Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Hadn’t Lord le Wyse considered whether any of the servants he’d brought to Glynval with him knew how to read? Surely there is someone.
Her heart beat faster as she hesitated.
His gaze came to rest on Annabel. He would find out eventually, and she didn’t want to anger him. She took in a quick breath. “I can read.”
Everyone turned to stare at her.
“Can you read Latin?”
“Yes, my lord.” She met his eye briefly.
“Come, then,” he ordered.
She walked toward him, realizing that she had just ruined her plan to keep her distance from him. He stood scowling at her until she had crossed the room and stood in front of him. Then he turned away. He dragged his own high-backed, cushioned chair nearer the fire, pulling a small table up beside it.
“Sit here.”
He motioned to Mistress Eustacia. “Bring more candles.” He hastened behind the screen, and amid the flurry of activity, most of the other servants hurried out the door.
She sat enveloped in his chair, clasping her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting. A creaking sound came from behind the lord’s screen, and when he reappeared from behind it, he carried a huge tome. Her breaths became shorter as she watched him come closer, her gaze fastened on the book in his hands.
Reverently, he laid the huge book in her lap.
Her hands trembled as she stared at it. One hand fluttered down and gingerly touched the cover. She began to breathe so fast she feared she would faint.
A Holy Bible.
Tears blurred her vision as she looked up at him. “Thank you, my lord. I — “ Her voice cracked and a tear slid down both cheeks. Mortified, she wiped the tears away with the corner of her apron as quickly as she could. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”
Lord le Wyse actually owned a Bible and was allowing her to read it! She took deep breaths, working to calm herself and force back the tears. What must Lord le Wyse think of her? That she had lost her mind? Besides, she couldn’t risk getting tears on the precious book.
Feeling as though she had successfully forced back the tears, she nodded her head. “I am ready now.”
When he didn’t say anything, she glanced up at him again. She was startled by the expression on his face. He almost looked like a different person. Gone was the scowl, and he stared back as though he were trying to see into her mind.
They were now alone in the large room, except for Mistress Eustacia, who was sitting in the corner by the window, sewing.
Finally, Lord le Wyse asked in a surprisingly quiet tone, “Why did you cry?”
She stared back at him, wondering at the change in his tone. “I have wanted to read the Bible for many years. My father promised to try to get one for me, but then he lost all his ships and his money.” She added quietly, “And then he died. Just today I asked the priest if I might borrow his Bible. I begged him, in fact.”
She blinked rapidly as she stared down into her lap. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry …
“What did the priest say?”
“He said that even if he had one, he wouldn’t let me read it. So you see, I cried because I am very happy.” She could feel herself blushing, embarrassed at revealing so much about herself to this man who obviously didn’t hold her in very high esteem.
He continued to stare, but now he was scowling at her again. She felt almost relieved that he had reverted to himself. She didn’t know how to react to the kind look that had been on his face.
“Please allow me to read for you. Where shall I begin?” She placed her hands reverently on the Holy Writ and prepared to open it.
“Anyplace, I don’t care.”
“Oh! I want to read it all.” She clasped her hands to her chest, a giggle threatening to bubble over.
At her outburst, Lord le Wyse looked at her suspiciously, narrowing his eye. But his tone sounded almost — dare she believe it? — gentle, as he said, “Genesis speaks of God creating the world. Or, one may want to begin with the birth of the Christ child and his life on Earth.”
“Let us begin there, with Jesus. May I?”
He leaned over her and turned the pages until he found the Gospel According to St. Luke. He sat back and she began to read aloud.
Chapter
7
She wanted to savor every sentence.
She read of Zechariah not believing God’s angel and being struck dumb. I must never doubt what God says.
She read of Mary’s conception, announced to her by the angel Gabriel, showing nothing is impossible with God. Having this book before me is proof.
Later, Mary proclaimed, “My spirit rejoices in God.” There’s that word, rejoice.
