Fairy Tale Romance Collection

by Melanie Dickerson

  She shook her head. She didn’t know the answer to that.

  When Annabel sat down with the Bible that night to read, Sir Clement and Mistress Eustacia quietly left the room. She opened her mouth but was only able to get out the first word before Lord le Wyse interrupted her.

  “I have something to tell you while we’re alone.”

  “Yes, my lord?”

  He sighed then said, “I received a missive from my aunt, the abbess at Rosings Abbey. I’m afraid you won’t be able to go as soon as I had hoped.”

  Annabel was surprised not to feel some disappointment at his news. She waited for him to go on.

  “My aunt tells me there is an illness that has spread through the abbey. No one has died yet, but it involves fever and a rash. She begs me to wait until she is able to send word that the illness is over.”

  “Very well, then.”

  Lord le Wyse’s expression was sober. “I’m afraid you will not be able to avoid being here when the jury begins their inquiries into the bailiff’s injuries.”

  “I see.” This was grave indeed. She stared down morosely at the open Bible. The prospect of standing before the jury, in the presence of everyone who knew her and hated her family, terrified her.

  “I will do my best to keep Sir Clement from revealing what he knows, and I won’t betray your secret.”

  Annabel nodded.

  “I’m very sorry you can’t leave yet.” Lord le Wyse looked grim, almost angry. “I know you’re eager to go.”

  “It isn’t that. I’m afraid of having to answer the jury’s questions.”

  “Of course.” The angry tone was gone, but now he looked despondent. “I will protect you as much as I can.”

  “I know. All will be well.” She tried to look hopeful, to turn him from sad thoughts. His melancholy moods always made her want to cheer him up. “God works out everything for our good, remember?”

  He stared back at her and half frowned. But how could God work this out? She had no idea.

  “But sometimes I wonder if he’s angry with me,” she confessed, “and that is why this is happening.”

  “Angry? With you? Why?”

  She shook her head. “I did a terrible thing by possibly bringing about the bailiff’s death. He may not have been a good man, but I should never have reacted as I did.”

  “But you didn’t —”

  “No, I didn’t throw the stone, but what happened to him was my fault.” She looked up and pressed her hand against her chest, trying to push back the pain and guilt that seemed to suffocate her now as it did when she was lying in bed at night. “I am to blame for his death if he dies.”

  “How?” By the look on his face, he clearly didn’t believe her.

  “By carrying a knife around — out of fear! Shouldn’t I rather have trusted God to save me? I pulled out that knife and held it as though I meant to do him harm with it. But I was the fool, because it was no good to me at all. He had no weapon. He took mine from me.” Her breath was coming shallow and her temples throbbed. “If he dies, it will be my doing.”

  “No, Annabel. It will not.” Lord le Wyse’s words were firm, but they only seemed to stir up more anguish in her. She felt the perverse need to convince him of her culpability.

  “Yes, it will! I should have screamed. I should have screamed and screamed until help came. Why should I … think …” Oh, what was the use in talking about it? She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

  “Annabel, listen to me. It was not your fault. You struggled. You tried to scream. You did all you could. I heard you when I was on my walk, but I didn’t reach you in time. Stephen heard you too, and he was closer. You have to stop torturing yourself.”

  “But God must be angry with me. He intends to punish me.”

  “No. A verse from First John reads, ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins, and purify us from all unrighteousness.’ Are you saying you don’t believe He will forgive you when he has plainly said He would?”

  Peace washed over her. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  They sat looking at each other for a long time.

  “The verse says, ‘If we confess our sins,’ so I must confess. I didn’t trust God as I should have.”

  “And God forgives you.”

  But does he forgive me for wanting you to hold me in your arms? For thinking about kissing you? Annabel shuddered at the thought of her lord finding out.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I-I just wonder if God’s tired of hearing all my confessions lately.”

  “I don’t think God gets tired of hearing you. I never could.”

