The Merchant's Daughter (3 page)

“The butcher’s not here, but I would be right pleased” — he paused as though to emphasize the last word, reaching his rusty-looking hand toward her face — “to help you.”

She jerked back to avoid his touch.

He took a step toward her. She dodged away from him, but as he was still holding her arm, she couldn’t get away. He leaned so close she could smell his breath, see a black spot on a side tooth and black hairs protruding from his nose.

“Has your brother told you about my generous offer?” His smile grew wide.

Imaginary bugs crawled over her. “Get your hand off me.” She jerked out of his grasp and turned to leave.

The bailiff leapt around her, pushing her back and blocking her way. He hovered over her with menacing eyes.

“I shall help you, help your whole family. Your brothers will be very disappointed in you if you say no to me.”

“My mother is handling the situation, and I will not accept your offer.”

She tried to dodge around the man, but he moved another step and covered the doorway with his body.

“Let me pass.”

His leer made her clench her teeth.

“Tarry awhile. No need for haste.” He grabbed her hand. “I think of you, Annabel. With your mother about to get you all turned out of your house, you should marry me. I could take care of you, could keep your family from trouble with the new lord.”

Her eyes darted to the door.

He grasped her arms again, and suddenly his lips were coming toward her mouth. Annabel turned her head, and his slobbery lips landed on her cheek. She struggled to break free, but he tightened his grip on her arms until pain shot up to her shoulders.

The bailiff growled and tried to kiss her again, muttering his vile intentions, what he planned to do to her. She couldn’t move her arms, so she stomped down on his foot as hard as she could. He oomphed, then shook her until her teeth rattled.

Her heart beat so hard it vibrated from within, but she refused to let him know she was afraid. “Get out of my way. Let go of me or I’ll raise the hue and cry. I’ll scream until every person in the village — “

He dug a finger into the underside of her wrist, sending shards of pain up her arm. “You think you’re too good for me, but who’s going to help you now? Do you think the new lord will not punish you, will not throw you out of your fine stone house? Eh?”

Anger surged through her. She gave a sudden tug at her arm and, managing to maneuver around Tom, she stood in the doorway. He let go with a shove, sending Annabel falling backward through the door. She struggled to right herself as she fell, and landed on her hip in the dusty street.

Hooves pounded toward her, and a horse’s high-pitched whinny sounded above her head. Annabel raised her arm to protect herself.

Just inches away, the horse danced to a halt, snorting and throwing dirt into her face. The animal’s hot breath ruffled her hair. Dust clogged her nose and throat and made her cough.

The rider dismounted. “What are you doing?”

The man’s voice and accent were unfamiliar. Her hair had fallen in front of her eyes, making it difficult to see the hands that slipped under her arms and hauled her to her feet. She pulled away, looking around on the ground for her headscarf. Darting a glance at the butcher shop doorway, she saw Bailiff Tom lurking in the shadows. She wiped his vile saliva from her face with her sleeve.

“Throwing yourself in front of a galloping horse?” The stranger’s voice reminded her of a snarling animal in its pitch and intensity. “We could have both been killed.”

Shiny black boots waited beside her. Even the stranger’s stance showed his irritation.

Finally seeing her scarf, she bent and snatched it from the dirt.

Her eyes traveled from his expensive leather boots to his broad chest. He wore the most elegant clothing she’d seen since the last time she visited London with her father — a red velvet doublet and gold-embroidered shirtsleeves — a vast departure from the dull gray and brown of the villagers’ coarse woolens.

She beat the dust from her skirt as anger boiled up inside her. It wasn’t her fault she’d fallen in front of his horse. Did he think she had tossed herself into the street? First that disgusting lecher Bailiff Tom, and now this stranger … Her gaze finally met his face and she stifled a gasp.

A black patch covered his left eye, and a scar cut a pale line down his cheek, through his thick brown beard, all the way to his chin.

The back of her neck tingled. His expression demanded an answer as he glared at her from one brown eye.

Her surprise at his formidable appearance quickly turned to anger. She was determined to let him know she wasn’t a lack-wit and didn’t relish being treated like one.

