The Merchant's Daughter (37 page)

The grim set of Gilbert’s jaw told Annabel he was with her.

Annabel grabbed his arm. “Let us make haste!”

Slowly, he shook his head, increasing the roar in her ears. Why wouldn’t he hurry?

“I will go, but you and Mistress Eustacia should stay here. I promised the lord I would keep you safe. Besides, there is naught you could do against an angry mob.”

Did the man think she would do nothing while Lord le Wyse was being attacked?

She turned away from him. Mistress Eustacia wouldn’t be any help; her panicked questions were a mere noise that never developed into comprehension. Annabel leapt onto the back of her horse and urged her mare into a gallop toward the lord’s home. But instead of going to the front of the house, she steered the horse to the back, where the male workers were bedded down in an old shed. She rode right up to the shed and slid off her horse. Banging on the door, she yelled, “Lord le Wyse is in danger! Please help!”

She continued to pound until one of the laborers opened the door.

“What? What’s amiss?”

“The villagers are trying to kill Lord le Wyse,” Annabel announced, loudly enough for the rest of the men inside to hear.

A few shouts broke out as she heard scrambling and thumps from inside. She had to step out of the doorway as they came barreling out. A few of the men carried weapons — longbows and crossbows and knives — as if they had been prepared.

She didn’t stay to observe them. She mounted her horse again and urged it across the clearing behind the lord’s house. Her heart pounded with the horse’s hooves.
O God, don’t let them hurt Lord le Wyse. Help me, God. I have to save him.

Why?
the voice in her head asked.
Why do you have to save him?
The voice answered itself.
Because you love him.

I do! O God, I do love him.

She’d loved him for a long time, and she suddenly wanted to tell him so, more than anything. But first she had to get to him before anyone else — before it was too late.

Annabel held on tight to the horse’s reins, clutching its mane in her fists as she drove the mare harder, up the grassy hill toward the completed section of the house.

What would she say to Lord le Wyse?
I love you? I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks?
She almost laughed. Obviously she was hysterical.

As she rounded the side of the stone building, however, those thoughts abruptly left her. On the lawn, spread out on the hillside, were villagers, not only men but women as well. Every one of them held a weapon — an ax, a longbow and arrows, a spear — and several carried torches.

To her right, a man stood holding a longbow with an arrow at the ready, the string pulled taut. Then she saw whom he was aiming at. Lord le Wyse stood in the doorway of his home, the heavy wooden door open behind him.

“No!” she screamed. The archer let the arrow fly, and her heart stopped beating. With a sickening, high-pitched
whoosh,
it sliced through the air toward Lord le Wyse and struck his leg, propelling him back against the door.

Chapter
20

From where she was at the bottom of the hill,
Annabel could see the bright red blood on his leg.

She screamed, and Lord le Wyse looked away from the mob.

“Annabel!” he yelled savagely. “Get away from here!”

She ignored his command and pushed her horse up the hill, ignoring the shouts from the angry villagers. At the top, a few feet from the front door, she jumped from the horse’s back. Lord le Wyse’s hose was torn at his outer thigh. Blood trickled out from the tear. She flung herself at him, grabbing his arms and tugging him inside. She kicked the door shut behind them.

Dropping to her knees beside his injured leg, she ripped the hole in his hose wider. “Oh, thank you, God.” It was only a nick, not very deep.

“Annabel, get up and get out of here.” His voice was gruff. He grabbed her by her elbows and pulled her to her feet. “Get away from here before you get hurt.” His face was dark and angry.

“No. I won’t let them hurt you.”

“You will, because it doesn’t matter.” He let go of her and turned away. His features were anguished as he ran his good hand through his hair, and his voice was rough. “You should be on your way to the abbey by now. I don’t want you injured because of me.” He turned back to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t you understand? They have come here to kill me. There is nothing you can do.”

“Your men are coming. I told them to come with their weapons — “

“I will stop them.” He took a step to the door and started to open it.

“No! They’ll kill you!” She grabbed his hand to stop him.

“They will kill my men! I can’t let them do that.”

Without any clear plan, Annabel jerked the door open and stepped out.

“Stop, Annabel!”

She ignored Lord le Wyse’s command. Men were streaming out from the trees and from the road into the glade below, brandishing weapons and torches. The workers also came, flooding in from around the back of the house, their own weapons at the ready.

Annabel stood with one hand palm out and the other on her hip as Lord le Wyse came to stand beside her, his hand on her arm, probably ready to yank her back inside at any moment.

The villagers’ faces twisted with hate and anger. Their teeth showed as they shouted epithets of rage toward her and Lord le Wyse. The workers raised their various weapons over their heads, but it was clear Lord le Wyse’s fears were founded. The workers were outmatched and disorganized.

Annabel cried out in her loudest voice, “Desist! I have something to say!”

The shouting quieted, but the looks of rage remained.

“What are you doing here with your torches and implements of war?”

Tom atte Water strutted forward, thrusting his torch over his head. “We are here to right the wrongs made against us by this man, Ranulf le Wyse. He deserves to die!”

The men roared behind him as they all raised their weapons and shouted their agreement.

In a strong, steady voice, she yelled, “Your lord has done nothing worthy of death.”

A few of them roared back at her, Tom the loudest, his curses and sneers personal.

God, help me. What shall I say now?

Her brain registered the words,
I will be with you. For it is not you who shall speak.

“Will you kill your own lord for crimes he has not committed?” She stared them down, making eye contact with one villager, then another. “Will you kill a man who had been kind to you? Who of you has not benefited from your lord’s kindness? Who among you was able to replace the grain burned in the barn fire? Your lord did this — the man, Ranulf le Wyse.”

