Fairy Tale Romance Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  She blinked and hesitated. “Two or three weeks.”

  “How came you to be here? You are the daughter of a freeman, are you not?”

  “I am, sir. My father died three years ago, and my mother and brothers and I have not been able to pay the censum since then.” She took a deep breath and went on. “As we have no money and had avoided fieldwork, the hallmote decided that one of my family must be indentured to Lord le Wyse for three years, the length of time that the censum went unpaid.” Annabel finished, expelling a soft breath.

  Ranulf swallowed, his throat constricting.

  “I see.” The coroner stroked his chin, glancing out the window. “How did you feel about coming here?”

  “I—” She stopped, her face draining of what little color she’d had. She sat up straighter. “I wasn’t eager to leave my home, but I wanted to help my family. One of us had to come. It was only right.”

  “Why weren’t you eager to leave? Were you happy there?”

  Annabel stared down at her hands in her lap. She shook her head slightly, almost imperceptibly. “I was not unhappy.”

  “Was there a particular reason you did not want to come here, to the manor house of Lord le Wyse? Perhaps you had heard your lord was a hard man, unfair, lecherous, unseemly — “

  Her head jerked up. “Oh, no! Lord le Wyse is none of those things.” Ranulf’s heart did a strange stutter at the way she defended him. He longed to intervene, to stop the questioning.

  “There is nothing about Lord le Wyse that frightened you? I have known him many years, and he has a nasty temper. And I know the rumors people sometimes spread about his … beastliness.” Sir Clement gave her a sympathetic look, as if trying to get her to trust him.

  Annabel glanced quickly at Ranulf and then looked back at the coroner, “I was a bit afraid of him when I first arrived, but I’m not anymore. His temper is not so nasty, not really. He has a lot of responsibilities, and it’s understandable that he might … get angry at times. And he is not beastly. That’s a terrible thing to say. He is a noble, good lord. No one who knew him could say anything dishonorable about him.”

  Ranulf’s heart swelled at her words. She thinks I’m honorable. Her face turned red, her hands fidgeted, and she wouldn’t look at him.

  Sir Clement was silent for a few moments. “So was there some other reason you did not wish to come to the manor house, to serve Lord le Wyse?”

  “There were many reasons. My family depended on me, and I didn’t want to live among strangers.”

  “Strangers? Were you afraid?” As Annabel began to fidget, a spark lit in the coroner’s eyes. “Of whom were you afraid, pray tell?”

  “I … I already said I was afraid of Lord le Wyse.”

  “But you were afraid of someone else, weren’t you?” Sir Clement peered closely at Annabel’s face. “Had someone given you reason to be afraid?”

  She pressed her lips together, as if struggling not to speak. How Ranulf wanted to protect her from these questions. O God, help her. She had no choice but to cooperate with the inquest. And he could do nothing to stop it.

  Sir Clement pressed on. “You were afraid of a particular person, weren’t you? Was that person Bailiff Tom?”

  The light from the window revealed a tear trembling at the corner of her eye.

  The coroner leaned forward, studying her hard. “You were afraid of Bailiff Tom. Why? What did he do to you?”

  “I didn’t say — I was afraid — of him.” Annabel hiccupped as she seemed to fight back the tears.

  “You didn’t have to. But I wonder what the man did to you. If you don’t tell me” — a warning tone entered his voice — “I shall find out some other way.”

  Ranulf imagined the coroner asking his probing questions around the village. Soon everyone would find out how the bailiff had tried to force himself on Annabel more than once. She would be embarrassed. He knew how that felt, to have all your neighbors whispering about you, about your deepest pain and humiliation.

  Ranulf leapt to his feet. “Is this necessary?”

  Annabel felt the tear slip down her cheek as Lord le Wyse shouted the question at Sir Clement. His reaction brought a swell of gratitude for her lord and unleashed the emotion she’d been holding back. Tears coursed down her face and dripped off her chin.

  Lord le Wyse thrust his hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “These questions can hardly serve your purpose. This maiden didn’t try to kill the bailiff.” His voice was harsh and angry as his gaze flicked back and forth between Sir Clement and Annabel.

