“Yes, my lord. Is there anything I can do for you? Can I get you anything, anything at all? It would be my pleasure.” She continued beaming at him, but he didn’t even glance her way.
“No, thank you. You may sit down.” Without looking at her, he waved his hand to shoo her.
Poor Beatrice.
Bailiff Tom glanced at Annabel a few times throughout the meal, an angry look pursing his thin lips, but at least he didn’t stare at her. She could only imagine what Lord le Wyse had said to him. That thought and the bailiff’s final glance caused her to check the position of her knife.
After the servants began to leave the table and she and Eustacia began setting the hall to rights, Lord le Wyse caught Annabel’s eye. He motioned with his hand for her to come to him.
She ceased her cleaning and hurried to her lord, dropping a curtsy.
He didn’t speak right away. In fact, he looked thoughtful, but Annabel waited, holding her breath to see what he would say. Would he blame her for the bailiff’s actions? Did he think what the priest thought, that all women were a snare? Could he believe what Bailiff Tom had said about her, that she was not to be trusted?
Lord le Wyse’s face was turned toward the fire, which illuminated his high cheekbones and his brown eye but not his hidden thoughts. His hair fell thick over his forehead, and Annabel couldn’t help noticing his beard was neatly trimmed. He looked fiercely masculine, with his firm jaw and chin.
Something about the way he turned and gazed at her made her heart beat faster. Finally, he said, “I desire reading. Will you read to me?”
“Yes, of course, my lord.” She tried not to seem too eager, but inside her heart smiled with joy.
His features relaxed in response, but the placid look was gone so quickly, she wondered if she’d imagined it.
Several servants were still milling about the room as she sat beside the fireplace in expectation. She hoped he didn’t think she was eager because she wanted to spend time with him. Another man looking at her with romantic intentions — it was the last thing she wanted. She evened out her expression before glancing up at him.
He disappeared behind the screen then returned with the Holy Writ. When she opened it and began reading, a few people stood nearby and listened, but after a few minutes they had all filed out and left. Mistress Eustacia was in the corner with her sewing, as she had been the night before. Annabel assumed she would stay there for propriety’s sake, to make sure Lord le Wyse and Annabel weren’t left alone together, which would stir up gossip.
Though Bailiff Tom had made it seem as if people already had evil thoughts about her and Lord le Wyse.
Annabel started to read, but she’d only spoken a few words when Gilbert came in and apologized for interrupting. He said he had something to ask Lord le Wyse about the castle’s foundation. Lord le Wyse stood and he and Gilbert spoke for several minutes, discussing various aspects of the construction.
Finally, Lord le Wyse came back to where Annabel had been sitting and pondering what they had read the previous night.
“Pray excuse the interruption. You may read now.”
Lord le Wyse seemed to be in a kinder mood. Now might be a good time to pose some questions.
“May I ask you something, my lord?”
He looked at her suspiciously again.
“Forgive me, my lord. I will read, but I wanted to know if the Bible agrees with what Sir Matefrid, our priest, says. Does the Bible say we are all evil and should go about our lives with solemnity and guilt?”
He seemed to consider her question a moment. “The Bible says we have all sinned. We should all repent. But no, the Bible doesn’t constantly tell us we are evil. God says we are righteous because he is able to make us righteous. He says there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, and all who call on his name will be saved.”
These were comforting words indeed. And how wonderful to know the Bible well enough to speak of it the way Lord le Wyse spoke. He still didn’t look angry, so she asked another question.
“When we see God, do you think he will be terrifying? Does the Bible say we’ll be afraid of him? Or do you think we will see him and be glad?”
Lord le Wyse’s eyebrows drew together. “Certainly God will strike terror into some hearts. But the Bible portrays God as a loving father to his children. It says he is compassionate and slow to anger, and patient with us. I believe we will be happy to see him. The Psalms say of God, ‘May all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you.’ “
So we are supposed to rejoice! She almost felt as if she were dreaming, it was so good to finally talk with someone about these things. “Are there descriptions of hell in the Bible, like the scene on the wall of the Glynval church?”
“There are some descriptions, but perhaps not as graphic as what I’ve seen on cathedral walls.”
How strange. The priest seemed to want to frighten everyone with condemnation. Every Sunday he accused, he berated, he terrified her into thinking God was harsh and unloving. He seemed to be trying to convince himself, as well as the whole village, that women were evil by nature and not to be trusted. But the Bible taught good news. It wasn’t all about condemnation and punishment.
“Not all priests preach like yours here.” Lord le Wyse interrupted her thoughts.
“Oh.”
“I have heard a great many uplifting and encouraging sermons, but your priest’s sermon on Sunday was neither. However, his type of sermonizing is more typical, I’m afraid.”
His eyes narrowed as he continued to study her. “You are very intelligent and educated. You surely do not want to stay in Glynval all your life, to be a servant or to marry one of these boorish village men. What is it you want?”
Annabel fidgeted with her apron. It was such a surprising thing for her lord to ask. What could she say? Could she tell him her deepest wish?
While she was still wondering how to reply, he said, “This isn’t what you were brought up to do, after all. Are you unhappy?”