They lowered their weapons and torches. Some of the men’s faces softened. Annabel drew courage and went on.

“Would a man who had burned your grain buy new grain so you wouldn’t starve? Furthermore, has our lord not rescued you from the dishonest conniving of both the miller and the butcher? Who of you has not benefited from paying a fair price for your bread, for the first time in more years than any of you can remember? God has helped you — through Lord le Wyse!”

“Are you going to listen to this — this chit?” Tom yelled, turning to face the mob. “What has God done for you? For any of you?”

“Pray, let me speak!”

“Let her speak!” a carter from the village shouted.

Without waiting for further permission, Annabel pressed on. “Tom atte Water has spoken evil of your lord, and wrongly! You have let him lead you astray. If you were injured, had lost your eye in an accident, would you want someone saying you were cursed?”

A few murmurs went through the crowd. Tom turned and sneered at the men around him. “Don’t listen to her!”

The workers shouted at Tom, stepping closer to him. Lord le Wyse pulled on her arm. “Come inside, now.”

Mistress Eustacia and Gilbert had arrived on horseback and were starting up the hill toward her. She ignored Lord le Wyse’s plea and motioned with her hand for Gilbert and her mistress to stop and stay where they were.

Annabel went on in a clear, strong voice. “Tom has lied to
you, and he’s lying now. Lord le Wyse is an honorable man. To the pure, all things are pure. But to the corrupted, nothing is pure. Tom’s mind is corrupted and he is trying to corrupt you.”

A few shouts rang out, and Tom scowled and cursed.

“Tom wants you to think that God doesn’t care about your wellbeing, but it isn’t true! God saved all of you from the pestilence. Are you not alive? Can’t you be thankful for that, at least? God is not trying to kill you, or trick you, or send your souls to hell. God loves His children. Will you kill the man God sent to bless you?”

Her voice reached a fevered pitch with the last word. Her hands shook violently, and she clasped them to her chest to still them.

Slowly, one by one, the men lowered their heads. No one, except Tom, would meet her eye. Two of them pushed their torches in the dirt and snuffed them out. Then three more followed suit.

“Don’t listen to her! She lies!” Tom’s face was as red as a geranium. “You believe God cares about you? Or Lord le Wyse cares about you? You’re fools! God didn’t send this man to you! He’s from the devil!”

The men turned away and began walking toward the road that led back to the village. That was when she saw Edward, her brother, walking with them, looking sheepish as he tried to hide the torch in his hand.

Tom waved his arms wildly. “Where are you going? Be men! Are you going to listen to this girl? You’re all fools! Fools!”

More of the men turned to leave. Tom caught one by the shoulder and spun him around. The man drew his fist back and hit Tom in the face.

Tom staggered, clutching his cheek. “Cowards!”

The entire mob left the hillside. Tom followed after them, yelling foul threats and accusations. Soon they all disappeared from view.

Annabel went weak with relief. She stepped inside and Lord le Wyse followed her, closing the door with force.

She threw her arms around him. Then she remembered that he was bleeding. “Let me take care of your leg.” She took his hand and led him to his large chair, the one she always sat in to read to him. She knelt beside him.

His eye focused on her face. His lips curved up ever so slightly at the corners. “You shouldn’t have come.”

She forced her face into a scowl. “A fine thing to say to me when I just saved your life.”

A sigh escaped his lips. “I didn’t want you to come back. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He stared away from her, at the floor, at nothing.

Why didn’t he look at her? “I’m not hurt. Didn’t you see how God turned the hearts of the people from their anger and caused them to cease listening to Tom?”

“You were amazing.” The slight smile graced his lips again. “I thank God you’re safe.”

Why was he behaving this way? So listless? “Does your leg pain you?” Annabel bent and examined his leg. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. “Shall I bandage it for you?”

“Nay. You must go now. Go on to the abbey. Your work here is done.” His words sent a pain through her heart, but the bitter note in his voice gave her hope. She understood it now.

“I don’t wish to go.” Still on her knees, she leaned against the arm of the chair, her side pressing against his knee.

“Don’t wish to go?” He sounded gruff, and his brows lowered. “Why?”

She shook her head. This was harder than she had thought. But she had come so close to losing him, she couldn’t stop now. Picturing the arrow racing toward him as he stood outside his front door, remembering the absolute terror she’d felt at the possibility of him being killed, she felt courage surging through her. She leaned closer, wishing he would sit up and put his arms around her. But he only regarded her from beneath a half-closed eyelid.

She wouldn’t let him send her away without telling him she loved him. If he cared for her at all — and it was possible she had
misread him — he might think her confession of love brazen and unseemly, or worse yet, he might think she was offering herself to him in a sinful way. He had never said he wanted to marry her. But she found those risks were meaningless.

“Answer me! Why don’t you wish to go?” His voice sounded angry now.

She swallowed nervously. “I-I don’t wish to leave you.” “Don’t wish to leave me?” His voice was softer and shook slightly. “Why not?”

His eye sought hers. He leaned toward her until his face was only a handbreadth from hers. “Tell me the truth, Annabel. Do you want to be a nun?”

She didn’t even have to think about it. She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Please don’t send me away, my lord.” She clasped her hands in front of her in a pleading gesture.

He sat back in his chair, drawing back again and looking away. He spoke in a lethargic voice. “Sir Clement said truth and justice were the most important thing. But we both realized it isn’t. Love and mercy are much greater.” After a short pause, he met her gaze again. “Love tears out your heart, but pain is better than bitterness.”