  The light was so dim she couldn’t read his expression, but his words made her heart flutter. As she watched the candle and firelight flicker over his face, she was struck with the thought that she knew little about him, about his family or past, except for the wolf attack and his wife’s unfaithfulness. “You said the abbess is your mother’s sister. Is your mother still alive?”

  “She died seven years ago. My father died last spring. My brother and sister have been gone a few years as well. The worst may have been my sister — she died the same week as my wife and child.”

  “I’m so sorry. That is grievous indeed.” He was all alone. “Were you married long?”

  “Two years.” He blinked twice, as though he were erasing all emotion from his face and voice. “But there was no love between us — at least, not on her side. She never cared for me.”

  Annabel swallowed. Her heart seemed to expand toward him, reaching out to him. He had endured so much pain. She longed to do or say something to comfort him.

  “In truth, no one knows if the child born to her was mine or … his. Though I was determined to claim him for my own. After all, it wasn’t the child’s fault his mother was … as she was.”

  “You speak of it as if it is no longer painful, but I know you must have suffered.” If ever anyone deserved a noble, loving wife, it was Lord le Wyse.

  “Time,” he said, pausing and leaning back in his chair. He stared into the fire. “Time blunts the pain and creates a mist over one’s memory — at least in the case of death and sorrow. Other types of pain linger longer.”

  No doubt he was thinking of his wife’s betrayal. How could anyone be so false? Annabel hated her with an intensity that took her breath away.

  “Perhaps time is an inconsistent healer,” he said, “but God can purge even the most painful memories.”

  What was Annabel’s most painful memory? Her father’s death? Bailiff Tom’s lifeless body in the forest? Nay, it was the terrifying moment when she realized the bailiff wanted her to marry him and was willing to resort to violence. Raw fear had shot through her stomach as he grabbed her and kissed her. Fearful thoughts dogged her steps from that moment to this.

  But God had taken care of her. When the bailiff was near, a protector was always there as well. Usually it had been Lord le Wyse, and Stephen had appeared the final time.

  Lord le Wyse’s questioning look brought her out of her reverie.

  “Shall I read?” she asked.

  “As you wish.”

  The book opened to the second epistle to Timothy. Her eyes centered on the verse, “For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love, and self-discipline.” Forgive me for my timidity, God. It did not come from You. I pray you will cast out this spirit of fear. And replace Lord le Wyse’s pain with a spirit of joy.

  Chapter

  17

  Three days later, Sir Clement and the hundred bailiff went through the village of Glynval and neighboring villages gathering the men and women who would form a jury for the inquest into the attack on Bailiff Tom. Come morning, the inquest would begin.

  Sir Clement had already spoken to the jury about the evidence the body presented. Ranulf had only tonight to evade Sir Clement’s questions about whether he had extracted the name of the bailiff’s attacker from Annabel, and
to convince Sir Clement not to question Annabel before the jury.

  With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Ranulf came around his dressing screen as the coroner stopped at the fireplace to warm himself. “Sir Clement, do you have a moment?”

  “Ah, Lord Ranulf. I was hoping to see you tonight. Have you discovered whom the maiden Annabel is protecting?” He smiled and rubbed his hands before the warmth of the fire, but Ranulf saw a sharp eagerness in his eyes that contradicted his casual stance.

  “I have.” Ranulf stepped forward and leaned against the side of the stone hearth.

  “Who is it?” Sir Clement was all attention once he turned his body to face his friend.

  Ranulf considered each word before speaking. “It is someone who was protecting Annabel.”

  “Protecting her? From the bailiff?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the teeth marks are Annabel’s.”

  Ranulf winced as he realized this might create a direct link placing Annabel in violent conflict with the bailiff. If the jury asked her if they were her teeth marks, she would have to say yes.

