mass?”

“Girl, you are impudent. Remember your place.”

Annabel realized she’d balled up her fists. She should leave before this priest insulted her further and she lost her tenuous control over her frustration. But before she turned away, something prompted her to ask, “Do you have a copy of the Holy Writ?”

“Nay, as a matter of fact, I don’t.” He spat the words at her. “So you see, I cannot satisfy your silly whim even if I were so inclined, which I am not. You must say ten Ave’s to absolve yourself of your insolence today. May your penitence be swift and sincere, or I cannot say what shall come of such … such wicked boldness.” He turned and stalked away.

Annabel felt heat creep up from deep inside.
I am not wicked.
She turned and stalked down the aisle of the church.

She should have known! A man who preached the kind of sermons he did could not even know what God’s Word said.
He doesn’t have a Bible.
The unfathomable words went through her mind over and over.

The man who proposed to teach her God’s will did not even have a Bible.

She stopped at the door, feeling that anyone could take one look at her face and see how angry and upset she felt. She stood unmoving, her hand on her chest as she waited to get her breathing under control.

Finally, taking one last steadying breath, she pulled her white headscarf closer about her face and stepped out.

She immediately saw Lord le Wyse astride his horse several feet away, as though he was waiting for her, and looked down so as not to meet his eye.
He probably wants to make sure I stay where I belong.
She walked briskly, hoping to catch up with the rest of the servants and workers.

Then she spotted Bailiff Tom twenty feet ahead of her, standing by the side of the road with another man, watching her. He reminded her of a fox with its tongue hanging out, staring at the henhouse. Out of the corner of her eye, as she pretended to look down at the ground, Tom elbowed the man beside him and nodded at Annabel.

She moved over as she passed the two men, angry that he had the power to make her afraid.

Continuing to walk as fast as she could, she could hear Tom and his friend walking not far behind her, muttering. What were the two of them planning? She heard only snatches of their conversation: “high and haughty,” “too good,” “get her alone,” “nothing but a — “

Horse’s hooves clopped at a trot not far behind. Annabel glanced over her shoulder. Lord le Wyse was getting closer. Would he ride on ahead? If he did, she would be left behind with these two men following her.

Her heart pounded hard and fast in her throat. Lord le Wyse
closed the distance, but instead of riding ahead, he placed himself between Bailiff Tom and Annabel.

She glanced back at Lord le Wyse. When he ignored her, she turned around and continued walking.

After escorting Annabel and the other servants home after Mass, Ranulf urged his horse into a run as he took a small path across a meadow and over a hill toward the river. Finally, he slowed the horse to a trot and patted Shadow’s neck. He surveyed the undulating countryside, green and lush along the river bank, despite the lack of summer rain. The river shimmered and tripped over short, rocky falls and wound around bends and through bogs where bluebells bloomed on the banks. He couldn’t have chosen a more picturesque village for his new home.

Guinevere would have hated it.

Just thinking her name sent a painful, sick feeling through his gut. But he’d learned to live with the pain, to think of it as a helpful reminder to him to never be so foolish again.

It was good to be away from the too-familiar paths and discover a new, as yet unspoiled place. If such a place existed.

Glynval was the location he had run to, an area where he intended to live at low ebb, flow with the simple rhythm of village life, breathe fresh air, and keep aloof. His peace would come from the natural beauty of the countryside, from his own independence and freedom. There would be nothing and no one to stir strong feelings of any kind.

His plan wasn’t working so well.

His mind went back to the girl, the merchant’s daughter — he refused to think her name — who had been forced, by him and by her lazy family, into his service. She couldn’t even walk home from Sunday Mass without attracting the wrong kind of attention — but perhaps that had been her intention. Perhaps she’d allowed herself to fall behind the rest of the maids for some perverse reason.

That thought made a growl rise up in Ranulf’s throat.

Even his master mason, Gilbert, was smitten with her. The bailiff certainly had an unhealthy interest.

But the girl seemed afraid of the bailiff. He would have to have a talk with Bailiff Tom and warn him to leave her alone and stop following her around, now that she had made it clear she had no wish to marry him.

Ranulf hated to think it, but the maiden haunted him too, and he of all people should know better. Her perfect features, her beautiful blue eyes, and her blonde hair waving about her shoulders … but it was her kindness to others, her quiet nature and the way she performed her duties with meekness and without ceremony that had caught his attention.

He scowled at his foolish idiocy, noticing a woman’s beauty, especially a servant’s.

He remembered his anger when he’d caught her looking at his paintings behind his privacy screen. Recalled her impertinence.

But intelligence sparkled in her expression, and she was too well spoken to have been born to servanthood. Rather, she’d been born a freeman’s daughter and probably had been trained to marry a free burgher or even a landed knight. Her mother was the daughter of a knight, and her father was a wealthy merchant, until fate had turned against him.

