The Merchant's Daughter (20 page)

It was almost time for bed, and Annabel stepped carefully in the dark, wishing she’d asked someone to come with her, but at least she still carried her knife. Sometimes she asked Beatrice to go with her to the privy, but Beatrice wasn’t being very friendly today. Most of the maids didn’t walk all the way down the rustic path, as the privy was deep in the woods, well away from the manor house. Most simply found a thick bush to squat behind. But she preferred to avail herself of the privacy of the little wooden building.

She glanced at the trees that crowded the well-worn path on both sides, knowing the wooden privy stood in a small clearing ahead. Just when she was about to lose what little nerve she’d retained during her walk, her destination appeared in the dappled moonlight that filtered through the leaves.

She reached her hand out to open the door and an owl hooted. She jumped, then frowned.
If a bird of prey wants to sneak up on his food, he shouldn’t hoot so loudly.

She spent as little time as possible inside the small privy. When she pushed open the rough wooden door and stepped outside, Annabel caught sight of movement, someone emerging from around the side of the privy. She tried to make out which maiden it was, as it had to be another woman heading for the privy, since only women were allowed in the vicinity.

But as the figure approached, it was clearly not female.

The man lunged toward her and grabbed her arm in one swift movement. All the air rushed from her chest. She opened her lips to scream, but the man clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her into the trees.

Chapter
10

Annabel clawed at his arm while trying to
draw in a good breath. Finally, she gave up on screaming and struggled to bite him, though the rank odor of his hand, like soured milk, sickened her.

“Don’t make a sound,” the man rasped in her ear, “or I’ll break your little neck.”

Annabel recognized Bailiff Tom’s voice. Her heart pounded and she struggled to keep breathing. His hand completely covered her mouth and was partially blocking her nose. She managed to open her mouth and promptly bit down as hard as she could, her teeth sinking into soft flesh.

Bailiff Tom cursed under his breath. He pulled his hand away, but before Annabel could even react, he used it to slap her across her cheek.

Bells rang in her ears, and for a moment she lost her bearings. When she was able to focus her eyes again, she tried to run but only took two steps before he jerked her arm so hard she cried out in pain. She wanted to scream for help, but he clamped his hand over her mouth again, crushing her lips and her cheeks even tighter than before.
Please, God … don’t let me faint.

“If you scream and raise the hue and cry,” he said, his breath in her ear, “I’ll tell the whole village that you have been with me
and
Lord le Wyse.”

The overpowering smell of ale and his bad breath made her stomach heave. She swallowed to stop herself from vomiting.

“What kind of spell have you put on Lord le Wyse? Your brothers and your mother want you to marry me. Why won’t he allow it?” His voice was slurred from too much drink, but as drunk as he was, he was still too strong for her. His fingers were like iron around her arm and her face, cutting into her flesh. “Do you think anyone will believe you over me? Stay quiet, or I’ll make you sorry, girl.”

The people of Glynval would believe the bailiff’s lies and she would be scorned even more than she had been before. But that was better than whatever the bailiff planned to do to her. She would scream and raise the hue and cry as soon as he removed his hand from her mouth, at the first opportunity.

He dragged her farther into the woods, her feet scrabbling to stay under her. “You’re an indentured servant. Who else will marry you? You should have realized you could never refuse me.” He squeezed her face mercilessly. She flailed at him, hitting the hand that covered her face. She wouldn’t let him hurt her. She would kill him first.

He went into a fit of dire threats and curses. “Stop clawing my hand, you little witch.” He caught her arm under his and pinned it to her side, gouging her ribs with his bony elbow. His voice sounded like an animal’s, growling and spitting.

God, help me.
She managed to slip her hand into her dress pocket and pull out her knife.

Her head spun so, she was afraid she would lose consciousness. She gripped the knife, still not sure what to do with it. Should she stab him? Or wait for a better opportunity? Perhaps she could threaten him without having to cut him. He still held her arm, his fingers digging into her flesh and sending an ache all the way to her shoulder.

He sputtered, “If you make trouble for me, I’ll make double for you. I’ll ruin your reputation. Then who will help you? Not your brothers nor your poor mother. Nay, even Lord le Wyse will want naught to do with ye.”

Annabel’s heart turned over with fear. Lord le Wyse would believe her — there the bailiff was wrong — but the thought
of Tom saying terrible things about her, the kind of things the priest was always saying … She would be an outcast. Even Lord le Wyse couldn’t protect her from what the villagers would say about her once they thought she was a loose maiden.

He increased the pressure on her arm, and in desperation she held up her knife until it caught a moonbeam and glimmered.

He spewed a new string of curses. “Ye’re possessed. A lunatic girl, waving a knife at your bailiff.”

He let go of her face and grabbed her wrist, giving it a sharp wrench. She tried to scream, but it came out as little more than a squeak, as pain and fear caused her fingers to involuntarily loosen. She watched the knife fall to the dirt. The bailiff let go of her arms and fell to the ground, groping for the weapon.

Finally free, Annabel turned to run. Bailiff Tom ranted behind her, “I’ll ruin you. I’ll say you enticed me and every man in the village.”

She only ran a few steps when her foot struck something and she pitched forward, landing on her hands and knees in the sticks and leaves. Someone grabbed her by her armpits and pulled her up.

“Get away from me.” She gasped for breath, pushing at the person’s chest with her arms.

“Annabel? Are you well? I was at the men’s privy and thought I heard a struggle.” It was Stephen’s voice. He held her away from him, his face illuminated by the moonlight.

“I have to get away.” Her heart beat so hard it shook her. She looked over her shoulder and immediately regretted it. The bailiff staggered to his feet and started toward her, the knife in his hand.