  The coroner looked up at Lord le Wyse as though surprised. “Forgive me.” He spoke softly. “I only have a few more.”

  Lord le Wyse expelled a burst of air. He glared at the coroner. “I will not allow this … torment much longer.” He started pacing beside them.

  “Forgive me, but I must proceed.” Sir Clement’s voice was smooth, almost mocking. He nodded, as if Ranulf had given him his permission, and turned back to her. “You were afraid of Bailiff Tom, weren’t you?” His voice instantly became meek and coaxing.

  How could she lie? Somehow, the man already knew about her fear of the bailiff. “He — did something — that frightened me.” She glared at the coroner before swiping the tears away with the back of her hand. She hated the man’s questions, hated the halting way she spoke, and hated that she couldn’t hold back the tears. O Father God, let me not say something that will endanger anyone.

  “What did he do to you?”

  “He grabbed me. He tried to kiss me.” Her hands were shaking badly as she pushed a lock of hair off her cheek. “I told him I wouldn’t marry him, but he threatened … to do terrible things to me. I … I was afraid of him.” Another tear slid down her face.

  “Where did you last see the bailiff?”

  She felt the burn creep into her cheeks and forehead. What could she say now? What did the man know already? Her stomach knotted even tighter as she held her breath, afraid to open her lips.

  “Did you see him in the forest?”

  She stared past the coroner’s head. Perhaps if she said nothing he would eventually ask something else, something she could answer without revealing too much. Her heart thumped painfully as the tears dried on her face, pulling the skin tight across her cheekbones.

  Sir Clement came to within inches of her chair. “Answer!”

  Annabel shuddered, staring up at the towering figure.

  “Sir Clement!” Lord le Wyse’s voice was as loud as the coroner’s. He quickly closed the distance between them and stood glowering at the man, his hands clenched by his sides. “Get away from her.”

  Chapter

  14

  Her heart pounded. O God, don’t let Lord le Wyse endanger himself because of me! Surely he wouldn’t strike the king’s coroner, though the two men stood nose to nose. After interminable minutes, Sir Clement took a step away from Lord le Wyse and turned back to Annabel. Her lord took a step back as well, relaxing his fists, but his face was flushed and he continued to scowl dangerously at the coroner.

  Sir Clement focused on Annabel. “Did you see the bailiff in the forest?” His voice held a dead sort of calm that sent a chill up her arms and across her shoulders.

  She closed her eyes briefly then replied, “Yes.”

  “Did you strike him with a rock?”

  “No.”

  “Did Lord le Wyse strike him?”

  Annabel drew back in horror. “No!”

  Lord le Wyse slumped back two more steps, and she met his eye.

  “How do you know Lord le Wyse didn’t strike him? You saw who struck him, didn’t you?”

  She realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it, looking down.

  “You saw!”

  Stephen’s face flashed before her; she had to protect him. No matter what Sir Clement said or did, her lips would remain closed and her teeth tightly clenched.

  Silence pressed in around her, but she didn’t dare look up.
/>   “Then it was Lord le Wyse, wasn’t it? He was defending you.”

  Annabel’s head shot up without her willing it. Her throat tightened and her tongue clung to the roof of her mouth. How could he accuse Lord le Wyse? And how could she keep silent?

  The coroner is a fiend.

  “Nay.” Her voice was raspy. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. “Lord le Wyse is a good man. He would never hurt anyone.” Tears pricked her eyes again, she didn’t know why. She glanced at her lord and saw his face was flushed. The urge to jump up and go to him was so strong that she grabbed the stool she was sitting on with both hands and clutched the rough wood with all her might.

  “So the person who almost killed the bailiff was not a good man?”

  “I didn’t say that. Oh, how would I know?” Annabel bit her lip, feeling she had slipped and said the wrong thing. But she couldn’t let the coroner think Lord le Wyse was guilty.

