The Merchant's Daughter

by Melanie Dickerson

  “I don’t approve of the bailiff,” he said, interrupting her, “or anyone else, laying hands on you. If it happens again, you are to tell me of it immediately, and I will get rid of him and find a new bailiff. In fact, I’ll throw him out now.”

  “Nay, please don’t do that. Everyone would hate me if I caused the bailiff to lose his place.” Besides, he’d be so angry, he’d find some way to revenge himself on her, she was sure.

  Lord le Wyse had looked pale as she worked on his burn, a sign that he was suffering more than he pretended, but now his face was flushed.

  Her heart clenched strangely in her chest at the look on his face. “I will tell you if it happens again. I think he will leave me alone now that you have spoken with him.”

  “Very well.”

  Chapter

  9

  Mistress Eustacia, who was fully capable of changing Lord le Wyse’s bandage, asked Annabel to perform the task that night after the evening meal. Annabel was a bit suspicious of Eustacia’s intentions, and worse, she was afraid the lord was suspicious too, but she had to obey. She only prayed Lord le Wyse wasn’t having thoughts about her like Bailiff Tom, or even Gilbert Carpenter.

  The thought was so unnerving that she kept her eyes down and said nothing while she sat on a low stool before him and unwrapped his bandage. She bathed his burns in cold water again, poured more honey over the wound, and began rewrapping his arm, inadvertently brushing his leg with her hand.

  “I beg your pardon,” she murmured.

  “You must be tired. You don’t have to read tonight if you don’t want to.”

  “Oh, I want to.” She looked up and met his eye, then quickly looked down. “That is, if you wish it.”

  When she finished re-bandaging his arm, he got up and retrieved the Bible. As he handed it to her, their hands touched. She pretended not to notice, not wanting to react the way Beatrice would have reacted if her hand accidentally touched Lord le Wyse’s. It was more sad than amusing, the way Beatrice tried so hard to get the lord’s attention, as Lord le Wyse obviously didn’t seek or enjoy the maid’s attempt at flirting. Annabel actually empathized with him.

  She began to read and came to the story about the sinful woman who washed Jesus’s feet with her tears. At the end of the story, Jesus said, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

  How wonderful to know that Jesus didn’t condemn women like the priest did. Even with a sinful woman, he didn’t rant about how evil she was. He forgave her and said kind words to her. If only Sir Matefrid could read this! How different his sermons would be.

  Ranulf was hardly listening as the girl read. He couldn’t take his mind off the bruise on her wrist and the way he’d felt when he saw it, thinking about the bailiff hurting her. He didn’t want to sympathize with her; he wanted to believe she had encouraged the bailiff’s advances. But if he was honest with himself, he couldn’t believe that. At the same time, he felt like a fool for thinking well of this servant who was young and beautiful — indeed, for thinking of her all.

  He tried to concentrate on her lively voice as she continued with the next parable.

  A twinge of conscience hit him when she read Jesus’s words, “My mother and brothers are those who hear God’s word and put it into practice.” He felt another twinge when Jesus asked, “Where is your faith?” after calming the storm. But he refused to think about why.

  When she read the account of the demon-possessed man whom Jesus healed, again Jesus’s words were like a hot iron on his heart. “Return home and tell how much God has done for you.” He was becoming more and more uncomfortable with the girl’s lilting voice. What was wrong with him tonight? Usually the Bible made him feel peaceful. Now it seemed to reach right into his soul with one hand and squeeze his throat with the other.

  She came to the story where Jesus healed a woman with an issue of blood. Jesus said, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” Peace. Where was his peace? For that matter, where was his healing? Before he could recover, she was reading the account of Jesus accompanying Jairus to his home, where his daughter had just died. Jesus said, “Don’t be afraid; just believe, and she will be healed.”

  All at once it was as if a voice was saying to him, You are afraid. Just believe and I will heal you.

  Ranulf’s thoughts stilled as he pondered those words.