How well Ranulf knew about heartless twists of fate.

But she was indeed a servant, and he wasn’t the type of lord to dwell on a servant’s fairness of face and graceful movements. He resolved to cast her from his mind. Of course, he could also leave this place and find a new village. He’d already made good progress on building his new home, and people would say he’d lost his mind, but why should he care?

Ranulf didn’t want to leave, but he also didn’t want to let the young woman haunt him. He was haunted enough as it was. His wife, dead these three years, had also been beautiful. And she’d used her beauty like a dagger.

Beautiful women weren’t to be trusted or allowed into a man’s heart when that man was less than perfect. He’d learned that lesson well.

Annabel was readying the upper hall for supper when Lord le Wyse entered. He seemed to be in his usual grim mood. With the door open behind him, she once again caught sight of the sky, which had bruised blue and purple with clouds and threatened rain. The lord instructed Mistress Eustacia not to prepare anything special for him. He would eat the same simple fare as everyone else.

As the storm approached, Mistress Eustacia brought in torches and set them in the wall sconces so that they could see to eat. The final sconce was lit as the servants trickled in for their meal of bread and cheese. Annabel felt Lord le Wyse’s gaze on her as she seated herself near the other end of the table. Bailiff Tom kept looking at her, and Gilbert Carpenter did as well, but she pretended not to notice them. Why did she always have to eat her food with an audience of men staring at her? It was beyond irritating.

Lord le Wyse’s mood seemed to grow blacker during the meal, and he growled at a serving girl who spilled ale on the table and didn’t wipe it up quickly enough.

Annabel helped Mistress Eustacia clear away the leftovers while most of the other servants remained in the hall, including Bailiff Tom and Gilbert Carpenter, who talked quietly near a corner of the room.

To keep her mind from the two men’s conversation, Annabel began to speculate on what Lord le Wyse thought of the day’s sermon. Was he accustomed to more uplifting messages? Did his priest back in Lincoln give more intellectual sermons?

While the servants and workers talked or went about their duties, Lord le Wyse suddenly cleared his throat, jarring Annabel from her thoughts.

Everyone became quiet as all eyes focused on him, waiting for what he would say. He looked around the room, scowling darkly — his usual expression.

“I desire reading,” he declared in a loud voice. “Does anyone here know how to read?”

They all continued staring at him, not saying anything. His scowl deepened. Annabel’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She would have to speak up if no one else did.

Given his wealth and station, it was almost certain Lord le Wyse knew how to read himself, but perhaps at night, in dim light, it would be difficult with only one eye.

Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
Hadn’t Lord le Wyse considered whether any of the servants he’d brought to Glynval with him knew how to read? Surely there is someone.

Her heart beat faster as she hesitated.

His gaze came to rest on Annabel. He would find out eventually, and she didn’t want to anger him. She took in a quick breath. “I can read.”

Everyone turned to stare at her.

“Can you read Latin?”

“Yes, my lord.” She met his eye briefly.

“Come, then,” he ordered.

She walked toward him, realizing that she had just ruined her plan to keep her distance from him. He stood scowling at her until she had crossed the room and stood in front of him. Then he turned away. He dragged his own high-backed, cushioned chair nearer the fire, pulling a small table up beside it.

“Sit here.”

He motioned to Mistress Eustacia. “Bring more candles.” He hastened behind the screen, and amid the flurry of activity, most of the other servants hurried out the door.

She sat enveloped in his chair, clasping her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting. A creaking sound came from behind the lord’s screen, and when he reappeared from behind it, he carried a huge tome. Her breaths became shorter as she watched him come closer, her gaze fastened on the book in his hands.

Reverently, he laid the huge book in her lap.

Her hands trembled as she stared at it. One hand fluttered down and gingerly touched the cover. She began to breathe so fast she feared she would faint.

A Holy Bible.

Tears blurred her vision as she looked up at him. “Thank you, my lord. I — “ Her voice cracked and a tear slid down both cheeks. Mortified, she wiped the tears away with the corner of her apron as quickly as she could. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

Lord le Wyse actually owned a Bible and was allowing her to read it! She took deep breaths, working to calm herself and force back the tears. What must Lord le Wyse think of her? That she had lost her mind? Besides, she couldn’t risk getting tears on the precious book.

Feeling as though she had successfully forced back the tears, she nodded her head. “I am ready now.”

When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up at him again. She was startled by the expression on his face. He almost looked like a different person. Gone was the scowl, and he stared back as though he were trying to see into her mind.

They were now alone in the large room, except for Mistress Eustacia, who was sitting in the corner by the window, sewing.

Finally, Lord le Wyse asked in a surprisingly quiet tone, “Why did you cry?”