Tom and the men squinted up at the stone edifice, toward Ranulf. Then they ducked their heads, speaking to each other and gesturing. Each man held a weapon — a knife, a spear, or a longbow with a quiver of arrows over one shoulder. They seemed to be on a hunt — and he was their prey.
It was beginning. He’d been half expecting it. He went to look for his sword and found it, as well as a crossbow and several arrows, an old battle ax his father had once carried, a shield, and a spear. If it was a fight the villagers wanted, so be it.
His new home was only partially complete, but even if it were, there were no real defenses planned in the design: no protective wall, no crenellations to hide behind, no gatehouse or guards to keep out intruders. He was vulnerable to attack, and it looked as if Tom had already stirred up the people against him.
He rubbed his eyes and sighed heavily. He hadn’t hired a new bailiff yet, and none of the men he’d brought with him were fighting men. They were builders, carpenters, laborers.
He looked out the window again. Tom and the men of the village were retreating. It would soon be dark; perhaps they wanted to wait until morning.
He would have to round up the men he’d brought from Lincoln and tell them what was happening. At least they were loyal, and they were strong. As they had to be, for they would probably be outnumbered two to one.
If it came down to it, Ranulf would rather die alone than get any of them killed. But at least Annabel and Eustacia would be out of Glynval at first light.
He stared at the rose on the mantle of his new home, in the vase Eustacia had been filling with fresh flowers for several weeks. The rose that was in the vase now was wilting fast. Several petals had already fallen off. It was almost as if the rose was commiserating with him, as the spirit of life prepared to depart from them both.
Chapter
19
As they ate that night, Annabel’s eyes skirted to Lord le Wyse, sitting at the head of the table. He kept his head down and said nothing. The quietness of the workers increased her feeling of foreboding. She’d never seen the people so hushed, as if they shared a secret and dared not talk for fear of divulging it. Their gazes darted from person to person, to Lord le Wyse, and back to the food on their trenchers. No one hurriedly ate and left either, but all lingered, as though expecting something to happen.
Was she imagining it? All day it was as if little bugs were jumping under her skin, making her rub her arms to try to get rid of the feeling. Now, as she looked around the room at her fellow workers, she was sure something was about to happen. But what?
The only person in the room who didn’t seem anxious was Lord le Wyse, though every time she tried to meet his eye, he refused to look up at her.
God, what is happening?
Annabel left her food almost untouched. How could she eat when her stomach was twisting like a contortionist? She began cleaning up, hoping to inspire the others to get up and leave. She had no idea what she would say to him, but she wanted time alone with Lord le Wyse the way a thirsty man wanted water. How could she leave tomorrow without speaking with him one last time? A twinge of fear pinched her at what he might say tonight, fear about whatever was making him avoid her eye. Still, she couldn’t resist the craving to look into his face — and have him look into her eyes and speak to her one last time.
She should be concentrating on her new life, on getting away from the place that had caused her pain, on finding peace and tranquility in the house of God. Prayer and contemplation would be the tasks of her day. She would be happy in her new home. Her life would change for the better and she would have no more reason to fear.
Finally, a few people shuffled out the door, looking over their shoulders. She longed to ask someone what was afoot. Beatrice had a wide-eyed, expectant look, but when Annabel caught her eye in hopes of asking her what was happening, Beatrice just turned away.
At least everyone was finally leaving. Mistress Eustacia was one of the last to go, and she gave Annabel a sad, backward glance, pursing her lips together as though she was holding back tears.
At least she could account for her mistress’s sadness. Mistress Eustacia would never see her again after tomorrow and would miss her. Annabel would miss her too. The realization struck her so forcefully that tears pricked her eyelids and she had to blink several times to drive them away.
Lord le Wyse was watching her, his face suddenly alert.
“My lord, may I read to you tonight?” She was surprised at the way her voice shook as she looked into his eye.
He regarded her for a moment without speaking, staring intently, as though he was trying to sear her face into his memory.
“Do you wish it?” His voice was deep but barely above a whisper, and yet his words seemed to bounce off the stone walls of the empty room.
Of course she wished it. “It is the last time I will be able to read to you.”
The line of his mouth hardened. He turned his head and seemed to focus on the darkest corner of the room. “Very well then.”
Her heart sank at his obvious bad mood. She swallowed before settling into her usual chair by the fireplace. Had she displeased her lord by asking him if she could read? Perhaps he wanted to be alone tonight.
A sudden pain squeezed her chest and inexplicable tears pricked her eyes again as Ranulf set the Holy Writ on her lap. She took a deep breath to calm herself, opened the book, and began to read. At once it felt like the fifty other times she’d read to him, and nothing at all like any time before.
Certainly she would have a Bible available to her at the abbey. So why was she hardly able to blink back the tears at this moment? Why did they blur her vision so much that it was impossible to read on? Because I will never be with you like this again?
