The Merchant's Daughter (35 page)

She was no longer sure why she was going.

She had wanted to enter an abbey so that she might read the Holy Scriptures. And she had wanted to get away from Bailiff Tom. But she was already reading the Holy Scriptures. She and Lord le Wyse had made it through the entire New Testament in the last few weeks. And as for Bailiff Tom … if he revealed what happened that night in the forest, she might have to admit to the entire village how he had tried to take advantage of her. But if Lord le Wyse was standing near her, even that might be bearable.

Certainly her reasons for cloistering herself in an abbey were fewer and less urgent than they had once been, but the fact remained that she had no wish to be coerced into marriage by her life situation. The whole concept of marriage had always seemed somewhat unappealing to her … And yet, hadn’t she felt something, some new feeling she’d never felt before, for Lord le Wyse in the last few weeks?

She felt repulsed by the thought of marrying Bailiff Tom, or anyone else. Anyone else, that is, except Lord le Wyse.

She didn’t like the path her mind was taking. Her lord was a good man, chivalrous and honorable and worthy of her respect. He’d helped her in so many ways. It was wrong to think about him this way.

She pressed her hands against her burning cheeks.

Annabel stumbled over a root in the pathway. Gilbert glanced at her. “Are you well?”

She nodded.

Strange that she was having these thoughts now, when her ultimate goal was about to be achieved. She would be safe from all the grumbling and anger lingering around Glynval since the
coroner’s abandoned inquiry, and since Maud claimed that their lord was cursed and was causing Glynval’s troubles.

But as she pictured the abbey, a huge gray building with smaller buildings surrounding it, and a high wall around the entire compound, it didn’t give her a feeling of safety. Instead, loneliness, sameness, and solemnity seemed to emanate from the cold stone walls.

Safety was being near Lord le Wyse, hearing him say he would protect her, and feeling his arms around her.

Nay!
She wiped a hand across her forehead, trying to wipe away the unbidden images and sensations.
O God, take these thoughts from my mind. I have no desire to transgress against Lord le Wyse in this way. He’s my lord and should not be — that is, it is wrong to have such — O God, save me.

Annabel felt listless as she helped prepare for the evening meal. Not even Mistress Eustacia’s chatter in the kitchen could lift her spirits.

She was turning a pig on a spit over the fire when the door opened and Lord le Wyse stepped inside, letting in the chill wind of fall.

A smell, an intangible feeling, was in the air. Perhaps a storm was coming. It had been so dry since the fateful day of the inquest, a storm would be welcome. But a shudder passed over her shoulders as the chill seemed to pass through her bones.

She had never seen her lord’s face looking so pale. “Is something wrong, my lord?”

He ignored her question and focused on Mistress Eustacia. “Annabel is leaving us tomorrow morning. I wish for you to accompany her and Gilbert on the journey to the abbey. That is all.” He bowed slightly and backed out the door.

The two women stared at each other.

“What does it mean, child?” Mistress Eustacia’s eyes were wide with wonder.

“I’m entering the abbey. Though I don’t know why Lord
le Wyse wants you to go with me.” The foreboding feeling expanded inside her. Something was wrong.

“The abbey? Why, child — but I’d hoped …” Mistress Eustacia pursed her lips and turned away.

Now her mistress was angry with her for not listening when she told Annabel that the abbey was not for her, that she should marry.

Annabel thought she would be full of joy when she was finally able to leave Glynval and go to a nunnery. But the expression on Lord le Wyse’s face, the way he ignored her question and wouldn’t even look at her …

Was she doing the wrong thing?

Ranulf stared out the glass window from the second floor of his new home. Some movement at the edge of the cleared area in front of the castle caught his eye. Tom atte Water and several other men crouched behind some bushes fifty feet from the steps leading up to the front door.

Tom and the men squinted up at the stone edifice, toward Ranulf. Then they ducked their heads, speaking to each other and gesturing. Each man held a weapon — a knife, a spear, or a longbow with a quiver of arrows over one shoulder. They seemed to be on a hunt — and he was their prey.

It was beginning. He’d been half expecting it. He went to look for his sword and found it, as well as a crossbow and several arrows, an old battle ax his father had once carried, a shield, and a spear. If it was a fight the villagers wanted, so be it.

His new home was only partially complete, but even if it were, there were no real defenses planned in the design: no protective wall, no crenellations to hide behind, no gatehouse or guards to keep out intruders. He was vulnerable to attack, and it looked as if Tom had already stirred up the people against him.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. He hadn’t hired a new bailiff yet, and none of the men he’d brought with him were fighting men. They were builders, carpenters, laborers.

He looked out the window again. Tom and the men of the village were retreating. It would soon be dark; perhaps they wanted to wait until morning.

