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 voice. 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.
He looked up at Annabel. “I think he’s dead.”
Dead. The word echoed in her mind. This must be a bad dream. Surely Stephen was mistaken. What terrible thing would happen to Stephen if the bailiff was dead?
Her stomach churned and her knees wobbled, forcing her to lean against the nearest tree. When that didn’t stop the buzzing in her head, she sank to the ground, still staring at the bailiff’s body.
I am to blame.
The thought struck her hard, like a stab in the ribs.
Her eyes focused on the knife, still clutched tight in Bailiff Tom’s fist. If she hadn’t taken that knife to defend herself, hadn’t carried it in her pocket everywhere she went … She should have simply raised the hue and cry against the bailiff the moment she was free, should have tried harder to scream. Perhaps more people would have come to her aid, and this wouldn’t have happened.
She rubbed her cheeks and the spot between her eyes that burned like a bee sting. She hung her head almost to her knees, waiting for the burning sensation to subside.
Cautiously, she raised her eyes. Stephen’s body jerked from side to side as he struggled to get off the ground. “It’s done. It’s done. God forgive me.” He crossed himself. “God forgive me.”
“Are you sure he’s dead? Check again.”
“We have to get out of here.”
I’m to blame. Stephen was defending me. But she couldn’t help being glad that she was now safe from the bailiff’s evil intentions.
Stephen was right. They had to get out of there.
She got to her feet and grabbed Stephen’s arm. “Should I take my knife? Perhaps they will find out it’s mine and will think that I — “ She shivered at the unsaid words.
“Nay. Leave it.” Stephen looked pale in the scant light that filtered through the trees.
The hoot of an owl split the silence, making her flinch. She turned and saw the largest bird she’d ever seen perched on a branch at eye level, staring straight at her with huge red-orange eyes. Two tufts rose above his round head on either side. Black markings framed his old man’s bushy white eyebrows and mustache.
Annabel tore her eyes from the unearthly looking owl. Her heartbeat thundered in her head as she and Stephen hurried away from the bailiff’s body. Stephen didn’t go straight toward the manor house but led her deeper into the woods before finally turning back.
Annabel let go of his arm and ran, shuddering again at what had just happened. It still didn’t seem real. Just a bad dream.
But no, the bailiff was dead, gone, and it was her fault. She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t think it, or it would overwhelm her. Somehow she had to get to the manor house, to distance herself from the body.
“Annabel,” Stephen whispered with a new urgency in his voice. He stopped in the woods and they faced each other, but it was too dark to see his face. “Don’t tell anyone what just happened. No one. Give me your solemn oath. It’s for your protection as well as mine. We know nothing, and will act as we did before.”
Her lips felt numb. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. After swallowing past the dryness at the back of her throat, she uttered, “I promise.” She turned away from him and immediately stumbled over a root in the dark.
The owl hooted again. At least the bailiff was farther behind her now. Her stomach quivered. If they
could only get out of this wretched forest.
“Who’s there?”
The voice made her jerk herself to a halt. It was Lord le Wyse.
Stephen stopped a few feet behind her.
“Who’s there, I say?” Lord le Wyse’s voice was a rough snarl. He stepped toward them and reached out a hand. Her throat swelled shut and she couldn’t even swallow.
“Annabel, is that you?” Lord le Wyse’s unmistakable broad frame loomed in front of her.
“Yes, my lord.”
He stepped closer. “I thought I heard someone near the privy. Are you well?”
Stephen pulled on her arm, jerking her away from Lord le Wyse.
“I am well, my lord. I must go.” Before she finished speaking, Stephen was all but dragging her through the forest. He moved so quickly she had to battle to find her footing. She looked over her shoulder but couldn’t see Lord le Wyse through the darkness and trees.
They rushed through the woods, branches and bushes tearing at her clothes as she stumbled at a pace that must have been as fast as Stephen could go and was much faster than she had ever seen him walk before. Would Lord le Wyse follow them? Or would he go farther and find the body of the dead bailiff?
Perhaps Tom wasn’t actually dead. Perhaps his breathing was shallow and Stephen was simply unable to detect it. She had heard of that happening before. After all, how many people had Stephen proclaimed dead? Probably none.
But the sinking feeling inside her that hollowed her out and made her knees weak told her he was dead. Dead.
They were taking a roundabout way back to the manor house. She wondered if anyone was following her, but all she could hear was the crunch of dry leaves under their feet and branches that brushed by her ears. She stumbled over a fallen tree branch lying in her path, then her toe hit a root and she fell. She registered skinned knees without feeling any pain as Stephen grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet again.
“Hold on to me,” he said.
Without taking time to brush herself off, she hurried on.
She imagined Lord le Wyse finding the bailiff’s body. What would he think? She swallowed the nastiness that rose into her throat. Vomiting would only slow them down.
Would Lord le Wyse think she had killed him? Perhaps he would think it was an accident, that the bailiff fell and hit his head.
Annabel and Stephen came to the edge of the forest at the clearing around the manor house. She searched but didn’t see anyone as she tried to catch her breath. A few men could be heard laughing in the vicinity of the wooden building that now served as their sleeping quarters.
Stephen hung back in the shadows of the trees. He whispered, “I beg you, Annabel, don’t tell anyone I was out here tonight.”
She felt sick at the desperation in his voice. Their eyes met. Oh, Stephen.
He turned and hurried toward the road to the village, skirting the edge of the greenway to avoid being seen.
Another loud hoo-hoo rang out from the forest behind her. She shivered and ran toward the undercroft. Just as her hand reached out for the door, a voice split the air behind her.
“Annabel. Halt.”
She jerked her hand back. Her heart stopped beating then raced so fast it stole her breath.
