The Merchant's Daughter (38 page)

The look on Lord le Wyse’s face revived her hope. He did love her. Oh, he must! Why else would he look that way? He needed her love. But whether he did or didn’t, she wouldn’t hold in the truth any longer. She had to speak or her heart would leap out of her chest.

She seized his good hand, caressing his large fingers between her palms, and spoke quickly. “I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it before. Pray, don’t send me away. You’re the dearest person in the world to me.” She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it reverently.

His shoulders straightened. His gaze bore into her, as though he hadn’t seen her until that moment. His forehead creased in a pained expression. “You love me? How …?”

“I do love you, I do.” She blinked rapidly to keep the tears from flooding her eyes.

“What about this?” He held up his crippled hand.

She grabbed it and pressed an eager kiss into his palm. She leaned closer, rising from her knees, and pressed his hand to her cheek, her heart fluttering at the warmth of his skin against hers.

“Annabel.” His voice was low and rough.

“Your scars only make you dearer to me, reminding me of what a hero you are. My eyes behold the most handsome man in the world. I love you. Please say you love me too.” Her voice broke. She bit her lip and held her breath as she waited for his answer.

He leaned toward her, his face only a breath away. His intense look captured her fully.

His words rumbled from his chest. “If you love me, kiss me.”

Her stomach leapt. Even so, she didn’t hesitate. If he wanted proof, she would gladly prove her love with a kiss. She clutched his upper arms and pressed her lips against his.

His mouth was warm and moved ever so slightly beneath hers, creating the most pleasant sensation she’d ever known, radiating all the way to her fingertips. Her insides melted like butter over the fire.

Breathless, she pulled away. His expression was pleasant surprise mingled with gentle longing. He focused on her lips. The request was plain. She leaned forward and complied, kissing him again.

His arms went around her and pulled her against his chest. Her feet no longer touched the floor, but she hardly noticed. His hand sank into her hair at the back of her head as his lips moved over hers, kissing and enticing her to kiss him back, to deepen the connection between them.

Thank you, God, for this. Thank you that I’m no longer afraid.

Ranulf poured his soul into the kiss. His arms shook as he held her close and he had to force himself to pull away and look at her. Her hair fell about her cheeks. Her lips parted and her expression was one of mingled shyness and wonder.

She whispered, “You do love me, don’t you?”

He moaned. “I love you — “ Unable to go on, he took a few raspy breaths as he gazed into her blue eyes. “I tried not to love you, but … even a man with a heart of stone, like me, couldn’t resist you.”

Her eyes glistened, and she placed her palm against his beard. He turned his head and kissed her fingers.

“You never had a heart of stone.”

“You must admit, I wasn’t kind to you at first.”

“But why?”

“I was bitter. I didn’t believe any woman could love me, as disfigured as I am, and especially anyone as beautiful as you are, inside and out. I still can hardly believe it.” He stroked her cheek with two fingertips, his breath catching in his throat at the softness of her skin. He pulled her down into his lap. Instead of resisting, she snuggled against his shoulder.

She lifted her head enough to gaze into his eyes.

“I thought the way I was feeling about you was wrong because you were my lord and I was only a servant, and I thought I wanted to go to the convent and never marry. But now I know I never would have been content at the abbey, after knowing you and loving you. I loved being close to you and talking to you.”

He pulled her closer, and she rested her forehead against his neck.

“I wasn’t sure I could ever give love to a man, after what Bailiff Tom did.” She placed a hand against his chest. “But you … you were so noble, so kind …” She stroked his beard with her fingertips. “I want to make up for every cruel thing that has happened to you.”

Her words seemed to come to him through a dream. They filled his heart with a strange peace.

“You make me feel so safe.” She brought her knees up and tucked her head beneath his chin, curling up like a kitten on his chest.

If he died now, he would die happy. His chest expanded and his whole body felt alive with pleasant sensations. He could be content to stay here, without moving, forever.

She lifted her head and leaned into the crook of his arm. “We shall marry?”

“Tomorrow.”

“We can’t marry tomorrow.” She smiled. “We’ll have to wait until the banns have been cried. That will take three weeks.”

“We will be married in three weeks, then.”

“Three weeks, then.” She sighed, her eyelids lowering.

Saints surround us, she was staring at his lips. He would surely awake from this heavenly dream, but he hoped not too soon. She kissed him.

She sat straighter and tugged lightly at his beard. “Pray allow me one request.”

Anything.

She stroked the hair on his cheek and jaw, wrinkling her charming little nose. “Let me shave your beard.”

“My beard?”

“Pray allow me, my lord. I long to see your face. And your beard prickles me.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows in a shy, hopeful way. “You won’t deny me this small request, will you?”

He couldn’t deny her, but he had to swallow the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat. The beard was the only thing hiding his scars.

“Aye.”

“Thank you.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. “Ow. You see? My husband needs to be clean-shaven.”

Her wily smile made his chest ache with the longing to kiss her perfect lips again. He was contemplating doing just that when he heard shouts coming from the front door.

His arm tightened around Annabel’s waist. He stood to his feet, lifting her with him. He stepped in front of her, expecting the worst — that the villagers had returned.

Mistress Eustacia and Gilbert burst into the room.

