The room was quiet except for the heavy breathing of sleep. Annabel got undressed and crawled under her sheets. But when she closed her eyes, Lord le Wyse’s anguished body posture and groans haunted her. What caused him such pain?
As she pondered her lord’s actions, a loneliness settled over her as a burden in her chest. Even though she was in a room full of people, an occurrence she had rarely ever experienced before, she had never felt so alone. She tried not to think about how hurt she felt by her mother’s and brothers’ treatment of her. She pushed the thoughts away, but they stubbornly returned, until the tears streamed from her eyes and she was hard-pressed to keep silent.
The next morning the clouds hung low, threatening rain, as Annabel carried a bucket of water into the kitchen, setting it down beside the stone hearth. Mistress Eustacia gave her a sharp look.
“Are you well? Your eyes are puffed up as though bees have stung you.”
“I am well, Mistress.” Annabel shook her head and turned her face away, not wishing to confess the true cause of her puffy eyes.
After last night, she was startled to see Lord le Wyse at the head of the table, his usual place. He seemed in a wretched temper throughout the morning meal, however, grunting or snapping at anyone who spoke to him. His hair was brushed back off his forehead and he looked haggard, his pallor heightened by the dark circles under his eyes.
Terrified of drawing his wrath, she filled his cup, her hand trembling lest she should spill anything upon him. Mercifully, he ignored her, and she accomplished the task and moved on. Throughout the meal, however, she found herself glancing in his direction, but he showed no sign that he had seen her the night before.
After the maidservants, carpenters, and stone masons had broken their fast, they all dispersed to their various tasks. Annabel headed toward her mistress.
The older woman sighed heavily and wiped her face with her apron. “I’m off to the kitchen to prepare the midday victuals. Annabel, I need you to set to rights the upper hall. Sweep and strew new rushes and straw — that’s a good lass.”
The upper hall was now completely deserted. Annabel went to work ridding the room of the old rushes that had lost their freshness, as well as the dirt tracked in by all the workers coming in for their meals. She cleaned the entire room except for the screened-off section where Lord le Wyse slept.
She hesitated. Should she find Mistress Eustacia and ask if she was allowed to clean behind his screen, in her lord’s sleeping quarters? She would waste time going out to the kitchen to speak with her, and it seemed too trivial for that. Besides, she wanted to show Eustacia she was competent and eager to do a thorough job. Lord le Wyse was outside supervising the building work; he could be gone for hours, or he could come back at any time. What would he say if he caught her in his private area? Annabel glanced at the door and shook her head. Surely she would hear the door open and could scurry away before he saw her.
Resolute, Annabel rounded the corner of the screen. She swept around the bed and tried not to look at anything. She intended to simply finish her sweeping and move on, but her gaze was arrested by three painted pictures that were propped against the wall. They were similar enough that she guessed they were all created by the same artist. She continued with her sweeping and tried to stare down at the floor, but her eyes kept flitting to the paintings. Finally she stopped her work and bent to examine them.
The first illumination depicted a dead woman lying on a wooden bier. Around her stood many people, but they were all looking away from her, at a baby lying on a similar, smaller bier. The child was swaddled and its eyes were closed, its tiny fists resting against its chest.
The next one portrayed a group of skeletons smiling maniacally, holding up tankards as if in a toast. Behind the skeletons stood several people bent over and weeping into their hands.
Annabel ached for the person who had painted such a scene. The artist’s hurt and sorrow showed in each character, each color choice, each line. The pain-filled paintings brought to mind what she had seen last night in the forest — Lord le Wyse bent over, moaning in anguish. Perhaps these paintings held the answer to the mystery of why he was in so much agony.
The third picture was a wolf snarling at a young woman who, from her plain, ragged dress, was a poor villager or servant. A young, dark-haired man stood between her and the wolf with an upraised arm, bracing for the wolf’s attack.
Annabel leaned closer. This last image was somehow familiar, and she gasped as she remembered the story the maidens from Lincoln had told the night before about the wolf attack causing Lord le Wyse’s scars.
The sound of footsteps made her realize someone else had entered the room and was walking toward her. She’d been so engrossed in the paintings, she’d barely noticed.
“What are you doing here?” a voice rasped behind her.
Annabel spun around. Her heart leapt into her throat at the fierceness of Lord le Wyse’s tone. His eye was rimmed in red and his jaw muscles twitched as he clenched his teeth. Would he strike her? She shrank back.
“Answer me!” he commanded. “What are you doing?” His dark eye flashed as his words rumbled from deep in his chest. “No one is allowed behind this screen. No one. Do you understand?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but no sound came out.
“Go.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t know,” she mumbled as she stumbled away from him and out of his reach, the broom still clutched in her hand.
As she darted past, she glanced up at his face. A flicker of some inscrutable but intense emotion passed over his features.
She hurried to the corner of the room where she’d left her basket of fresh rushes. Should she leave? Lord le Wyse’s presence in the room was so unnerving, she could hardly breathe.
She snatched up the basket. What else could she do but go on with her work? She grabbed a handful of straw and dried lilac and clumsily strewed the prickly stalks on the flagstones.