  “The point I would like to make to you, Sir Clement, is that this person is no man of violence. He was simply trying to keep the bailiff from hurting Annabel. He is a man … that no one would ever think …” How should he say this? “His heart is pure, and the assault of the bailiff was an accident resulting from a man’s desire to protect a childhood friend.”

  “Accident or not, I need to know this man’s identity, to question him. The truth must come forth, Lord Ranulf, for truth is paramount.” The coroner spoke softly, as though trying to lull him into a sense of trust. “Who is he?”

  But Ranulf couldn’t betray Annabel. “I will not tell you.”

  “Then the jury and I will be forced to question her tomorrow at the inquest.”

  “Sir Clement, believe me, this was a terrible event, but it will serve no purpose to reveal the person, who no doubt feels very badly about what he had to do to protect an innocent maiden. I ask you, pray, do not press it further.” He had vowed not to get angry but to speak calmly and pray for God to touch Sir Clement and bend him not to question Annabel. But Ranulf could already feel his face growing warm and his jaw beginning to clench. “Why must you put this village through more anguish?”

  “For the sake of truth, my friend. Truth and justice. Justice is everything.”

  “No, justice is not everything. There are more important things than justice.”

  Sir Clement frowned. “What is greater than justice?”

  The answer came to Ranulf in a blink, as though whispered to his spirit by a familiar voice. He murmured, “Faith, hope, and love, but the greatest of these is love.”

  “What did you say?” Sir Clement leaned forward, his eyes fastened on Ranulf’s face.

  “Mercy. Love.” His heart thumped then seemed to soar above him to the very clouds, but painfully, like a bird with a wounded wing. His breath went out of him as he spoke the words. “Mercy and love are greater. For us mortals, love is greater than justice.”

  Annabel stood in the courtyard with Mistress Eustacia. The goats that usually grazed there had been shut in their pen as people descended onto the open space, talking low among themselves. She watched them, her heart pounding against her chest.

  Two of Lord le Wyse’s men hauled a table and some stools out of the manor house and set them up on the grassy court, which had lately turned brown with the coming frost. The coroner’s clerk, Ralph Abovebrook, who had arrived the night before, sat on the stool and unfolded his leather case, from which he drew out a pot of ink, a quill, and a long sheet of parchment.

  The stools were set up for the twelve members of the jury, arranged in a circle on the yard. Soon she might be forced to stand in that circle, to answer the coroner’s questions in front of the jury; indeed, in front of the entire village, which was gathering around to witness the proceedings. She wanted so much to run away and hide. How could she possibly allow Sir Clement to ask those questions he was sure to press her with? She had prayed and prayed for a miracle, a way out of this terrible mess. Surely God would rescue her somehow.

  When she saw the twelve men of the jury sit on the stools, she groaned, drawing a look from Mistress Eustacia. O God, please don’t place me in front of all those men. What will happen if I am forced to tell Stephen’s secret? God, save me! Don’t make me do this.

  “Child! Are you ill?” Mistress Eustacia’s voice registered alarm, breaking into Annabel’s fevered prayer. “You’re so pale.”

  “I am well, I am well.” She forced herself to stop wringing her hands and instead clasped her arms around herself, willing herself to be still, if not calm.

  “Annabel.”

  Stephen stood at her left elbow. “Oh!” She jumped then placed her hand over her heart, wondering if it would thump straight out of her body. “What are you doing here?” She lowered her voice, hoping that even Mistress Eustacia, who was beside her, wouldn’t hear. She stepped away with Stephen a few feet and leaned against the cold stone of the manor house, beside the undercroft door.

  “I know I shouldn’t have come, but I couldn’t help it. Do you think they will question you?”

  Her lip trembled, and she bit it to make it stop. “I am almost certain of it.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be angry with you, even if you tell them everything.”

  “Oh, Stephen. Please forgive me … if I do.”

  “I will.”

  “I will do my best. I promise.” Tears stung her eyelids as she tried not to think about what might happen to Stephen. “I have to go.” Not wanting people to see her and Stephen together, she turned and fled back to Mistress Eustacia, plastering herself against her mistress’s side.