“Oh, no.” She couldn’t let him think that she was ungrateful. “Mistress Eustacia is very kind to me.”
Lord le Wyse shifted in his chair. “Do you miss your home, your mother and brothers? Would you go back there if I forgave your family’s debt?”
“I — “ She felt confused. Why was he asking her this? “I do miss my home, but it is only just and fair that I am here. I want to give what I owe. After all, Jesus says we should do more than our share, not less.” He looked at her attentively, and so after a short pause, she went on, choosing her words carefully. “You asked me what I want. What I wanted most was to read the Bible. For the past three years I’ve wanted to be a nun, to study the Holy Writ and take my vows.”
She scrutinized Lord le Wyse’s face just as he was studying hers. He might think she was hoping he would take an interest in sending her to an abbey. And perhaps, after her three years of service to him, he would consider helping her enter a convent.
It may have been her imagination, but his features seemed to visibly soften after she said she wanted to be a nun. He relaxed against the back of his chair, casting a shadow over his face so that she couldn’t read his expression or see if he was still studying her face.
“You want to be a nun,” he said softly. “You are aware it costs money to enter a convent. Something your family does not have.”
“No, my lord, they do not.”
Now he was undoubtedly thinking that she hoped he might send her to an abbey. She waited for him to speak again, but the silence stretched on and grew awkward. Finally Mistress Eustacia came toward them, having packed away her sewing.
“It is late, my dears. Are you ready, Annabel?”
She nodded, but the book in her lap was so heavy she was unable to stand.
He stood and stared down at her, still not saying anything. If only she knew what he was thinking. She suddenly remembered again the night she had seen him bent over in agony and the strange, animallike sounds of anguish that had
come from him. Such an impassioned man. But at the moment she had the impression that he was forcing a look of indifference.
“Of course.” He took the book from her lap. “You may go.”
She hurried away from him, and Mistress Eustacia went out with her.
When Annabel got down to the undercroft, all lights were out and she could barely see to get to her cot. As she crawled under the sheet, Beatrice sat up in the bed beside hers.
“Annabel?” she whispered.
“Yes?”
There was silence before Beatrice finally asked, “What are you and Lord le Wyse doing every night?”
“I am reading to him. That is all.”
Beatrice sniffed. She sounded like she was crying.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you miss Lincolnshire, your home?”
“Not much.” She sniffed again, loudly. “I only wish I knew how to get Lord le Wyse to notice me.”
What could she say to that? “We are only servants, Beatrice. Perhaps it’s better not to be noticed.”
“Does he ever … you know … say nice things to you, tell you you’re pretty, when you’re reading together?”
“No, of course not. He summons me only because I understand Latin. I read, then I leave.” She didn’t want to tell Beatrice that the two of them actually had a conversation tonight. Beatrice wouldn’t take that well — or understand it was completely innocent.
“He is a good lord, don’t you think?” Beatrice wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Yes, I think he is.” Better than most, I suppose. He seemed much kinder tonight, less judgmental of her. She remembered her profound relief and gratitude at the way he came to her aid, protecting her from the bailiff both in the field a few days ago, and today as she was doing laundry.
She could almost forget he told the bailiff that he was fortunate because she wouldn’t marry him. Almost.
Annabel awoke a few hours later to the sound of muffled yells from outside. She sat up in bed. Only a tiny shaft of light came through the shutters. What could be happening in the middle of the night to cause such a commotion?
The undercroft door flew open, revealing a man’s form, an eerie orange glow behind him. His shoulders heaved up and down as he gasped for breath.
“Fire! Come and help us!”
Then he disappeared.
Frightened squeals and gasps filled the room as several girls scrambled out of bed. Annabel jumped out of bed as well. She hastily pulled her oldest dress over her nightgown and ran outside with bare feet.
Chaos met her. Bright red-orange sparks shot into the night sky from the barn roof. Men ran back and forth, some bearing buckets, others pointing and shouting. A line began forming between the well and the barn; Annabel ran toward it and filled a space between two men, grabbing the full bucket from her left and heaving it into the hands of the man on her right. Gilbert Carpenter dashed from the front to the end of the line, ferrying empty buckets with a grim determination.
The stone barn was discharging red-hot flames from its huge door and tiny windows, flames so hot she felt as though her face was burning along with it, even from thirty feet away. The group’s efforts to put out the flames seemed hopeless. The thatched roof was completely engulfed, and the interior of the barn, along with the barley and oats stored within, were being completely destroyed.
Gilbert Carpenter came to a stop near Annabel and Bailiff Tom, who stood nearby. With labored breath Gilbert announced, “Many of the beams have given way. I don’t think we can possibly save anything inside.”
“Is everyone out?” Bailiff Tom stared at the burning building. The enormous barn housed not only the sheep and the entire barley harvest, but many of the laborers Lord le Wyse had hired to build his castle, who bedded down at the opposite end from the animals.
“Everyone’s accounted for,” the man to the left told Bailiff Tom, “except Lord le Wyse. I haven’t seen him since I first grabbed a bucket.”