Chapter
21

“My lord.” Mistress Eustacia’s bosom heaved
with her heavy breathing, one hand pressed against her heart. “I was so frightened for you both. But we waited outside for everyone to leave. Everyone is at peace, I do believe, except for the old bailiff, Tom.”

Ranulf pulled Annabel to his side.

“Oh, thank God you are both well.” Eustacia covered her face with her hands.

“My lord, forgive me,” Gilbert put in. “I tried to stop her—”

Ranulf interrupted him. “I need you to ride to the church and find the priest. Tell him there will be a wedding as soon as possible.”

“A wedding, my lord?”

“Yes. He must proclaim the impending marriage between myself and Annabel Chapman. Where are the servants? Did anyone get hurt?”

“I-I believe they are all well and have gone to the manor house to get breakfast.”

“Good. You may go to the priest.”

“Yes, my lord.” Gilbert’s eyes were wide as they flitted from Ranulf to Annabel. He lingered, as though hoping for an explanation. Receiving none, he spun on his heel and departed.

Annabel left his side and hurried to Eustacia, who threw her arms around his future bride. Her mistress exclaimed her joy in high-pitched accents.

After she had calmed a bit, Annabel asked, “Mistress, does my lord have a shaving blade and hair shears?”

“A shaving blade? Whatever for?”

“He wishes me to shave his beard.”

That wasn’t completely true, but she was determined and he wouldn’t stop her. Besides, it would bring her in close proximity to him again, and nothing could please him more than that.

Eustacia stared quizzically at her. Annabel whispered in her ear and they embraced, then the two of them hurried off to who knew where.

He sat down to wait for them.

A strange day indeed. An hour ago he’d believed it quite likely that he was about to die, knowing his villeins were bent on killing him. Now he was anticipating not his demise but his wedding — to Annabel, the most beautiful, virtuous, courageous creature he’d ever known.

“I’ll get some hot water,” Eustacia called as Annabel entered the room, smiling with her whole face. In her hands Annabel carried his shaving blade and hair shears.

“Now, my lord, this chair won’t do. Come sit on this stool.”

Ranulf sat on the high stool, eyeing the way she slipped the blade from its leather holder and placed it on a bench. Then she stood before him with the shears in her hand.

“May I ask if you have experience in the realm of shaving men?”

“You may, and I do.”

He’d never seen such a confident, impertinent smile on her face. He frowned. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Forgive me. I am simply happy. Now hold still so that I don’t cut you.”

Not even married yet and already she’s taking liberties with me.
But he sat perfectly still, feeling like a sheep at shearing time as she clipped his beard. He could have taken the shears away from her and told her he could do this part himself. He was accustomed to trimming his own beard. But he would be a fool to protest, not when he could drink in her nearness, the way she
kept placing her hand against his face to tilt him, or touching his forehead to tip his head back to reach the hair under his chin.

He closed his eyes and breathed in her feminine smell of roses, dried lavender, and fresh air. He remembered all the times she had touched him in the past, changing his bandages, even putting her arms around him a few times. He no longer had to steel himself against her touch. Now he could enjoy it, revel in it, encourage it.

In three weeks they would be married. Was such an event possible?

Mistress Eustacia brought the steaming water in a pot and set it by the shaving blade. Annabel dipped a cloth into the water, squeezed it out, then placed it over his face, pressing it against his beard.

The heat from the cloth sent a soothing warmth through him, relaxing his shoulders. He gazed deeply into her sky-blue eyes, trying to see inside her heaven-born soul. She seemed to see inside his too, into the most intimate part of his heart, where all his longings fed upon her gentleness, her softness, and her beauty.

“Oh, my dear Lord Ranulf.” Mistress Eustacia jarred him from his exquisitely pleasant thoughts. “Pray allow me to wish you joy in your marriage to this dulcet maiden.” She ended her statement with a half laugh, half sob.

He intended to say, “Thank you, Mistress Eustacia.” But the cloth around his face, covering everything but his nose and eyes, prevented him.

Smiling widely, Eustacia nodded. “I knew you would love her, my lord. I knew she was the one who would make you happy.”

Annabel put the cloth aside and picked up the shaving blade. “Now stay still.”

Mistress Eustacia left the room and they were alone again.

Annabel began to shave his right cheek. “I used to shave my father all the time.” She rinsed the blade in the warm water and resumed her labor. “I even shaved my brothers. So you see, you’re in safe, experienced hands.”

He didn’t answer. He was enjoying a close examination of her features, her hair, her skin, her eyelashes. The feather softness of her breath on his cheek drew his gaze to her lips, which were parted slightly in her concentration.

She said nothing until she finished the right side and started on the left cheek. His scarred side.

How hideous would he look with his scar exposed? Would she be repulsed?

She didn’t say anything for a while as she shaved, but her eyes were cloudy with her thoughts. Finally, she murmured, her face opening up like a rosebud in the sun, “You look so different … so handsome.” She reached out and ran two fingers along his jawline, caressing his cheek and then his chin. “You always were handsome … manly … but now … you look so young. Your skin … it’s so smooth. Without the beard, your scar is hardly noticeable at all.” Tears welled in her eyes.