Annabel read about the Caesar whose proclamation sent Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem during Mary’s time of childbirth. How interesting that God should announce the birth to lowly shepherds instead of rich people or kings.
Oh, she wanted to read it all! There must be so much she’d never heard, so many stories revealing God’s nature and expectations.
Lord le Wyse didn’t stop her, so she read on.
She relished Jesus’s words, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free.”
She stopped and silently pored over the words again, trying to memorize each verse. There was something so comforting about the passage. But she mustn’t stop; Lord le Wyse would be waiting for her to go on.
She raised her knees to bring the words closer, cradling the heavy book in her arms.
Annabel read about Jesus teaching in the synagogue. When the people in the synagogue, being filled with wrath at his words, tried to throw him off a cliff, she gasped. She looked up at Lord le Wyse. He had a strange expression on his face, but he nodded at her to keep reading.
She smiled at the way Jesus spoke to the Pharisees who didn’t want him to heal on the Sabbath day. Then she came to a long discourse in which Jesus said people were blessed when they were poor, hungry, or hated, because God would reward those who belonged to him. Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, offer to let someone hit you or take your coat. Most of this she had heard before, but she couldn’t recall actually seeing anyone do such things. And she hadn’t either, as she certainly didn’t love or bless Bailiff Tom. She would have to think about that.
Her eyes burned from reading so long in the dim light, as well as from the candle smoke.
“Perhaps you should stop now.” Lord le Wyse’s voice sounded hoarse. “You look tired.”
Only six chapters. She wanted to go on, but it must be late. She couldn’t resist rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.
She closed the book. “Thank you.” She was amazed that her lord, the brooding and intimidating Lord le Wyse, would be the means of obtaining her dearest wish.
He nodded curtly, taking the heavy book from her.
She curtsied in response and followed Mistress Eustacia out the door.
Eustacia had picked a red rose and placed it in a small pottery flask of water, setting it on the gray stone mantle over the fireplace. Ranulf studied it, admiring the shape, the color, the delicate beauty of the petals. The servants were engaged in their early morning chores, leaving him alone in the upper hall, so he set up his easel and parchment next to the east-facing window. Placing the rose on a table beside him, he took out his materials and began to paint.
It had been a long time since he had wanted to paint. Perhaps the country and this village were good for him after all. He stroked the brush across the parchment until the rose emerged, full and lush, but something else was emerging as well. The real subject was not the rose but the person holding it: a girl with blonde hair — he decided to let it flow loosely about her shoulders — with full lips and a feminine chin and wide blue eyes —
He suddenly realized who was emergin
g on his canvas, and it made him growl irritably. But he’d already started the painting. It would be a shame not to finish it.
Then he’d hide it in the wooden chest.
He added a slight blush to her cheeks and a wisp of hair touching her jawline, the way she had looked when his horse nearly trampled her. He took particular care in forming her nose and eyebrows, trying to get them exactly right — if he was going to paint her, he might as well do it to the best of his ability. He pulled the parchment closer to the window, since the sun was nearly overhead and not streaming in as brightly as before. When he did, he caught sight of movement next to the manor house. The subject of his painting — the girl, Annabel — sat washing laundry with Beatrice. But sneaking up behind her was Bailiff Tom.
Annabel worked opposite Beatrice on the tub of dirty laundry. She let her mind wander over the passages she’d read the night before, and she marveled again at how God had given her exactly what she’d longed for. Through the person of Lord le Wyse, God literally laid it in her lap. Perhaps God had heard her prayers and he wanted her to read His Word.
While scrubbing a sheet from one of the servants’ beds, she marveled at how the rude and scowling Lord le Wyse had seemed almost kind and … human, at least for a few minutes. He was formidable to look at, but he seemed to be bringing stability to their village. He’d made sure all the grain was harvested, and he seemed to be successful in keeping the miller from stealing a good portion of it, as had happened before in all the years Annabel could remember.
