Her spirit seemed to leap within her, her breath expanding her chest, making her feel as though she could rejoice forever. Yes, God, I do rejoice. He had given her so many wondrous gifts. How could she not rejoice? He had given her a Bible. Yes, it belonged to Lord le Wyse, but he allowed her to read it.
If only everyone could know this joy she felt.
Her state of joy and communion with God continued through the Holy Eucharist and Sir Matefrid’s sermon, which she hardly seemed to hear and of which she remembered nothing. As the villagers wandered out of the church, Annabel joined them, emerging into the sunshine of late summer.
Maud was straining her neck, staring. “What’s the matter with you? Your face is too … happy. Like a dog with a fresh bone.”
“I am happy.”
Maud narrowed her eyes as she stared even harder at her. “Why? You have little reason to be happy, let alone smile. You’re a servant and your family doesn’t care about you.”
She tried not to let Maud’s words wound her. “It’s true that I may seem not to have any reason to be happy, but I’ve been reading the Holy Scriptures and I’ve learned much about God’s faithfulness.” Annabel’s breath came fast, even though she and Maud were walking slowly, far behind the other maids. She couldn’t contain the smile on her face, even when Maud’s scowl deepened, her eyebrows low and threatening.
“Is that what you do in the upper hall for an hour every night, just you and Lord le Wyse? I knew you were different, strange and all that, but you sound mad. What makes you think you can read the Bible? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to be thinking … I don’t know … that you know something about God?” She said God as though He were a fairy tale or an unwanted relative. “Nobody wants to hear that kind of talk, Annabel Chapman.” She stuck her finger into Annabel’s chest. “You’re just a woman. You’re no priest, and you don’t know God, so just shut your mouth.”
Maud stalked away, leaving Annabel staring after her.
She walked slowly, following far behind Maud’s stiff figure. Then she saw Stephen up ahead by the side of the road, apparently waiting for her.
“Hello, Stephen! How are you faring?”
“Lord le Wyse has been very pleased with the furniture I’m working on, and I’ve already finished the front door.”
“That is good news.” Should she tell him about reading Lord le Wyse’s Bible and of all the wonderful things she was learning? Or would he disapprove just as Maud had?
“Stephen, what would you say if I were reading the Holy Writ?” she asked.
Stephen stopped and smiled. “I’d be very happy for you, Annabel. That was always your dream, to read the Bible.”
Excitement bubbled inside her again. “Lord le Wyse has me read it to him. It’s wonderful to see the words of God.” She paused, thinking of Maud. “I think everybody in this village believes God only wants to punish us with plagues and curses and droughts. Don’t you think that’s sad?”
Stephen looked over at her. “Perhaps you could read the Scriptures to me sometime? I know it’s in Latin, but — “
“But I could interpret it for you! Oh, Stephen, would you want me to?”
“Yes, very much. You know what people will say, though, about a woman reading anything, and especially the Holy Writ.”
“Not everyone is so backward, Stephen. Lord le Wyse doesn’t mind at all. It’s good to read the Scriptures.”
Stephen shook his head. “I don’t suppose you can get in any trouble for it, as long as Lord le Wyse is asking you to do it.”
She wanted to tell him how much she enjoyed the conversations she had with Lord le Wyse when they read together, but she decided it was best not to mention that, even to Stephen.
Later that day Annabel and Mistress Eustacia sat resting with the sheep, who were grazing in the courtyard. Mistress Eustacia had brought a stool to sit on while she did some sewing in the daylight, but Annabel was content to sit on the grass and stare at the courtyard before her and the sky above her, letting her thoughts wander. The sun stayed hidden behind the clouds, but the birds chirped cheerfully and a slight breeze puffed at them occasionally. Annabel stroked one particularly friendly ewe lamb, who sighed as she munched her grass.
Annabel’s Sunday was not progressing quite as joyfully as it had begun. Maud’s reactions that morning made her feel like a warm fire that someone dumped a bucket of water on. Even Stephen had cautioned her that others might not approve of her reading the Bible.
Though Lord le Wyse obviously approved. And dwelling on his approval restored her warm, happy feeling.
Annabel affectionately rubbed the sheep’s head. Was anyone at home taking care of her goat, Dilly? The poor animal could mostly fend for herself, she reasoned, but if her lazy brothers didn’t milk Dilly, her supply would run dry. If my family didn’t need the goat so much, I would ask Lord le Wyse if Dilly could stay at the manor.