  Sir Clement rubbed his chin again, staring blankly at the wall. “You must understand, Lord le Wyse’s involvement makes sense. After all, he’s the one who found the body. It’s only a matter of time before the people of Glynval start pointing fingers in his direction …” He let his voice trail off.

  His words chilled her. Naturally, some people might suspect her lord. Few had seen beyond his scars and rough demeanor to the man inside. But everyone knew the bailiff, and he seemed well liked, though she couldn’t imagine why. If they knew how Tom atte Water actually behaved … How could she allow people to accuse Lord le Wyse?

  Her mind went back to the first time he allowed her to read his Bible. And when he’d burned himself saving the ewe lamb, how her heart had gone out to him; and he’d borne his injury with such patience, never complaining. How could she allow anyone to falsely accuse him? She couldn’t bear the thought of him being hurt again.

  “Lord le Wyse is innocent.”

  “The only way you can prove that is to tell me who struck the bailiff.”

  “I cannot tell you that.”

  “Then I cannot be sure your Lord le Wyse is innocent, can I?” The coroner began pacing toward Ranulf, intent in his eyes.

  “It … was an accident.”

  The coroner turned abruptly. “So you did see it. What happened?”

  Annabel pressed her lips together so hard she tasted blood.

  “Did you want to kill him?”

  “No!”

  “Who did?”

  “He didn’t mean to do it.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “Who was it?” the coroner hissed.

  “I will not tell you. But he never intended to kill him.”

  “Perhaps you will tell the jury that is being summoned by the hundred bailiff. Hmm?” He raised his eyebrows at her, and a slight smile lifted his thin lips.

  He then turned to Lord le Wyse. “I think I’ll take a walk. I shall return shortly, and then I’d like to speak with this Maud, the bailiff’s daughter.”

  The coroner brushed by Lord le Wyse, whistling as he flung open the door and disappeared outside.

  So it was over — for the moment. She had revealed so much! Too much. The coroner now knew that she had seen who struck the bailiff. How could she have allowed him to wrench that much of the truth from her? But at least she hadn’t betrayed Stephen — not yet. She would still have to face a jury and the entire village of Glynval.

  Her hands shook. The shattered look on her lord’s face squeezed her heart. Was he angry that she had not revealed the identity of the person who struck the bailiff? After all, she was allowing suspicion to fall on him — the jury was sure to accuse Lord le Wyse as Sir Clement had. She had the power to clear her lord’s name forever, but she had chosen to protect someone else.

  Her chest ached. She couldn’t bear to think she had hurt him, or that he might be angry with her.

  Her words came out halting and slow. “I am — so sorry. Pray — forgive me.”

  “Forgive you?” His brow creased.

  “For not telling — who — struck the bailiff.”

  Lord le Wyse let out a shuddering breath and passed his palm across his eyes. He looked at her with so much sympathy, he seemed to draw her to him.

  Annabel slipped her trembling fingers into his large, warm hand, and he gently pulled her to her feet. “I forgive you,” he said, “and I understand.”

  Without thinking, she leaned against him, pressing her forehead against his shoulder. They stood like that, unmoving, while Annabel concentrated on calming her breathing and forcing away the tears that still threatened. She smelled the familiar lavender, which Mistress Eustacia placed inside his clean laundry, but also a warm, masculine smell that was distinctly Ranulf’s. She felt soothed, safe, and she never wanted this moment to end.

  Ranulf stared down at Annabel’s tearstained face. He closed his eyes against the sight of her, savoring the feel of her hand in his.

  His eyes flicked wide as he felt her body lean against his. Sweet agony. He hesitated to touch her, but finally he put his arms around her and drew in a deep, ragged breath. “Holy saints above,” he whispered.

  “Jesus, help us,” she murmured in reply, no doubt sincerely praying about their situation.

  He felt her relax against him, taking deep breaths, one hand hanging onto his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted as she rested against him.

  She suddenly dropped her hand from his shoulder and pulled away.

  He loosened his hold but was reluctant to let her go. Her eyes flicked nervously from his face to the floor. She muttered, “Forgive me. My behavior is … unseemly.”