Footfalls echoed in the sparsely furnished room. She glanced over her shoulder as Lord le Wyse’s broad back disappeared through the entry and he shut the door behind him.
Annabel leaned against the cold stone wall. She should never have gone into his sleeping area, should never have had the audacity to examine his private things, those paintings. The memory of his angry face looming over her felt forever embedded in her mind. His lip curled and she saw the flash of white teeth and the rage in his eye.
Would she be punished? She’d wanted only to do her duty and avoid Lord le Wyse. Instead she’d enraged him, the last thing she ever wanted to do.
Chapter
5
Annabel retreated to the hot kitchen as the rain sprinkled her head. Sitting as far as she could from the huge fireplace and the pungent smell of two pigs roasting on a spit, she and Mistress Eustacia chopped beans and leeks and cabbage. Eustacia commented on how much nicer things would be once the lord’s new home was finished. Annabel murmured a reply, then listened to the rain pattering on the roof and against the shuttered windows.
Lord le Wyse burst through the door.
A puddle formed around his feet, his beard dripped, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and temples. His fine linen shirt, alarmingly transparent, clung to his shoulders and arms, revealing muscular upper arms and shoulders.
His eye locked with Annabel’s and she glanced away, uncomfortable with seeing him again, especially in such a disheveled state. She looked down at the cabbage then chanced another glimpse.
He was still looking at her. Her heart thumped painfully against her chest as his eyebrows drew together and his lips parted. What would he say? Would he tell Mistress Eustacia that she’d snooped in his sleeping area when she was supposed to be cleaning? Would her mistress regret making Annabel her helper, thinking her too nosy to be trusted?
But by the look on his face, she actually wondered if he would tell her he was sorry for yelling at her earlier. That was foolish thinking, of course. Lords didn�
�t apologize to servants.
She ducked her head, trying to concentrate on the cabbage, thankful for the dim light in her corner of the room.
“My lord!” Mistress Eustacia fussed anxiously. “You must get out of those wet things at once. You’ll be sick, perhaps with some deadly fever, and then what will become of the rest of us, says I?”
“Dry clothes … Precisely why I’m here.”
“In your trunk — oh, nay, saints have mercy, your shirts are all here.” Eustacia jumped up, spilling beans and leeks onto the floor. Annabel immediately dropped to her knees to pick them up.
“I shall iron one this minute, this minute, I shall.” Mistress Eustacia went to the basket of clothing she had taken in off the line the day before.
As soon as Eustacia turned, Lord le Wyse backed out the door and was gone.
Eustacia snatched a cloth and used it to take the heavy iron from where it was warming in front of the fire. She ironed furiously, and in a few moments was done. She held up the shirt. “Go take this to Lord le Wyse.”
“Me?” Annabel croaked.
“Of course. I’ll wrap it in this sheet so it won’t get wet. But be careful you hold it gently. No wrinkles. He’s particular about his clothes, he is.”
Annabel stared at the shirt Eustacia was holding out to her. How would Lord le Wyse react when she brought it to him? Would he be angry, thinking she was trying to invade his privacy again? Worse yet, would he be undressed?
Mistress Eustacia said, “Don’t worry. He frightens most people, but the master would never harm you.” She reached out and patted Annabel’s cheek with her work-roughened fingertips.
Hating that her fear must have shown on her face, and not wanting Mistress Eustacia to think she was like “most people,” she took the piece of clothing and hurried out into the rain.
She ran across the yard and up the slippery steps of the manor house, holding the shirt close to keep it from getting wet. She knocked on the door then opened it, trying to steady her breathing. “My lord?”
Annabel closed the door behind her. Her eyes adapted slowly to the dim light.
“I am here.” His muffled voice came from behind the screen.
Detecting no anger in his voice, she pressed on. “Mistress Eustacia sent me with your shirt. Where would you prefer me to put it?” She panted, feeling breathless after stringing so many words together in his presence.
“Bring it to me.” He thrust out his hand around the side of the screen.
Annabel crossed the room, unwrapping the garment as she went. Standing as far away from the screen as possible, she stretched her arm out and placed the shirt in his open hand. It disappeared behind the screen.
Instead of leaving, she decided this was her opportunity to apologize for being in his screened-off quarters. She began to speak before she could change her mind.
“Lord le Wyse, please forgive me for this morning. I would never invade your privacy. I know I did just that, and I’m very sorry I did. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to clean behind your screen. No one told me.” She felt like someone running down a steep hill, unable to stop or slow down. “I tried not to look at your illuminations, I truly did, but they were so fascinating. I didn’t intend to invade your privacy, and I’m sorry, and I will never do it again. Please forgive me.”
She felt a small measure of relief that she’d explained her actions and asked forgiveness. She turned and started to walk back across the room.
“Annabel.”
His commanding tone made her heart skip a beat. She turned to face him as he stepped from behind the screen. He was fully dressed, praise God, his hair still wet and clinging to his temples.
“You should not have gone behind my screen. I forbid it.”
“Of course, my lord.” She bowed her head, hoping to appear meek.
“I suppose you think my behavior this morning to be … beastly.” He glared at her, as if daring her to smile.