He would have to round up the men he’d brought from Lincoln and tell them what was happening. At least they were loyal, and they were strong. As they had to be, for they would probably be outnumbered two to one.

If it came down to it, Ranulf would rather die alone than get any of them killed. But at least Annabel and Eustacia would be out of Glynval at first light.

He stared at the rose on the mantle of his new home, in the vase Eustacia had been filling with fresh flowers for several weeks. The rose that was in the vase now was wilting fast. Several petals had already fallen off. It was almost as if the rose was commiserating with him, as the spirit of life prepared to depart from them both.

Chapter
19

As they ate that night, Annabel’s eyes skirted
to Lord le Wyse, sitting at the head of the table. He kept his head down and said nothing. The quietness of the workers increased her feeling of foreboding. She’d never seen the people so hushed, as if they shared a secret and dared not talk for fear of divulging it. Their gazes darted from person to person, to Lord le Wyse, and back to the food on their trenchers. No one hurriedly ate and left either, but all lingered, as though expecting something to happen.

Was she imagining it? All day it was as if little bugs were jumping under her skin, making her rub her arms to try to get rid of the feeling. Now, as she looked around the room at her fellow workers, she was sure something was about to happen. But what?

The only person in the room who didn’t seem anxious was Lord le Wyse, though every time she tried to meet his eye, he refused to look up at her.

God, what is happening?

Annabel left her food almost untouched. How could she eat when her stomach was twisting like a contortionist? She began cleaning up, hoping to inspire the others to get up and leave. She had no idea what she would say to him, but she wanted time alone with Lord le Wyse the way a thirsty man wanted water. How could she leave tomorrow without speaking with him one last time? A twinge of fear pinched her at what he might say tonight,
fear about whatever was making him avoid her eye. Still, she couldn’t resist the craving to look into his face — and have him look into her eyes and speak to her one last time.

She should be concentrating on her new life, on getting away from the place that had caused her pain, on finding peace and tranquility in the house of God. Prayer and contemplation would be the tasks of her day. She would be happy in her new home. Her life would change for the better and she would have no more reason to fear.

Finally, a few people shuffled out the door, looking over their shoulders. She longed to ask someone what was afoot. Beatrice had a wide-eyed, expectant look, but when Annabel caught her eye in hopes of asking her what was happening, Beatrice just turned away.

At least everyone was finally leaving. Mistress Eustacia was one of the last to go, and she gave Annabel a sad, backward glance, pursing her lips together as though she was holding back tears.

At least she could account for her mistress’s sadness. Mistress Eustacia would never see her again after tomorrow and would miss her. Annabel would miss her too. The realization struck her so forcefully that tears pricked her eyelids and she had to blink several times to drive them away.

Lord le Wyse was watching her, his face suddenly alert.

“My lord, may I read to you tonight?” She was surprised at the way her voice shook as she looked into his eye.

He regarded her for a moment without speaking, staring intently, as though he was trying to sear her face into his memory.

“Do you wish it?” His voice was deep but barely above a whisper, and yet his words seemed to bounce off the stone walls of the empty room.

Of course she wished it. “It is the last time I will be able to read to you.”

The line of his mouth hardened. He turned his head and seemed to focus on the darkest corner of the room. “Very well then.”

Her heart sank at his obvious bad mood. She swallowed before settling into her usual chair by the fireplace. Had she displeased her lord by asking him if she could read? Perhaps he wanted to be alone tonight.

A sudden pain squeezed her chest and inexplicable tears pricked her eyes again as Ranulf set the Holy Writ on her lap. She took a deep breath to calm herself, opened the book, and began to read. At once it felt like the fifty other times she’d read to him, and nothing at all like any time before.

Certainly she would have a Bible available to her at the abbey. So why was she hardly able to blink back the tears at this moment? Why did they blur her vision so much that it was impossible to read on?
Because I will never be with you like this again?

She squeezed her eyes shut while catching the tears in her hand, horrified at the thought that they might fall on the precious pages and damage the book. How could she explain this embarrassing show of emotion? She should be showing her gratitude for all her lord was doing for her, not crying because he had given her what she wanted.

“Forgive me.” Annabel wiped her face as quickly as she could.

“Pray, don’t read tonight.” Lord le Wyse’s voice was deep and ragged. His face was contorted, as if he was in pain. “I’m not in a humor for listening. Just sit here with me.” His voice trailed off so that it was hard to catch his last words.

She sat still, watching her lord’s features relax in the flickering firelight. He was now staring down at the floor off to his right, lost in thought.

His was such a kind, masculine face. She still wished he would shave his beard, wished she could see his face smooth, as it had been before the wolf attack. She couldn’t imagine a more pleasing face on any man, ever. He didn’t realize his own appeal.