She squeezed her eyes shut while catching the tears in her hand, horrified at the thought that they might fall on the precious pages and damage the book. How could she explain this embarrassing show of emotion? She should be showing her gratitude for all her lord was doing for her, not crying because he had given her what she wanted.
“Forgive me.” Annabel wiped her face as quickly as she could.
“Pray, don’t read tonight.” Lord le Wyse’s voice was deep and ragged. His face was contorted, as if he was in pain. “I’m not in a humor for listening. Just sit here with me.” His voice trailed off so that it was hard to catch his last words.
She sat still, watching her lord’s features relax in the flickering firelight. He was now staring down at the floor off to his right, lost in thought.
His was such a kind, masculine face. She still wished he would shave his beard, wished she could see his face smooth, as it had been before the wolf attack. She couldn’t imagine a more pleasing face on any man, ever. He didn’t realize his own appeal.
He glanced up at her and then away. He stood up and paced away then back again. He sat down and studied her, his expression intense. She wished she could read his thoughts. There was such a tortured look on his face. Did he not want her to leave? The protracted silence made her squirm then run her hands along the cover of the Bible.
He stood and came closer to her, his gaze never leaving her face. “Truly, you believe you’ll be happy at the abbey? You are content to live alone there?”
“I-I …” His intense stare unnerved her so much she seemed to stop breathing. “I believe … I mean, I know not …”
He seemed desperate for her to say something, but she had no idea what.
He took her hand off the Bible and held it gently between both of his. She loved the way his hands felt, sending warmth all through her. “Are you sure this is what you want? If you are unhappy about the prospect of going there, among strangers, you don’t have to go.”
“I’m — I’m not sure how I feel.” She watched his face carefully for any sign that she had said the wrong thing. Could he see how his touch affected her? But his features seemed frozen.
He released her hand and stood up slowly, woodenly. He walked to the windo
w facing the moon and stared out. His broad shoulders slumped, his bad hand tucked against his stomach.
Annabel’s head started to pound along with her heart. She had hurt him, she was sure of it.
“Did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, my lord. Please tell me what to say to make you feel better.” She held her breath to stave off the threatening tears. She couldn’t part with Lord le Wyse knowing he was upset with her. It will be hard to leave him at all.
He turned toward her, throwing his face into shadow as the moonlight streamed over his shoulder, illuminating his hair and creating a sort of silvery halo. He sighed. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and deep and barely above a whisper. “You have done nothing wrong. Go to bed. You have a long day of travel tomorrow.”
Ranulf’s heart pressed against his chest like a boulder that blocked the air in his throat.
Annabel looked troubled. But not because she doesn’t want to leave me. She simply was afraid she had offended him, or thought he had changed his mind about letting her go.
Nay, he was convinced now. She wanted to go. A marriage proposal from him would not tempt her. If he asked her to marry him, she would only hurry away faster.
She doesn’t love me.
The heavy weight in his chest grew more painful. But he wouldn’t lash out at her. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t want to marry him. How could she fall in love with a beastly looking man like him?
He would take his leave of her just as he had planned.
He took a step toward her. “I wish you to have this.” He closed the distance between them and placed his hand on the Bible in her lap.
“Your Bible?” She stared up at him with those luminous blue eyes, which were now swimming with tears, sparkling in the light of the moon. Her lip trembled, and a pain pierced straight through the heaviness in his heart.
He looked away, unable to bear her tears. But how could he bear not to drink in the sight of her while he could? This was the last time he would behold her face or see the light in her eyes.
“You mustn’t give me your Bible, my lord,” she whispered.
“Why ever not? I can get another one. You’ll want it at the abbey.”
“You mustn’t, my lord. You have need of it. I —”
“Nay, I will get another. Besides, there will be no one here who can read it to me.” He heard the note of bitterness in his own voice and clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to ruin their last moments together.
She tried to push the huge tome into his hands, but he refused to take it. “I want you to have it, Annabel.”
Her head remained down so that he couldn’t see her face. Then he noticed her shoulders were shaking, and a sob escaped her.
“What is amiss?” He bent lower, trying to see her face.
She shook her head. “I know not. I’m … I’m confused.” Her sobs mingled with her words, and she sniffed and took deep breaths, as though fighting to gain control.
He wrapped his arm around her trembling shoulders, the bulky book between them. Her soft hair brushed his chin. The painful pressure in his chest eased a little as he bent and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. Soon you will be gone.
“Fly away and be safe.”
She sniffed loudly and straightened, pulling away from him. “Will I never see you again?” Her voice was ragged with tears. “Will you never come to visit me?” Her eyes were red, her lashes dark and wet.
He stifled the moan that rose in his throat and shook his head. “Nay. I would not be allowed, as we are not blood relations.”
“I will miss you, Lord le Wyse.” She sniffed again and started walking away.
“Annabel.”
She turned and looked at him.
He was about to say, If you ever need anything, send for me. But after tomorrow, he didn’t know if he could lend assistance to her or anyone else — ever again.
“I … I want you to be happy.”