Stephen let her go. Annabel ran two steps and stopped, whispering loudly to Stephen, “Run! If we hurry he won’t be able to follow.” But Stephen stood still, facing the bailiff.

O God, I want to run.
But she had to make sure the bailiff didn’t hurt Stephen.

“What are you about, man?” Stephen asked. “Will you kill her with that knife? Kill me?”

Bailiff Tom was breathing hard now. “Get away from here, cripple. No one wants you — the devil’s own spawn.”

Stephen bent down and picked up the rock she had stumbled over. It was large, as big as a man’s head. He held the stone against his stomach. “What were you doing to her?”

Tom cackled like a man possessed. Annabel clutched her throat.

“What do you know of what happened? Now get out of here. This here is Lord le Wyse’s land. You think he wants daft, deformed cripples putting curses on his crops?”

The bailiff stepped toward them, the knife high, as though he was preparing to strike. He was only a few steps away and coming closer. In two seconds he would be within reach of Stephen.

Stephen hefted the rock and grunted as he let it fly. Annabel gasped as the rock slammed into Bailiff Tom’s head near his right eye. Tom fell to the ground, his body landing with a muffled crash in the twigs and leaves of the forest floor.

Annabel held her breath as she waited to see if the bailiff would move. Relief stole through her.
I can make it back safely now.
But the longer she watched his motionless body, the more fear squeezed her throat.

Stephen broke the stillness. “O God, be merciful.” He crossed himself and stepped toward the bailiff. He knelt beside him and held his hand against Tom atte Water’s neck. Then he placed his hand over his mouth and nose, waiting.

He looked up at Annabel. “I think he’s dead.”

Dead.
The word echoed in her mind. This must be a bad dream. Surely Stephen was mistaken. What terrible thing would happen to Stephen if the bailiff was dead?

Her stomach churned and her knees wobbled, forcing her to lean against the nearest tree. When that didn’t stop the buzzing in her head, she sank to the ground, still staring at the bailiff’s body.

I am to blame.

The thought struck her hard, like a stab in the ribs.

Her eyes focused on the knife, still clutched tight in Bailiff Tom’s fist. If she hadn’t taken that knife to defend herself, hadn’t carried it in her pocket everywhere she went … She should have simply raised the hue and cry against the bailiff the moment she was free, should have tried harder to scream. Perhaps more people would have come to her aid, and this wouldn’t have happened.

She rubbed her cheeks and the spot between her eyes that burned like a bee sting. She hung her head almost to her knees, waiting for the burning sensation to subside.

Cautiously, she raised her eyes. Stephen’s body jerked from side to side as he struggled to get off the ground. “It’s done. It’s done. God forgive me.” He crossed himself. “God forgive me.”

“Are you sure he’s dead? Check again.”

“We have to get out of here.”

I’m to blame. Stephen was defending me.
But she couldn’t help being glad that she was now safe from the bailiff’s evil intentions.

Stephen was right. They had to get out of there.

She got to her feet and grabbed Stephen’s arm. “Should I take my knife? Perhaps they will find out it’s mine and will think that I — “ She shivered at the unsaid words.

“Nay. Leave it.” Stephen looked pale in the scant light that filtered through the trees.

The hoot of an owl split the silence, making her flinch. She turned and saw the largest bird she’d ever seen perched on a branch at eye level, staring straight at her with huge red-orange eyes. Two tufts rose above his round head on either side. Black markings framed his old man’s bushy white eyebrows and mustache.

Annabel tore her eyes from the unearthly looking owl. Her heartbeat thundered in her head as she and Stephen hurried away from the bailiff’s body. Stephen didn’t go straight toward the manor house but led her deeper into the woods before finally turning back.

Annabel let go of his arm and ran, shuddering again at what had just happened. It still didn’t seem real. Just a bad dream.

But no, the bailiff was dead, gone, and it was her fault. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t think it, or it would overwhelm her. Somehow she had to get to the manor house, to distance herself from the body.

“Annabel,” Stephen whispered with a new urgency in his voice. He stopped in the woods and they faced each other, but it was too dark to see his face. “Don’t tell anyone what just happened. No one. Give me your solemn oath. It’s for your protection as well as mine. We know nothing, and will act as we did before.”

Her lips felt numb. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After swallowing past the dryness at the back of her throat, she uttered, “I promise.” She turned away from him and immediately stumbled over a root in the dark.

The owl hooted again. At least the bailiff was farther behind her now. Her stomach quivered. If they could only get out of this wretched forest.

“Who’s there?”

The voice made her jerk herself to a halt. It was Lord le Wyse.

Stephen stopped a few feet behind her.

“Who’s there, I say?” Lord le Wyse’s voice was a rough snarl. He stepped toward them and reached out a hand. Her throat swelled shut and she couldn’t even swallow.

“Annabel, is that you?” Lord le Wyse’s unmistakable broad frame loomed in front of her.

“Yes, my lord.”

He stepped closer. “I thought I heard someone near the privy. Are you well?”

Stephen pulled on her arm, jerking her away from Lord le Wyse.

“I am well, my lord. I must go.” Before she finished speaking, Stephen was all but dragging her through the forest. He moved so quickly she had to battle to find her footing. She looked over her shoulder but couldn’t see Lord le Wyse through the darkness and trees.

They rushed through the woods, branches and bushes tearing at her clothes as she stumbled at a pace that must have been as fast as Stephen could go and was much faster than she had ever seen him walk before. Would Lord le Wyse follow them? Or would he go farther and find the body of the dead bailiff?

Perhaps Tom wasn’t actually dead. Perhaps his breathing was shallow and Stephen was simply unable to detect it. She had heard of that happening before. After all, how many people had Stephen proclaimed dead? Probably none.