She supposed it was proof that God could use anyone to accomplish His will.
Yes, God was blessing Glynval after the tragedy of the Great Pestilence, and in spite of the recent drought. God did love them, even if most of Glynval chose not to believe it.
“Annabel. You look as if you’re solving the world’s problems, you do.” Mistress Eustacia stood beside her, holding a bundle of laundry that overflowed her arms.
“Forgive me. I was thinking.” She took the bundle from the mistress’s arms and plunged the load into the warm tub of water.
“There’s naught to forgive, my dear. You girls have washed much in a short time.” She picked up the basket of clean linens that Annabel and Beatrice had finished wringing out, groaning as she lifted the wet laundry and carried it toward the clothesline.
Annabel glanced up at Beatrice then stared as the servant girl held one of Lord le Wyse’s unwashed shirts against her cheek and closed her eyes. She seemed to be inhaling the scent of it, an intense, almost pained look on her face.
Beatrice’s eyelids flickered open and she caught Annabel gaping. Beatrice scowled and pushed the shirt down into the water, applying soap and roughly scrubbing the material between her hands.
Annabel wondered how Beatrice could have such strong feelings for Lord le Wyse. She herself had never felt such attraction for any man, and couldn’t imagine men having such appeal that she would sniff their dirty shirts!
Beatrice clearly had what the priest called “natural lusts and desires,” and therefore Annabel must be “unnatural,” since she felt no such lust. But if it was natural, why did God condemn it? It was all so confusing.
Though she’d learned much from the six chapters she’d read last night, Annabel still wondered about many things contained in the Holy Writ. Perhaps she could pose a few questions to Lord le Wyse — when he was in a good mood.
It could be a long wait.
Beatrice finished wringing out Lord le Wyse’s shirt and laid it in the basket. Annabel concentrated on her own scrubbing, though her thoughts wandered again to Beatrice’s infatuation. Why did Lord le Wyse appeal to Beatrice? She’d probably discovered, as Annabel had, how quickly one grew accustomed to the lord’s mangled hand and the patch over his eye and ceased to take note of them. The confident way he held himself, as well as his impeccable clothing and cleanliness, gave him such a presence that, now that she thought about it, she could indeed imagine how Beatrice would consider him superior to every other man living at the manor or in Glynval.
Ah well, it was none of her business, after all. She wasn’t in love with him, and people’s love affairs could hardly concern her. Though if Lord le Wyse married, his wife might not allow her to read his Bible. The thought gave her a sickening pang. But, she soothed herself, he isn’t courting anyone — there isn’t anyone here in Glynval for him to court — and he isn’t likely to marry Beatrice. Besides the obvious ways they seemed unsuited for each other, Lord le Wyse was powerful and quite wealthy, and he’d certainly never marry a servant. He’d probably marry only a noblewoman.
Beatrice’s plight reminded Annabel of her brother Edward hoping to use his family’s tenuous claims to nobility to help him make his fortune. And she wondered for the hundredth time how her family was getting along without her. Who was doing the cooking? Did they get enough to eat? Were they milking Dilly every day? Now that the barley harvest was over, they’d have more time on their hands. Perhaps Edward was no longer in Glynval and had gone to London, as he had planned. In her mind’s eye she saw Durand lying abed all day, fancying himself sickly, while their mother coddled him. Was Mother able to cope with Durand and all the chores Annabel had once taken charge of?
With a start, Annabel realized she had been scrubbing a shirt more vigorously than intended. Eyebrows raised, Beatrice announced that she was going to get the rest of the dirty laundry then got up and walked to the undercroft.
Someone was walking toward her, but Annabel didn’t pay attention, thinking it was a servant. When she looked up, Bailiff Tom was striding toward her with an ugly leer.
“Have you had enough of all this hard work?” He leaned over her, blowing his breath in her face. “Not used to working from sunup to sundown, are you?”