Gilbert Carpenter flung his arms out wide and yelled, “Has anyone seen Lord le Wyse?”
“No,” one man said.
“Went to save the sheep,” another offered. A few men nodded in agreement.
Gilbert’s eyes darted to the barn. He ran and soon disappeared around the other side of the structure.
With only a moment’s hesitation Annabel left the line of men, who were still passing the buckets from hand to hand, and followed the path Gilbert Carpenter had taken. She ran past a huddle of maidens. Their arms around each other, they watched the fire as though dazed. Some cried and others yelled at her as she passed, but she didn’t hear their words. She ran as close to the barn as she dared, certain that the flames were singeing her eyebrows.
She came around the back side of the barn and nearly ran into Lord le Wyse and Gilbert Carpenter. Lord le Wyse’s arm was around the master mason’s shoulders as he seemed barely able to stay on his feet. Her lord looked alarmed. “Annabel! What are you doing? Where are you going?”
“I was searching for you.” Her mouth fell open as she got a better look at him. “My lord! Are you hurt?”
His hair stuck out in all directions, and his forehead and face were streaked with soot and sweat. He looked as though he’d been in the fire itself.
“I am well. The sheep are safe.”
Annabel’s gaze traveled down from his head and stopped on his arm. His charred sleeve, much of it burned away, hung from his elbow. His left forearm — the one mangled by the wolf years before — was covered with angry blisters. A lump formed in her throat as she imagined the pain he was feeling.
She tried to look into his face, to see his expression. Just then his shoulders swayed, like a hewn tree just before it collapses.
“We must get you back to the manor house and tend your burns at once.”
He swayed again as he and Gilbert started forward, walking slowly. They made their way back toward the manor house, neither of them even looking toward the barn or the fire, which roared louder than the worst thunder and hail storm.
Several men hurried toward them, asking questions.
“Leave me be.” The lord’s harsh tone stopped them cold.
Annabel remembered what her mother had done when Durand had badly burned his hand. “He needs water,” she told Gilbert. “Two buckets at least.”
“I’ll go get the water, as I can carry more than you,” Gilbert said. “You help Lord le Wyse to the manor house.” He lifted the lord’s good arm from around his shoulders and placed it on Annabel’s. Then he hurried away toward the well.
Lord le Wyse leaned heavily on Annabel as they walked. Neither of them said a word. She suspected the lord was silent because of the pain, and she was concentrating on getting him safely to the manor. He was quite heavy, and she stumbled a couple of times in the dark, but she was thankful he seemed to grow a bit steadier as they moved along.
When they reached the steps of the manor house, which were too narrow to safely accommodate two people abreast, Lord le Wyse stepped away from her.
“I shall go first,” he said gruffly, “unless you’re afraid I may fall backward and crush you.”
The glow of the fire illuminated his features enough that she could see the corner of his mouth turned up, showing him to be in jest.
“Perhaps I will be able to step aside in time to avoid being crushed.” She lifted her eyebrows.
He winced, drawing his injured arm closer to his body. “Shouldn’t you rather have said, ‘It would be a privilege to break the fall of my lord’?”
A strange time for a sense of humor, but perhaps it took his mind off the pain. “Yes, my lord. Pray, make haste. We must get your arm in some cool water.”
“As you wish.” He started up the steps.
She followed his slow progress, and in her mind she listed all the things she would need to treat his burn.
“Lord Ranulf!”
Annabel and the lord stopped and looked behind
them. Mistress Eustacia came panting across the yard with a pitcher in her hand.
“Water from the well?” he asked her.
“Yes, my lord.”
Annabel hastened down the steps and took the pitcher from Mistress Eustacia, whose eyes were full of tears.
“Gilbert Carpenter is bringing two more buckets. Do you know what to do for a bad burn?” Mistress Eustacia looked at Annabel.
Annabel nodded. “We’ll need some clean bandages, a flask of honey, and some comfrey if you have it.”
“I shall fetch them right away.” Mistress Eustacia’s voice cracked, and she hurried away.
Chapter
8
Once inside the upper hall, Ranulf sat in his chair and watched the girl, Annabel, scurry to the corner of the room to fetch an empty bucket, still carrying the pitcher of water.
“Now, hold your arm over the bucket.” She set it down in front of him.
I was searching for you, she had said. He couldn’t get the look on her face out of his mind. When she almost ran into him, when she saw his burned arm … He was foolish to think about it.
Now she leaned close, taking his hand in hers, and studied his burn. Her long blonde braid slipped over the shoulder of her shapeless work dress to dangle by his arm. Her eyes were gentle and the touch of her fingers was cool on his burning skin.
“I have to clean the burn so I can see the severity, and the cold water will be good for it.” She began, slowly, to pour the water over his arm. It was painful and soothing at the same time. The water ran out just as the door opened and Gilbert Carpenter came in bearing two buckets. Mistress Eustacia trundled in behind him.
“Oh, Lord Ranulf!” Her voice was soft but agitated. She had always grieved over every scrape he got into. He didn’t like to remember how she reacted to his wolf attack; the poor woman cried for weeks.
The Merchant's Daughter Page 10