She gazed back at him. Her brows drew together and she bit her lip. “I want you to be happy too.”
Then stay with me. Nay, he couldn’t say those words to her. He was wrong to even think them. To stay here would only mean danger to her.
If she loved him, they could run away together. Even now there was probably time for them to escape. But she didn’t love him. She’d never agree to run back to Lincoln and marry him.
“Farewell, Annabel.”
“Farewell, my lord.” She slipped out the door and was gone.
Annabel woke with an unsettled feeling, as though she’d forgotten something, or made some sort of error, and the consequences were about to manifest themselves. But surely it was only because she was leaving today. Such a complete life change was bringing about this feeling that she was making a terrible mistake.
Leaving Glynval and going to the abbey was what she had always wanted, wasn’t it? Besides, there was no one in Glynval who cared for her, not even her own family. They hadn’t even come to visit her during her stay at the manor. And what friends did she have? Even her friendship with Stephen felt different now that they had this terrible secret between them. Perhaps he would marry Abigail and have a family. He’d have no time for her then.
The only other friend she’d be leaving behind was Mistress Eustacia.
And Lord le Wyse.
She couldn’t deny that he cared for her after the way he’d looked last night, when he gave her his Bible.
With effort she pulled the great book out from under her bed and held it in her lap. How many times had she sat, alone with her lord, and read to him from the Holy Writ? She could hardly bear the thought of never reading to him again. Would he be all right? Who would take care of him if he got hurt again?
He was the lord of the demesne. He had servants to take care of him. Why was she having these strange thoughts? Perhaps she was only afraid of leaving home and going somewhere new, living among strangers. She couldn’t change her mind now, could she? Especially after last night.
How would he feel if she told him now she didn’t want to go, that she would miss him and would worry about him too much? That he made her feel safe?
She couldn’t make such a declaration.
She put the book down and scrubbed her face with her hands, as though to rub away the disconcerting thoughts of Lord le Wyse. She pulled the rest of her belongings from under the bed as the door to the undercroft creaked open behind her.
Night still blackened the world as Mistress Eustacia stepped into the room. She held a candle that lit up her face. As the other maids breathed heavily in sleep, she made her way toward Annabel.
“Time to go, child. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Mistress Eustacia.” With the mistress’s help she wrapped the Bible in a cloth, and together they carried it along with her two bags and headed out the door.
Gilbert jumped down from his horse and helped tie down Annabel’s bundles, one on her mare and the other and the Bible to his own horse. Then he helped both women mount their horses, and they were off.
No one spoke as they began their journey, which first took them at a slow walk toward the village. The sun was just turning the sky pink, and villagers were coming out of their homes and congregating in the tiny open area in front of Butcher Wagge’s shop.
People were putting their heads together and whispering, with Tom atte Water at the center of them. The sight made her heart beat erratically against her ribs. Mistress Eustacia had her head down and didn’t notice, but Gilbert’s face seemed a mirror of her own unease. He slowed his horse and dismounted.
Annabel slid to the ground and joined him. His eyes were focused on the huddled group, and he took a step toward them.
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm, stalling him. “If you simply walk up, they’ll recognize you, and you won’t be able to find out what they’re saying. Let’s hide our horses and sneak up to them.”
He frowned down at her, hesitated, then nodded.
They started walking the hor
ses back toward the cover of trees near the side of the road.
“What’s amiss?” Mistress Eustacia demanded.
“Gilbert and I are going to find out what those people are saying.”
Just as they reached the trees, Beatrice came running down the road. Annabel waved at her and caught her attention, and Beatrice ran over.
Beatrice huffed and puffed, trying to catch her breath. “Something is happening.” Still breathing hard, she bent over and propped her hands on her knees.
“What?” Annabel demanded. “What is happening?” Gilbert and Mistress Eustacia stood at her side, listening and staring hard at Beatrice.
“I waited up for you last night, but I must have fallen asleep before you came to bed. Tom is stirring up the people against Lord le Wyse. They’re planning to attack his new house this morning.”
“But why?” Annabel exclaimed.
Mistress Eustacia and Gilbert both asked questions as well, but Annabel waited for Beatrice’s answer.
“He says it’s Lord le Wyse’s fault the drought came and that the barn burned, that the lord is cursed and he’s bringing ill fate on our village, and it will only get worse. He also said Lord le Wyse is to blame for what happened to him. He incited the villagers to get rid of Lord le Wyse.”
Beatrice swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and stared at Annabel with wild eyes.
Mistress Eustacia started making panicked exclamations. Annabel motioned for her to stay quiet and to follow her into the trees to hide. Then she turned her attention to the small, huddled group down the road, which was becoming more animated. Tom raised his voice — and his arms — and soon the men were pumping their fists in the air. A cry gradually grew louder, and she made out the words “cursed” and “put an end to” and “Lord le Wyse.”
Abruptly, the group disintegrated as they each went in a different direction.
The Merchant's Daughter Page 24