  Was he afraid? And would God heal his scars? He hated his scars because of what they had cost him — his wife’s love. But even if his hand had been whole and his face and body completely unscarred, she still would have rejected him.

  Besides, his conscience told him it wasn’t a physical healing he needed.

  He tried to deny that God was truly speaking to his soul. He was the lord of the manor and wasn’t afraid of anything. But his conscience pricked him again. He was afraid. Afraid of the agony he had felt from loving Guinevere and then finding she never loved him and never would. He was humiliated and betrayed, both publicly and privately, by the only woman he had ever loved.

  It was easier to believe the worst about everyone, especially women. But if he held that attitude toward Annabel, he was no better than the village priest, who repeatedly condemned his flock for being full of depraved lusts, and condemned women as universally wicked. Ranulf didn’t want to be bitter and cruel like Sir Matefrid, but if he was honest with himself, that was what he had become.

  O God, forgive me. He forced himself not to groan aloud as he closed his eyes and prayed for forgiveness. Even as he did so, however, he wanted to cling to his belief that all women, especially beautiful ones, were duplicitous and evil. If all women were evil, then it wasn’t his fault that his wife had not loved him, had been repulsed by him, and had loved another man. If all women were evil, he could hate them all to dull the pain of his wife’s betrayal.

  He hadn’t been listening to Annabel read for some minutes. She’d come to the part where Jesus said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?’”

  He knew if he had it to do over, he wouldn’t have allowed the wolf to hurt that servant girl. He shouldn’t resent his scars. Are they not proof, God, that I have lost my life to save it? But he was sorry his inner scars had caused him to lash out at Annabel.

  “Wait,” he said, stopping her reading before he should change his mind.

  She looked up at him with a curious expression.

  “I’m sorry for what I said when the bailiff asked to marry you.”

  Her cheeks flushed red and she looked down.

  “I never should have assumed the worst of you. I was wrong when I said the bailiff should count himself fortunate you refused to marry him.”

  She shook her head and looked confused, no doubt surprised that someone as bitter and ill-tempered as he would apologize. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

  “Simply say you forgive me, and I am satisfied.”

  “I forgive you,” she said.

  There was silence for several long moments, then he said, “When a person has been hurt, they must let God heal them or their pain will drive them into sin. You understand?”

  A crease formed between her eyes. “I do.” She stared down at the page.

  Was she thinking about saying something more? Was she thinking of hurts she had experienced in the past? He waited, realizing he was holding his breath, hoping she would speak.

  The door creaked open. Ranulf clenched his jaw in annoyance. He turned and saw one of the maids — Beatrice, he thought her name was — walk hesitantly into the room. Her gaze skimmed from him to Annabel and stopped. The girl pursed her lips. He was
about to demand what she was doing there when she smiled broadly at him and hurried to his chair.

  “My lord, if it pleases you, I would be happy to bring you something for your arm, for the burn.” Beatrice stopped a mere handbreadth away and leaned forward. She went on in a breathy voice, “My mother always was the best at collecting the finest herbs for any sickness or injury, and I know what will do your arm good. Allow me to change your bandage tomorrow and I will show you how to apply — “

  “Thank you. I will let you know if I need your assistance. You may go.”

  “Yes, my lord.” As she left she curtsied low and shot another glance at Annabel.

  He turned away from the girl and saw Annabel struggling to rise from the chair while holding the heavy book in her arms.

  “I should go as well.” She looked at him for permission, and her expression had turned to one of worry. He took the book from her, and without meeting his eye, she went out the door behind Beatrice.

  He was struck again by the difference between Beatrice’s practiced flirting and Annabel’s open sincerity. But thinking about that only led to an ache in his chest. At the same time, he realized he felt lighter, as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He was looking at things from a different perspective than before, and it was as if he had reached the end of a journey, only to embark on a new one.