Before she could examine the thought further, movement and Beatrice’s high-pitched voice drew her attention to the manor steps. Lord le Wyse was a few steps behind Beatrice, who tripped and fell back into him. He caught her and set her up on her feet.
“Oh, my lord!” she said, louder than necessary. “My ankle. I don’t think I can walk. I must have injured it.”
Even from across the courtyard Annabel could see Beatrice’s face scrunched up in pain. Lord le Wyse put his good arm around her and helped her down the steps. Beatrice limped and leaned heavily on him.
Was Beatrice hurt? Or did she only want to be close to Lord le Wyse?
Beatrice was smiling now, looking up into Lord le Wyse’s face and thanking him profusely, insisting that she couldn’t make it to her bed in the undercroft without his help. Lord le Wyse called out to Gilbert Carpenter as he was passing nearby, and Annabel watched Beatrice’s smile shift direction. Lord le Wyse turned the limping girl over to Gilbert and then hurried up the manor steps. Gilbert in turn disappeared into the undercroft with Beatrice hanging on to him.
Whether Beatrice was hurt or not, she’d managed to claim the attention of both Lord le Wyse and Gilbert Carpenter, at least for a few moments. But Annabel was surprised at how much the sight of her in Lord le Wyse’s arms, then hanging on to him as he helped her down the steps, had made her want to slap Beatrice silly. The dairymaid was obviously only pretending.
A rustle in the grass near her foot made her look up. Gilbert Carpenter stood gazing down at her. He nodded politely.
“Miss Annabel. Would you take a walk with me?”
He’d certainly rid himself of Beatrice quickly.
Annabel sought an excuse not to go with him, but she could think of nothing. She turned to Mistress Eustacia, but her mistress kept her eyes on her needlework and refused to look up. Finally, she made an effort to keep the reluctance out her voice — without sounding eager, either. “Of course.”
She pretended not to see the hand he offered as she got to her feet. She glanced around for Adam. He was nowhere to be seen, and she turned to follow the master mason.
Again she asked herself if she could imagine being married to this man. Would she be able to put aside her squeamishness and let him touch her? Somehow the thought remained repugnant. Perhaps she should tell him she had no interest in him, so he could give up on her and hunt for a wife elsewhere. After all, Adam wasn’t around to hear.
Gilbert glanced at her shyly from the corner of his eye. He seemed nice enough, and he was rather handsome, after all. Why couldn’t she feel for him what the other girls in the undercroft seemed to think she should feel for him? She should be grateful he wanted to marry her and make her a free woman again.
They walked in silence around the outer edge of the courtyard, turning toward the trees that led to the site of Lord le Wyse’s new home.
Finally, Gilbert spoke. “So you like animals?”
“Yes.”
“I saw you petting that ewe lamb. I like animals too. I generally don’t have much time to spend with them, with my work.”
; “Me, neither.”
“If you like animals, I would buy you as many as you want — sheep, goats, chickens, geese …”
Annabel felt her cheeks heat. How could she tell him she had no interest in what he could give her? It made her feel mean and awkward, but somehow, she had to tell him. “I should tell you that although I love Adam and think you will make someone a good husband, I’m hoping to enter a convent some day.” Of course, she had no idea if that would ever happen, but she was still hoping, wasn’t she?
“I see.”
They entered the cover of the trees, ambling slowly now down the lane to the river.
She wasn’t sure how to continue the conversation after she’d so thoroughly sabotaged it. They walked along in silence. Finally, she worked up the courage to say, “I know Adam had a notion that he’d like to see us marry, but there are a lot of young maidens who — “
“I see you don’t think of me as a husband, Miss Annabel, but if it’s all right with you, I’d still like to try to change your mind.” He turned to face her, and before she knew what he was about to do, he took her hand in his and stared into her eyes. “I don’t mind waiting until you are ready.” He lowered his head and scuffed the ground with his foot. “I promise to try not to make you uncomfortable, but … I still hope you will change your mind … about me.”
His fingers felt clammy and cool. When he let go, she shuddered in relief. Holding his hand made her feel like running away.
He looked so humble and harmless, she nodded. “Very well.”
Gilbert Carpenter wasn’t ugly or frightening, and she was fond of Adam. The thought of someone caring for her above all others, bound to protect her and keep her safe and provided for, was not an abhorrent thought. She just couldn’t imagine that person being Gilbert Carpenter.
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 voi
ce. 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.
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