  “No, not at all.” He cupped her elbows in his hands to keep her from turning away from him.

  Annabel stared up into his face. Her cheeks blushed red. “I must go.”

  She turned and practically ran from him.

  Grateful to find the undercroft empty, Annabel flung herself onto her bed.

  It was the worst morning of her life. By accusing Lord le Wyse, the coroner had wrung much more information from her than she’d been willing to give. Sitting alone now, she wondered if the vile man had mentioned her lord only to trick her. Annabel wrapped her arms around herself, still feeling Lord le Wyse’s warmth. I touched him. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. What must he think of me? She wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t looked at her the way he did. But she had wanted to be in his arms. In fact, she had wanted it … and enjoyed it … far too much.

  While she had stood, soothed by the rhythm of his beating heart against her ear, she had remembered the way Lord le Wyse had tried to defend her from Sir Clement’s harassing questions. The thought had stirred her heart and caused her breath to hitch in her throat.

  When she looked up at Lord le Wyse, something about his expression — seeking, tender, intense — caused something to ignite deep inside her. The feeling intensified when she realized she enjoyed his comfort, enjoyed being close to him.

  And that terrified her.

  She knew with all certainty that it wasn’t the way a servant should feel toward her lord. Her heart was still pounding from the effect of it. Was she as bad as Beatrice?

  “O God, send me away. Send me away to a nunnery, please. I want to get away from here, from this turmoil. Save me from the coroner, and don’t let me betray poor Stephen. O God, send me away. I’m so confused.”

  Maud’s surly attitude toward Sir Clement infuriated Ranulf. She mumbled her answers, glared openly, and all but accused Ranulf of attempting to murder her father, though she gave no proof for her assertions. He’d apparently made an enemy of the maiden when he spurned her late-night offers.

  Maud sat stiffly. Sir Clement asked, “Did your father have any enemies?”

  “Nay, everyone admired my father. He was friendly with everyone.”

  What would Maud do if she found out what her father had done to Annabel? Or even that Annabel knew who struck her father? He prayed that Sir Clement would keep that small piece of information to himself
. But why should he? The jury would need to know all the facts they could get in order to decide whom, if anyone, to accuse in the attack on the bailiff, and then everyone would know the facts. And that Annabel had hid them.

  His breath shallowed at this new thought.

  Annabel was not safe. He had to get her out of Glynval altogether. And soon.

  Maud glared at him from across the room. The coroner was asking her something, but her eyes were locked on Ranulf, her expression overflowing with hatred. One thing was now clear: if Maud found out Annabel had actually seen what happened to her father but was refusing to tell, she’d rip her apart with her fingernails.

  He would write to his aunt, the abbess at Rosings Abbey, and send the letter by messenger today. He resolved to speak to Sir Clement as well and beg him to keep what he knew about Annabel a secret. As Maud’s examination continued, a plan formed in Ranulf’s mind. He had been trying to get Annabel to confide in him before, and he still intended to find out whom she was with that night; he would merely tell Sir Clement he needed more time to draw the attacker’s name from Annabel’s lips. Knowing Clement, the man’s curiosity would win out and Annabel would be safe for the moment.

  If she revealed to Ranulf who struck the bailiff, would he tell Sir Clement? She would feel betrayed, but it might be the only way to clear her — and him — of suspicion.

  He was sure of one thing: he couldn’t let Sir Clement know he was sending Annabel to the abbey.

  Annabel, locked away at an abbey. He wouldn’t be able to see her or speak to her ever again. But she would be safe from the inquest, and safe from Maud.

  The hundred bailiff wasted no time in gathering a jury from Glynval and a few neighboring villages. That afternoon, while they were alone in the upper hall, Sir Clement read the names of the jury to Ranulf. He didn’t know any of them, of course.

  “You’re frowning,” Sir Clement remarked. “Do you disapprove the selection?”

  Ranulf cleared his throat, trying to think before he spoke. “It isn’t for me to approve or disapprove.” He rubbed his temple. “Sir Clement …”