  Beatrice caught Annabel’s arm when she came into the undercroft. “Why do you always get to change the lord’s bandage?” she hissed.

  “I don’t know. Because Mistress Eustacia asked me to?” Perhaps she doesn’t trust you because you’re always flirting with him.

  “You had better tell her to let me bandage the lord’s arm tomorrow. Do you understand, Annabel?” Beatrice poked her finger into Annabel’s shoulder.

  Annabel slapped her hand away. “I’ll do what Mistress Eustacia tells me and so will you.”

  “You just want Lord le Wyse all to yourself. I don’t believe you’re reading to him all that time, so what do you do up there? Tell us all about it, Annabel.” Beatrice stood a few inches taller than Annabel and glared down at her with her hands on her hips.

  Annabel forced a laugh through her tight throat. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Beatrice, but there’s nothing happening except reading.” Perhaps you should stop thinking like our priest.

  “Then let me change his bandage tomorrow.”

  “If that’s what you want, Beatrice, you are welcome to take on as much of my work as you like.”

  Beatrice leaned even closer, until her nose was almost touching Annabel’s.

  Annabel laughed again. “You can change his bandage tomorrow, Beatrice. I truly don’t care.” But she did care — a little bit — if she were honest with herself. Beatrice trying to touch Lord le Wyse, trying to tempt him to think of her as more than just a servant … The thought was so unpleasant Annabel had to turn away from Beatrice to keep the girl from seeing the daggers in her eyes.

  Beatrice said a few more things about being allowed to help Lord le Wyse, making vague threats if Annabel got in her way, but Annabel wasn’t listening. She was too busy pushing away the image of Beatrice enticing Lord le Wyse.

  Annabel went about her duties the next day. This time, when she filled Lord le Wyse’s tankard, he said, “Thank you.” He was still quiet, but his mood no longer seemed so black. As he ate, he gazed out the window instead of staring down at his drink with a grimace on his face. Perhaps the Bible reading was doing him as much good as it was her. She felt a lightness in her heart that she hadn’t felt since her father died.

  He had also begun staring at a red rose on the stone mantle above the fireplace. It was a beautiful rose, and had been opening a little bit more every day since Mistress Eustacia picked it and brought it inside. Annabel had never seen a more perfect flower. It seemed to grow fuller and more beautiful every day.

  Later, when she was outside helping Mistress Eustacia hang out the washing, she noticed Lord le Wyse walking with Gilbert Carpenter, who held a sheet of parchment they seemed to be perusing and discussing. She watched as they strolled with their backs to her, obviously deep in conversation. Gilbert turned to Lord le Wyse and seemed very animated, moving his arms and hands as he talked. Lord le Wyse looked at the parchment and at him, nodding every so often. Then he reached out and picked a sizable leaf off a tree. He studied the leaf in his hand, and Annabel wondered if he was even listening to the mason.

  Lord le Wyse’s shoulders were very broad compared to Gilbert’s. He was several inches taller too, and his posture was regal, yet relaxed. Gilbert was wiry, while Lord le Wyse was solid.

  She shook her head, suddenly realizing how long she’d been staring at the two men, comparing their looks. She went back to hanging the clothes on the line.

  She determined to dismiss thoughts of her lord and his master mason and think instead on the tasks Mistress Eustacia had given her to do that day. It was a long list, and Annabel ticked off each task in her head until Lord le Wyse and Gilbert Carpenter disappeared down the path toward the site of her lord’s new home.

  That night after the evening meal, Eustacia brought the bandages, honey, and clean water to Annabel and nudged her toward where Lord le Wyse sat. She looked up into the mistress’s face. Surely the older woman didn’t have romantic ideas about Annabel and her lord. I must be imagining it.

  Beatrice sidled up between Mistress Eustacia and Annabel immediately.

  “I can change the lord’s bandage tonight, Mistress Eustacia. I have some herbs that are very good for burns.”

