He pulled her closer, and she rested her forehead against his neck.
“I wasn’t sure I could ever give love to a man, after what Bailiff Tom did.” She placed a hand against his chest. “But you … you were so noble, so kind …” She stroked his beard with her fingertips. “I want to make up for every cruel thing that has happened to you.”
Her words seemed to come to him through a dream. They filled his heart with a strange peace.
“You make me feel so safe.” She brought her knees up and tucked her head beneath his chin, curling up like a kitten on his chest.
If he died now, he would die happy. His chest expanded and his whole body felt alive with pleasant sensations. He could be content to stay here, without moving, forever.
She lifted her head and leaned into the crook of his arm. “We shall marry?”
“Tomorrow.”
“We can’t marry tomorrow.” She smiled. “We’ll have to wait until the banns have been cried. That will take three weeks.”
“We will be married in three weeks, then.”
“Three weeks, then.” She sighed, her eyelids lowering.
Saints surround us, she was staring at his lips. He would surely awake from this heavenly dream, but he hoped not too soon. She kissed him.
She sat straighter and tugged lightly at his beard. “Pray allow me one request.”
Anything.
She stroked the hair on his cheek and jaw, wrinkling her charming little nose. “Let me shave your beard.”
“My beard?”
“Pray allow me, my lord. I long to see your face. And your beard prickles me.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows in a shy, hopeful way. “You won’t deny me this small request, will you?”
He couldn’t deny her, but he had to swallow the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat. The beard was the only thing hiding his scars.
“Aye.”
“Thank you.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. “Ow. You see? My husband needs to be clean-shaven.”
Her wily smile made his chest ache with the longing to kiss her perfect lips again. He was contemplating doing just that when he heard shouts coming from the front door.
His arm tightened around Annabel’s waist. He stood to his feet, lifting her with him. He stepped in front of her, expecting the worst — that the villagers had returned.
Mistress Eustacia and Gilbert burst into the room.
Chapter
21
“My lord.” Mistress Eustacia’s bosom heaved with her heavy breathing, one hand pressed against her heart. “I was so frightened for you both. But we waited outside for everyone to leave. Everyone is at peace, I do believe, except for the old bailiff, Tom.”
Ranulf pulled Annabel to his side.
“Oh, thank God you are both well.” Eustacia covered her face with her hands.
“My lord, forgive me,” Gilbert put in. “I tried to stop her—”
Ranulf interrupted him. “I need you to ride to the church and find the priest. Tell him there will be a wedding as soon as possible.”
“A wedding, my lord?”
“Yes. He must proclaim the impending marriage between myself and Annabel Chapman. Where are the servants? Did anyone get hurt?”
“I-I believe they are all well and have gone to the manor house to get breakfast.”
“Good. You may go to the priest.”
“Yes, my lord.” Gilbert’s eyes were wide as they flitted from Ranulf to Annabel. He lingered, as though hoping for an explanation. Receiving none, he spun on his heel and departed.
Annabel left his side and hurried to Eustacia, who threw her arms around his future bride. Her mistress exclaimed her joy in high-pitched accents.
After she had calmed a bit, Annabel asked, “Mistress, does my lord have a shaving blade and hair shears?”
“A shaving blade? Whatever for?”
“He wishes me to shave his beard.”
That wasn’t completely true, but she was determined and he wouldn’t stop her. Besides, it would bring her in close proximity to him again, and nothing could please him more than that.
Eustacia stared quizzically at her. Annabel whispered in her ear and they embraced, then the two of them hurried off to who knew where.
He sat down to wait for them.
A strange day indeed. An hour ago he’d believed it quite likely that he was about to die, knowing his villeins were bent on killing him. Now he was anticipating not his demise but his wedding — to Annabel, the most beautiful, virtuous, courageous creature he’d ever known.
“I’ll get some hot water,” Eustacia called as Annabel entered the room, smiling with her whole face. In her hands Annabel carried his shaving blade and hair shears.
“Now, my lord, this chair won’t do. Come sit on this stool.”
Ranulf sat on the high stool, eyeing the way she slipped the blade from its leather holder and placed it on a bench. Then she stood before him with the shears in her hand.
“May I ask if you have experience in the realm of shaving men?”
“You may, and I do.”
He’d never seen such a confident, impertinent smile on her face. He frowned. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Forgive me. I am simply happy. Now hold still so that I don’t cut you.”
Not even married yet and already she’s taking liberties with me. But he sat perfectly still, feeling like a sheep at shearing time as she clipped his beard. He could have taken the shears away from her and told her he could do this part himself. He was accustomed to trimming his own beard. But he would be a fool to protest, not when he could drink in her nearness, the way she kept placing her hand against his face to tilt him, or touching his forehead to tip his head back to reach the hair under his chin.
He closed his eyes and breathed in her feminine smell of roses, dried lavender, and fresh air. He remembered all the times she had touched him in the past, changing his bandages, even putting her arms around him a few times. He no longer had to steel himself against her touch. Now he could enjoy it, revel in it, encourage it.
In three weeks they would be married. Was such an event possible?