Lord le Wyse emerged from the trees and strode toward her. She pressed her back against the undercroft door, wishing she could hide. But he had seen her already, his eye focused intently on her face.
He stood two feet from her. “Come with me, quickly.”
She followed him as he practically ran up the steep steps that led to the upper hall of the manor house. What did he plan to do? Her behavior certainly was suspicious, and Lord le Wyse had likely seen Stephen with her, or at least noticed someone pulling her along. She couldn’t tell him Stephen was with her. He had asked her to swear not to tell anyone, but how could she lie to her lord?
She tried to steady herself as Lord le Wyse led her inside. Standing in the shadow of the doorframe, he glanced outside before shutting the door. He paced off each corner of the room, which was deep in shadows, as if trying to make sure no one else was there. The hall’s only light came from one candle on the table across the room and a little moonlight shining through the windows.
Apparently satisfied no one lurked inside, Lord le Wyse looked to Annabel. She simply stood there, praying, Father God, let it all be a dream.
He beckoned to her with his hand, and she stepped slowly toward him, her knees weak. He led her to a corner, backing her into it and standing beside the window in such a way to block her view — or perhaps to keep anyone outside from seeing her.
“Who was with you in the forest just now?”
Her heart dropped to her toes. It was against the law to withhold the truth from one’s lord. She searched his face and saw a spark of compassion. “Oh, my lord, please. Please don’t ask me.” Her words became a whisper as tears clogged her throat. God, help me. Tell me what to do.
“Annabel.” His voice softened. “You must tell me everything that happened.”
She pressed trembling fingers to her lips as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m so afraid.”
“What were you doing in the forest tonight?”
“I-I visited the privy.” She had to struggle to stop the sob that was emerging from her throat.
“Did you see anyone?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Who?”
She looked down at the dark floor. She wished Lord le Wyse would stir up the embers in the fireplace and light a torch. The darkness seemed to close in around her, reminding her of the forest and the events that had taken place mere minutes before. But Lord le Wyse did not move as he waited for her to answer. O God, what shall I say?
“Tell me. Who did you see?”
“I saw — “ She shook her head. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say his name.
“You saw Bailiff Tom, didn’t you?”
Her tears came faster. “Yes. Is he …?”
“He’s not dead. At least, he was still breathing when I left him. I sent Gilbert Carpenter to get some men to take his body to his sister’s house, since it isn’t very far away.”
The sob broke through and she cried from relief.
Lord le Wyse touched her hand with a handkerchief. “Here.”
She took it and held it to her eyes and nose, willing herself to stop crying.
In her mind’s eye she saw her father, draped with a linen sheet, after he died from the horrible pestilence. Her brothers had carried him out and had even dug his grave themselves. As her mind reeled, she imagined Bailiff Tom covered in a similar sheet, the priest performing the last rites. Her father died of a sickness, but this … this death would be by her own knife.
No, she was getting confused. He wasn’t dead, she hoped, and it was a rock that hit him in the head. Her insides trembled violently at the memory. But perhaps it was caused by her knife, in an indirect way. After all, if Bailiff Tom hadn’t been holding her knife, Stephen wouldn’t have thrown the rock. Would he?
Lord le Wyse shifted, drawing her attention back to his looming form. “What happened? Tell me.” He reached out and touched her arm with his fingertips, a brief caress.
“It was an accident.”
“I know. Only tell me what happened and I can help.”
“I’m not sure I should tell you.” She felt torn. Her throat ached with held-back tears, making her voice sound rough.
“I know you were there when Tom was injured. And I know someone was with you in the woods. I saw him behind you. You mustn’t try to protect anyone, Annabel. It will look bad for you.”
The room had started to tilt to one side, then the other. “Truly, I don’t want to get anyone into any trouble, my lord. Don’t tell anyone I was there. I’m afraid — don’t make me tell you — “
She began to sob again. He drew her to the chair by the fireplace and gently helped her sit.
“Annabel.”
She looked up at him, hea
ring the gentle command in his voice.
“If the bailiff doesn’t recover consciousness, I must summon the coroner. He’s coming anyway to investigate our barn fire. He will make an examination, attempt to question witnesses. If he finds out you were there, you will have to answer a lot of questions. And you cannot refuse to answer. The coroner has the authority of the king.”
She felt stunned.
“But if it truly was an accident, you should tell me exactly what happened. No one will be hung for an accident.”
Hung? Was it an accident? She tried to sort it all out, tried to figure out how to explain it without it seeming as if Stephen had tried to … kill Tom.
It sent a pain through her chest and into her stomach to even think the words. She wanted so much to tell Lord le Wyse, but she had to protect her friend. The bailiff might still die.
“You should tell me.” His voice was tender and coaxing.
With anxiety wringing her stomach like wet laundry, she said, “If someone tried to protect themselves — or someone else — but they didn’t mean to kill the person, only to frighten him away, is it an accident if the person is killed?”
“Are you telling me that the person who was with you was trying to protect you?”
She had said too much. She pressed her hands against her cheeks. I promised not to tell. “I didn’t say that.” She shook her head and turned away. If he continued questioning her, she would end up telling him everything and betraying poor Stephen. Stephen was only trying to defend her.
But she could trust Lord le Wyse, couldn’t she? Perhaps he would truly help her and Stephen — would protect her friend. Could she risk it? Nay. The consequences for Stephen were too great; if the bailiff did not survive, Stephen would be tried for murder, she was sure. And if the bailiff lived, he would tell the jury that Stephen attacked him, and who would believe a cripple over the bailiff?
Her head was pounding in her temples, pounding like a thousand drums. She wanted to lie down. “May I go now? I’m so sorry, I … I need to go.”
The Merchant's Daughter Page 14