“Nay, of course not, my lord.”
“You will mention my paintings to no one.” His voice was flat, quiet.
“As you wish, my lord.”
“They belong to me, and they are no one’s concern but my own.”
“Of course, my lord. I never meant to pry. I am most sincerely sorry, and I shall not tell anyone of your paintings.” Feeling a bit mischievous, and on a whim, she couldn’t help adding, “Even though they are very well done. They must have taken you a long time to paint.”
His one eye narrowed at her and his jaw twitched, as though he was grinding his teeth. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment two maidens burst through the door, squealing about being wet and muddy.
An angry scowl further darkened his face as he focused on the two maidens. “You aren’t supposed to be here now. Get out.” His voice boomed across the spacious hall.
The young women’s eyes grew wide, and they bumped into each other, stumbling on each other’s hems in their scramble to get back out the door.
Annabel hurried across the room and followed them out.
Ranulf shook his head like a dog shaking rain from his fur.
The girl thought she was clever, no doubt, but he felt almost as if she had peered into the deep, ugly corners of his soul. Those paintings weren’t meant for anyone’s eyes but his own. In fact, he often toyed with the idea of burning them.
Women. They were all false. Disloyal to the core. And the beautiful ones were the worst. This one — Annabel — was from a family that had refused to do their share of the harvest work for years, and still clung to their vanity and pride though they had nothing but a stone house. He didn’t trust the girl for a moment. The fact that her eyes were a vivid blue, her lips perfectly formed, and her features feminine and alluring, made him trust her even less. And now Eustacia had elevated her to a kitchen assistant, her right-hand girl.
He snorted in disgust. He had come here to forget; to forget women, to forget his past, and to enjoy the quiet, soothing life of the country. But there was no joy for him, a wounded beast of a man. He’d dreamed of her again last night, almost as soon as he fell asleep, the wife who had betrayed him. Every time he dreamed of her he ended up wandering through the woods, trying to outpace his mind and find peace. He was haunted, without hope of breaking free from his torturous memories.
No matter how far he ran.
“My father is here!” Adam grabbed Annabel’s hand, pulling her toward the sheepish Gilbert Carpenter. “He wants to meet you.”
Stifling a groan, she allowed Adam to pull her to the other side of the upper hall, where his master-mason father stood watching them with a shy half smile. O God, save me from this! Determined not to get anyone’s hopes up, Annabel set her jaw. She would be honest and firm and set the man straight right off.
But she had to do it without hurting Adam’s feelings.
Whatever could she say?
Gilbert Carpenter nodded. “Good evening, miss.” The master mason stood smiling at her, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks as he crushed a piece of cloth in his hands, working it over as if he were wringing laundry.
“Father, this is Annabel. She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”
The man cleared his throat, his ears taking on the same crimson glow. “Yes, Adam. Miss Annabel, I wonder if you would take a walk with me — only in the courtyard.”
“Um, well, I — “ She cast about in her mind for a good excuse to say no.
“I promise I won’t bite.” His smile was genuine, and his stance and voice were so nonthreatening that she found herself smiling back.
“I cannot be away from my work very long.”
“We won’t be gone long,” he assured her. “I asked Lord le Wyse for his permission to take a walk with you.”
Annabel’s smile wavered, and she saw Lord le Wyse’s glare as he watched them from where he stood against the wall. What was he thinking when he looked at her that way? She felt sick.
“Shall we go?” Gilbert looked down at her, his smi
le making him look a bit foolish.
Annabel hurried out. She made it to the bottom of the manor house steps and began walking around the perimeter of the courtyard, forcing Mr. Carpenter to hurry and catch up with her.
They talked about the lack of rain, the heat, and the bugs that were eating the wheat, before he abruptly changed the topic.
“You like children, do you?” He chanced a quick glance at her.
“Well … yes.” Will he now tell me that he’s searching for a mother for Adam? Will he be that blunt? Surely he wouldn’t hint that he wants more children.
“I hoped I would have many children, six or seven at least, but my wife was rather sickly, and then she died three years ago of the pestilence.”
Yes he would. God, save me. “That is very sad.”
Their conversation moved to the progress of the lord’s new house and the journey from Lincoln to Glynval before Annabel told him how she’d come to be at the manor house in Lord le Wyse’s service. She was embarrassed to admit the reason but wanted him to know the truth, since someone was sure to tell him eventually. As they talked, she caught several people staring at them, making her feel even more uncomfortable.
After a few minutes, Gilbert turned to her, his neck and ears glowing red. “I know you don’t know me at all, Miss Annabel, but Adam likes you, so you must be a kind person. Therefore I’d be pleased if you would begin to consider me as a possible husband.”
He stood waiting for her answer. Annabel felt her own cheeks glowing. Could I imagine myself married to this man? She did her best to picture it in her mind. All she could think was that his nails were dirty and his clothes were baggy, although she knew those things didn’t matter. What mattered was his character, whether he was kind and would be a good husband to her.
“I-I’m very flattered and honored,” she began, then realized she wasn’t sure if that was the truth. “I — “ She looked up at him and shrugged apologetically. “I don’t know.”
The Merchant's Daughter Page 6