Mistress Eustacia brought the steaming water in a pot and set it by the shaving blade. Annabel dipped a cloth into the water, squeezed it out, then placed it over his face, pressing it against his beard.
The heat from the cloth sent a soothing warmth through him, relaxing his shoulders. He gazed deeply into her sky-blue eyes, trying to see inside her heaven-born soul. She seemed to see inside his too, into the most intimate part of his heart, where all his longings fed upon her gentleness, her softness, and her beauty.
“Oh, my dear Lord Ranulf.” Mistress Eustacia jarred him from his exquisitely pleasant thoughts. “Pray allow me to wish you joy in your marriage to this dulcet maiden.” She ended her statement with a half laugh, half sob.
He intended to say, “Thank you, Mistress Eustacia.” But the cloth around his face, covering everything but his nose and eyes, prevented him.
Smiling widely, Eustacia nodded. “I knew you would love her, my lord. I knew she was the one who would make you happy.”
Annabel put the cloth aside and picked up the shaving blade. “Now stay still.”
Mistress Eustacia left the room and they were alone again.
Annabel began to shave his right cheek. “I used to shave my father all the time.” She rinsed the blade in the warm water and resumed her labor. “I even shaved my brothers. So you see, you’re in safe, experienced hands.”
He didn’t answer. He was enjoying a close examination of her features, her hair, her skin, her eyelashes. The feather softness of her breath on his cheek drew his gaze to her lips, which were parted slightly in her concentration.
She said nothing until she finished the right side and started on the left cheek. His scarred side.
How hideous would he look with his scar exposed? Would she be repulsed?
She didn
’t say anything for a while as she shaved, but her eyes were cloudy with her thoughts. Finally, she murmured, her face opening up like a rosebud in the sun, “You look so different … so handsome.” She reached out and ran two fingers along his jawline, caressing his cheek and then his chin. “You always were handsome … manly … but now … you look so young. Your skin … it’s so smooth. Without the beard, your scar is hardly noticeable at all.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“Mistress Eustacia!” she cried. “Bring a mirror.”
Mistress Eustacia hurried back into the room and gasped as she stared at him. “Your scar has faded to almost nothing.” She handed him a mirror.
He was startled to see himself without a beard for the first time after so many years. As he held the mirror closer, his left cheek was streaked with a pale line. But it was quite faint and looked nothing like it had when he’d grown his beard.
He glanced at Annabel, then Eustacia. They both stared with wide smiles. “So handsome,” Eustacia murmured.
“Yes indeed,” Annabel answered. Eustacia excused herself from the room, winking at Annabel.
Annabel placed her hand in his, and a reverence came over him, as though he were on holy ground. “Will you kneel with me?”
They slipped to their knees on the floor. Facing her and clutching her hand, he bowed his head. “Thank you, God. Thank you for protecting Annabel when she spoke to the angry villagers, and that they left peacefully. And thank you for taking away my scars.” His voice broke, but he forced himself to go on. “Thank you for showing that you do love me.” O God, I can hardly believe Annabel is mine, a gift beyond what I deserve. You are so good, God. You truly do love your children. Forgive me for doubting it. All the painful memories are nothing compared to the surpassing joy I feel at this moment.
A tear splashed onto his hand, and he wasn’t sure if it was his or Annabel’s. He lifted his eyes and caught her watching him. She scooted forward on her knees and took his face in her hands. His heart pounded faster. Slowly, reverently, her eyes half closed, she kissed his eyelid, brushed her cheek against his, then kissed his chin and jawline, her lips igniting a burning deep inside him. He pulled her close and their lips met.
What could be more miraculous than that?
Justice and love had both won this day.
Epilogue
“Adam shall carry the bridecup,” Mistress Eustacia declared as they prepared to walk to the church. Adam smiled.
Ranulf’s shoulders were erect and his head high as he watched the lad pass through the massive wooden door. Annabel took Ranulf’s arm and they followed Adam out onto the top step.
A large gathering of villagers stood on the lawn before them. As soon as they stepped out, the crowd saw them and fell silent.
Ranulf’s whole body tensed, and Annabel took a step back.
The scene brought back the memory of the morning, three weeks ago, when the villagers stood defiant and angry, holding up weapons, yelling and cursing as they followed Tom atte Water across the yard.
“What is it you want?” Ranulf asked them.
A carter named Henry in the Lane stepped forward, pulling off his tippet to bare his head. “If it please you, my lord, we have come to ask forgiveness for what we did, or were about to do, when we followed Tom.” He kept his head half bowed, not daring to lift his eyes.
“It was a grave sin to come to our lord with intent to harm.” The group around him kept their heads bowed as well, most of them nodding quietly to agree with his words. “We all know that the merchant’s daughter, Annabel Chapman, was right in all that she said. We were led astray by Tom atte Water, who has now reaped the just reward for his sin.” He crossed himself then added, “May God have mercy on his soul.”
Ranulf asked, “What happened to Tom?”
“He was taken ill of a sudden, my lord. A fit of rage came over him after everyone went home, and he fell down as though dead. He never moved again, and this morning the breath of life left him. He’s dead.”
