The Merchant's Daughter (17 page)

“I only meant that you don’t look at all like you did a few hours ago, when you rescued that lamb. You look as if you might be on your way to the king’s court in London.”

“True. I’ve seen the king’s court, and there are no heroes there.”

Her lips twitched with an involuntary smile, but instead of smiling back, Lord le Wyse deepened his frown. Annabel could see his mood was dark, probably because of the pain in his arm, and perhaps worry over the fire.

She stood before him and began to unwrap his bandage carefully. His arm was raw, and blistered over a section a little wider than her hand. She winced. It had oozed watery blood, soaking the bandage in a few spots. She grabbed a pitcher of fresh water and a bucket and slowly poured it over his forearm. He sat unflinching, watching first her hands, then her face from his heavy-lidded eye. She dried his arm and poured more honey over it, placed some crushed comfrey leaves on top, then wrapped it with a clean bandage.

As she worked, a thought occurred to her, and she asked quietly, “Would the king’s coroner investigate a fire like ours, to see if he could discover how it was set and if someone did it deliberately?” She knew the coroner was in charge of investigating
deaths, though she had heard of him investigating other matters as well.

“The coroner of this shire is a friend of mine. I have sent for him for just that purpose. However,” he said, fixing his eye intently on her face, his tone becoming harsher, “I don’t wish for the whole village to know of this, so you are not to tell.”

“Of course not, my lord. I won’t say a word.”

As she wrapped the bandage around his arm, his attention suddenly seemed arrested by her hand. He watched her with a new alertness, then grabbed her hand and turned it over to stare at the underside of her wrist.

There on her pale skin was the bruise the bailiff had inflicted on her the day he cornered her inside the butcher shop. The bruise was the size of Bailiff Tom’s thumbprint, dark blue, with a slight green tinge in the middle.

“How did you get this?” Lord le Wyse demanded.

Her face went hot. She didn’t want to tell him, although she didn’t know why she should feel ashamed. It was the bailiff who should feel ashamed.

He tightened his grip on her hand. “Tell me the truth,” he growled. “Did someone hurt you?”

She swallowed, trying to gather her courage. “Bailiff Tom did it.”

“When?”

“Just before he shoved me into the street the day you almost ran me over with your horse.” She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t take offense.

She became quite aware that he was still holding her hand, and she hadn’t finished with his bandage. His hand was warm, his palm slightly rough, his skin dark against her much lighter complexion. A cold fear was beginning in the pit of her stomach when he abruptly let go of her.

She quickly finished wrapping his bandage and tied it securely.

“What else did he do to you that day?” Lord le Wyse rasped in a strangled tone.

“He held me against my will, threatened me, and told me I should marry him.”

“Has he hurt you any other time?”

“When I was doing laundry, he held me down, as you saw.” She chose not to tell him about the bailiff trying to kiss her in the butcher shop. She couldn’t think about it without feeling ill. Would Lord le Wyse blame her for the way the bailiff tried to force himself on her?

“I never did anything to make him think I’d marry him,” Annabel said quickly, feeling compelled to explain. “I never thought of him as anything but my father’s friend. I never imagined he was having … thoughts about me. Well, after I saw him looking at me a few times, I realized … but never before that, and I never tried to do anything to — “

“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 — “