“I rather enjoy it,” Annabel said, going back to washing the clothes before her and pretending to ignore him. Surely Beatrice would come back soon. Hurry, Beatrice.
He snorted. “If you change your mind, I believe the lord will let you out of your forced servitude and allow you to marry me. Three years is a long time for such hard labor, especially for a delicate maiden like you.”
He began to run his hand down her arm. She jerked away from him and leapt to her feet. “Don’t touch me.” Her hand went into her pocket and closed around the handle of her knife. “I told you, I will not marry you.”
“What were you doing with the master last night, eh? The two of you alone for so long.”
“We weren’t alone. Mistress Eustacia was with us, and it’s none of your business.”
“Mistress Eustacia.” With a hand on her shoulder, he shoved her back down on her stool. He leaned down, and stroking her arm again. “Come with me to the woods tonight, and I’ll show you what a real man is like.”
“Get away from me!” Annabel raised her voice, desperately hoping someone would come and help her. Surely someone was in hearing distance.
“Bailiff.” Lord le Wyse’s voice cracked like a whip behind her.
The bailiff let go. Annabel stood and stepped away from him, her knees suddenly weak.
“What are you doing?”
“Merely speaking with the girl about her work. She’s a known slacker, shiftless and slow and — I wouldn’t trust her, my lord. Don’t allow yourself to be alone with this one, as you never know what she might do. Her family, the lot of them — “
“Come with me.” Lord le Wyse took a few steps toward the manor house, then stopped and waited for Tom to march ahead of him. The two walked away.
Annabel bit her lip against the anger, relief, and shame waging war inside. She shuddered at the way the bailiff had held her down. And what about the things he said about her? The lord already had a low opinion of her. Would he let her continue to read to him after the bailiff said she was not to be trusted? Please, God, don’t let the bailiff turn him against me.
“Bailiff Tom, I don’t like the way you are harassing my servant.” Ranulf gave Tom his most serious glare. “You are never to touch h
er again. Is that understood?”
“Yes, my lord. But her family —”
“I am well aware of what they did. She has accepted the punishment for her entire family, and I don’t wish you to harass her about it.”
“Her brother promised her to me. If she were the submissive sister she ought to be — “
“Not only do I never want to see you touching my servant again, I don’t want you to go near her, and I had better not catch you trying to intimidate her. Have I made myself clear?”
“Perfectly, my lord. Forgive my weakness for the girl. I swear it will never be a problem again.” The bailiff’s gaze turned to the floor, but Ranulf caught the defiance in Tom’s eyes.
“You may go, unless you have aught else to say to me.” Ranulf fought the urge to dismiss him outright. The sight of him touching Annabel, and her cringing, was still branded on his mind.
“No, my lord.” He bowed, replaced his hat on his head, and left.
Ranulf reflected over what the bailiff had said about the girl, that she was not to be trusted. He realized his bailiff was a louse. But that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t believe what the bailiff said. After seeing her eagerness to read the Bible, her confession that she had actually desired to read it for many years, and the sincerity in her face, Ranulf couldn’t help but think he had misjudged her.
He groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was think well of this girl, but she seemed ever before him. It seemed to be his lot in life to see her, hear her — and save her — everywhere he went. She was on his mind much more than was wise or comfortable.
But eventually this maiden would show her share of faults — maybe more than her share. Then he would cease to think of her at all.
Lord le Wyse seemed his usual morose self during the evening meal, scowling as much as usual. Some Bible reading would surely soothe him. Annabel fervently hoped he would suggest it. Please, God.
Beatrice was serving the ale tonight, and she was extremely attentive to Lord le Wyse. She refilled his tankard so many times that he finally looked up at her and said, “Thank you, but that is enough.” Annabel would have trembled at the look he gave Beatrice, but she seemed rather encouraged than discouraged by it and smiled down at him as if he had just bestowed a great compliment.
The Merchant's Daughter Page 9