  Ranulf caught sight of Sir Clement standing by the corner of the manor house and started toward him, but Sir Clement was intent on watching two people several feet away — Annabel and Stephen.

  Annabel looked pale and distressed. But Sir Clement’s eyes were trained on Stephen, his head cocked as though listening intently. Annabel ran away, eliciting a grim expression from the young woodworker. However, Ranulf was interested in Sir Clement’s expression. His brows had pulled together to form a V between his eyes, and his mouth was slightly ajar.

  When Sir Clement turned his gaze on Ranulf, the coroner hurried over to him. “Ranulf, who is that man yonder with the impaired legs?”

  “That is Stephen Blundel, a furniture maker and woodworker.”

  “Call him over here, and the maiden Annabel.”

  Ranulf hadn’t obeyed anyone since his father died. But he had little choice now.

  “Stephen.” Ranulf beckoned with his hand then strode to where Annabel stood with Eustacia.

  “Annabel.” He spoke her name softly, but still she started and turned. “Come with me for a moment. Sir Clement wants to speak with you and Stephen.”

  Her cheeks were already devoid of their usual color, but she lifted her chin and followed. She must have known as well as he did that she had no choice.

  Stephen’s face was almost as pale as Annabel’s. Like sheep to the slaughter.

  Sir Clement focused on Stephen’s face. “Do you know who I am?”

  “You are the king’s coroner.”

  “And you must answer me truthfully. Where were you the night the bailiff was struck in the head, rendering him senseless to this day?”

  “I was here.”

  “Did you see what happened to him?”

  Stephen stood still and silent. Even his eyes didn’t blink.

  “Did you strike him?”

  “I was trying to protect Annabel. I wasn’t trying to kill him. That is all.”

  “What did you hit him with?”

  “He was holding a knife and was trying to hurt an innocent maiden.” Defiance mixed with the fear in his eyes.

  Stephen shifted his weight awkwardly, placing his hip at an abnormal angle that drew the coroner’s notice.

  Si
r Clement’s lips parted, obviously deep in thought. His voice was somehow softer when he resumed. “You were protecting Annabel?”

  Stephen didn’t reply. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

  “Yes.” Sir Clement answered his own question then rubbed his palm over his cheek and chin. He stared in the direction of the circle of jurors across the yard, but his eyes were vacant.

  Shouts came from the direction of the lane that led to the village. Adam came running into the yard, panting and out of breath, with his father rather far behind him, also running.

  “Bailiff Tom is awake!”

  Several people exclaimed, “What?”

  “He’s awake,” Adam repeated. “My father sent me to fetch the coroner.”

  Annabel looked at Lord le Wyse. He gave her a grim smile and a nod. While she still appeared fragile, a new strength seemed to enter her as she returned his smile.

  Tom was alive. And awake. I’m glad he’s survived, God. I pray he will repent of his evil ways. But what would this mean for Annabel? Would he say that Stephen threw the rock, that Stephen tried to kill him? No doubt Annabel would be forced to tell what the bailiff had done, and had been planning to do, to her.

  But at least Stephen wouldn’t be hanged for the bailiff’s death.

  Ranulf hurried down the road, with Sir Clement close behind him. He was well aware that the entire village, which had turned out for the jury’s inquisition, was following close on his heels.

  When they arrived at Joan Smith’s house, Sir Clement demanded that the rest of the village go back to the manor, but he allowed Ranulf to go inside with him. They found the bailiff in a half-sitting position, eating some oat and pea pottage that his sister, Joan, was feeding him. He looked very weak, his head propped up with blankets and a pillow.

  “Good morning, Bailiff Tom,” Ranulf greeted him, fighting to keep the disdain from his voice.

  The bailiff stared blankly back at him and swallowed a mouthful of pottage.

  “Tom, this is Sir Clement, the king’s coroner.”