  Mistress Eustacia looked at the girl then shook her head. “Lord Ranulf is used to Annabel dressing his wound, and the lord is very picky, he is. You run along and get yourself to bed.”

  “Please, Mistress Eustacia.” Beatrice had lowered her voice to a whisper so no one else would hear. “I have these special herbs. I told Lord le Wyse about them last night — I think he wants to try them.”

  Mistress Eustacia didn’t say anything for a moment, then said firmly, “If you wish to leave your medicines for him, I will take them, but Annabel will do the dressing.”

  Beatrice held the bags of herbs away from Eustacia’s reaching hand. “I’ll give them to him myself.” She turned and flounced out of the room.

  Annabel looked at her mistress. “Last night she asked if she could bandage his arm. I don’t mind.”

  “Nonsense. I will not have her … well, never mind. You do as I tell you and take care of Lord Ranulf’s arm. That’s a good girl.”

  Annabel carried the stool toward Lord le Wyse, wondering how much of the exchange he had heard. She set about unwinding his bandage. As soon as she had taken it off, however, Beatrice came back into the room and hurried straight over to Lord le Wyse.

  “My lord, I brought my mother’s herbs to put on your arm, just as I promised. Move over, Annabel.” She pushed Annabel’s shoulder, and Annabel stood, allowing Beatrice to plop herself down in her place. Lord le Wyse watched Annabel, a masked expression on his face, as Beatrice handed him a cup. “Drink this, my lord. It is my mother’s special drink made from herbs. And I will put this over the burn.”

  Would Lord le Wyse allow Beatrice this liberty? Annabel watched as he seemed to sigh in resignation and allow Beatrice to lightly press some green leaves onto his arm.

  “Here! What are you about?” Mistress Eustacia rushed over to the lord’s side. “What is that you’re doing?”

  “It’s comfrey,” Beatrice stated stoutly, placing her hands on her hips. “It is good for burns. My mother said so.”

  “It’s all right, Mistress.” Annabel intervened before Mistress Eustacia did harm to the girl. “Comfrey is indeed good for burns.” And we’ve been using it all along.

  “Of course it’s good! It will make him well!” Beatrice’s cheeks were flushed pink. She plastered on a smile and looked at Lord le Wyse. “You will see, my lord.”

  “Very well. And I suppose I must drink this?” He picked up the cup of steaming water.
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  “Yes, my lord.”

  “All right, that’s all good and well, Beatrice.” Mistress Eustacia flapped her hands at her as though shooing a chicken. “You may go now. You’ve done your ministrations for one night.”

  Beatrice stood, holding her head high in indignation. She turned to go, but then looked back at Lord le Wyse and smiled. “I only want to be of help. Please let me know if it helps, my lord. I will come whenever you need me.” She batted her eyes and lingered a moment, smiling down at him, then left, her nose stuck in the air.

  Annabel could barely contain the giggle that tickled her throat.

  Mistress Eustacia nodded to her. “Go on, lass. You can finish your task now.”

  Annabel sat back down and proceeded to rewrap the bandage over the comfrey leaves Beatrice had spread over his arm. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lord le Wyse take a sip from the cup Beatrice had brought him. He scrunched his face as though tasting something bitter then set the cup back on the table beside him.

  As expected after she finished, Lord le Wyse asked her if she would read to him.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You aren’t too tired?”

  She shook her head. He was her lord and could order her to do anything, and she was obliged to do it. But he treated her more kindly than her own family. He wasn’t trying to force her to marry disgusting old Bailiff Tom and was even willing to protect her from him. She realized it wasn’t so bad to be here at the lord’s manor. She was working all day to pay her family’s debt, yes, but she was also able to read the Bible every night, which was what she wanted more than anything. The other girls, though they hadn’t accepted her as one of them, were more lively company than her mother and brothers.

  Her servant status could almost be a blessing.

  This thought surprised her. She’d felt abandoned by God, but maybe He had actually been taking care of her by sending her here.