So Tom was gone forever, and the people were sorry for what they’d done. O God, let me not rejoice in anyone’s suffering, but I thank you for the peace this news brings to our wedding day.
“You are forgiven,” Ranulf said evenly.
“You are most kind, my lord.” Henry in the Lane crushed his cloth hat between his hands, bowing low.
The people randomly offered words of thanks. “Thank you, my lord.” “May our lord be ever blessed.” “May you live long and have many children!” A cheer rose up from the crowd at this last shouted sentiment.
Gilbert Carpenter stepped forward and announced in a loud voice, “Your lord is getting married today. Let us give honor to Lord Ranulf le Wyse and his new bride!”
A much louder cheer arose. All the people’s faces had changed from fearful submission to joyful exultation. Ranulf held out his hand to acknowledge their expressions of elation.
“Long live our lord’s bride, the most beautiful maiden in the land!”
Another cheer. Annabel seemed unable to stop smiling as she curtsied to the crowd. Ranulf turned to her and elegantly kissed her hand.
They made their way down the steps, Annabel being careful of the hem of her dress, and the crowd parted for them.
Soon they were on the road to the church. Some of Ranulf’s men played instruments, including the lute and shawm, as they followed them down the road. Adam, holding the bridecup out in front, led the entire procession.
As they neared the village, young children, both boys and girls, fell into line in front of the couple, skipping and dancing, twirling ribbons in the air. But Ranulf hardly noticed anything except the maiden on his arm. She looked so striking in his mother’s court dress. The soft blue color brought out the creamy tone of her skin and golden hair, which hung in ringlets about her face.
Soon she would belong to him, and he would cherish her with every beat of his heart.
The stone church loomed ahead of them. Sir Matefrid stood on the steps, waiting to bless their union and to celebrate Mass with the wedding party. He wore the white wool tunic Ranulf had sent to him for the wedding, along with a white stole embroidered with red, gold, and green thread around his neck, hanging to his knees, and a great hat more than a foot tall.
Their vows to love and honor and obey, in sickness and in health, in wealth or in want, in good times and bad, were spoken before the silent throng behind them. Then the priest blessed them and led them all into the church for Mass.
Emerging from the church with Annabel beside him, he stared for a long time into her eyes. The overcast sky hung low and was strangely gray. But the lack of brilliance in the sky did not dim her beauty in the least. She seemed to glow with a light from within.
He felt moved to declare, “God is good.”
“Aye, my lord. God is good.” She squeezed his arm and pressed closer.
He looked out over the crowd of people. The servants had gone to lay out the food for the wedding celebration, which would take place in the courtyard of the manor house. All those who now stood before them, who had witnessed their sacred union inside the church, no longer looked like his enemies. They smiled. Many of them carried cakes to stack on top of each other, a traditional way of wishing them good favor. A few of the villagers looked sheepish and avoided his gaze, but no one fled. No one crossed his arms in anger or resentment.
They had all accepted his forgiveness. They all wished them well.
This — this was what he had wanted when he came to Glynval, though he never imagined himself marrying again. He was starting anew, among strangers.
A white flake floated down from the sky. Then another and another, until everyone noticed and looked up.
“It’s snowing.” Annabel raised wide eyes at him and laughed. “It’s snowing before Saint Catherine’s Day.”
The snow raced down in a thick sheet of white, dusting everything and everyone. Children whooped and held out their tongues to catch the flakes. Smiles grew wider on every face.
Ranulf said a silent prayer of thanks for the unusual gift then led the whole company toward the manor house.
The irony struck him that he was celebrating his wedding feast in the same place where the jury had accused him of both murder and lechery.
But today it looked different, not like the same place at all. The beautiful blanket of white quickly covered the courtyard, making the town clean and new.
Several voices began to chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
Annabel pulled on his arm, and he turned his attention to her. Snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes and made her blue eyes sparkle. He kissed her.
Cheers went up from the onlookers. He pulled away as music trilled behind him. A lively tune jounced to the beat of a tambourine.
Annabel murmured, “Shall we dance?”
“We shall.”
̃THE END̃
Author’s Note
Researching for a historical novel is always an adventure, and this book was no exception. I am very grateful for the wonderful research books that are widely available in my library and online bookstores, written by many knowledgeable scholars. I am especially grateful to Frances and Joseph Gies, who wrote, among other works, the fascinating and helpful Life in a Medieval Village. I learned a wealth of information from this book about the judicial system in place in England during the Middle Ages. Often this information came from actual surviving documents quoted by the Gieses. Their meticulous research was just what I needed to piece together my own fictional hallmote and trial, events that are as authentic as I could make them. But any inaccuracies are solely the fault of me, the author of this fictional work.
I would also like to note that at the time of the setting of this story, mid-1300s England, the only translation of the Bible in wide use was in Latin. I chose to use the NIV translation in the scenes in this book, since the NIV most closely mirrors the way I have my characters speak, and also because I don’t understand Latin and I assume most of my readers probably don’t either.
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