“My lord.” Her voice was surprisingly steady. “My name is Annabel Chapman, and I am not in the habit of throwing myself in front of galloping horses. I was pushed.” She had to bite her tongue to keep from adding,
And perhaps you shouldn’t gallop your horse through the village as though you’re the only person on the street.

She leaned down to continue beating the dust from her clothes.

“Who pushed you?” He shouted the question so thunderously, she forgot about her dusty clothes and stared up at him. “Where is the man who would push a woman into the street?”

Her gaze involuntarily shifted to the butcher shop’s doorway, where Bailiff Tom stood just inside. He immediately stepped back into the shadows.

The lord followed her gaze and then looked back at Annabel. “Wait here.”

His expression became even fiercer just before he turned from her and strode into the shop.

“Bailiff Tom? How dare you shove that maiden?” His booming voice easily carried into the street.

He reappeared in the doorway, clutching Bailiff Tom by the back of his neck.

Pushing Tom toward her, the stranger jerked him to a halt only an arm’s length away.

“My bailiff wishes to ask forgiveness for his behavior.”

Tom didn’t look her in the eye but said in a strained voice, “Forgive me.”

She nodded, aware of the small group of wide-eyed villagers gathering to watch.

The man let go of Bailiff Tom’s neck. After straightening his elegant waistcoat, the lord stood tall, his back straight and his broad shoulders looming over the small group of villeins that now surrounded him. He held one arm tight against his midsection as he spoke. “I am Ranulf le Wyse, the lord of this village.”

The people immediately sank to one knee and bowed their heads before him.

“I will not tolerate loutish behavior from the men of my demesne.” The people lifted their heads. Lord le Wyse’s commanding tone riveted every eye. “And I warn you not to hope
for preferential treatment. My father’s steward may have taken bribes, but I’m the lord now, and,” he fairly growled, “it isn’t in my nature.”

He turned in one swift motion, mounted his black horse, and galloped away.

Annabel watched him disappear down the road, then she turned to go home, moving quickly to get away from all the people staring at her. What kind of man was this new lord? He’d assured them that he didn’t tolerate bribes or lawlessness. Her mother had been guilty of both.

What would her family’s future be at the mercy of Lord Ranulf le Wyse?

Chapter
2

Instead of going inside when she reached
home, Annabel ran around to the back of the house, unable to stop her mind from reliving the confrontation with Bailiff Tom — and with their formidable new lord. Her hands were shaking as she stared down at the ugly bruise that had formed on the underside of her wrist.

She found Dilly nibbling the grass in her pen and sank down on her knees beside the goat. Dilly grunted and nudged Annabel with her soft head. She stroked the animal’s furry sides and her hands gradually stopped shaking.

She let her fingers find the scar on Dilly’s leg. Just after Father died, she had discovered the goat in a muddy ditch. A bloody wound oozed from the animal’s foreleg, and she had bleated so piteously Annabel climbed down and rescued her. The leg soon healed, leaving a scar. It reminded Annabel of the new lord’s scar that ran down one side of his face, cutting a line through his beard. What had happened to cause Lord le Wyse’s scar and the loss of his eye? A fight? Some kind of accident?

She moved away from the goat’s leg and rubbed her ears. Thankfully, no one had yet claimed the lost goat. It was a serious offense to steal another person’s animal. But Dilly’s milk supplied a valuable part of the family’s daily sustenance. If anyone told their new lord that she’d found the animal, he might take Dilly away, claiming the goat belonged to him. She probably did, as did almost everything in Glynval.

In addition to having to live off the milk from a lost goat, many things had changed when her father died, including Annabel’s future. While her family and the villagers expected her to marry, Annabel’s dearest wish was to enter a convent, to read the Holy Writ, to know all that God had spoken. But without money from her father’s ships, it was impossible. Convents were a haven for the daughters of wealthy families.

A familiar donkey’s bray sounded from the lane. Annabel stood and peeked around the corner of their house. She leaned against it, the sharp stones’ edges digging into her hip, reminding her that the rest of the villagers lived in wattle-and-daub structures with dirt floors. The stone house had never seemed so dear.

Roberta Chapman came into view, sitting astride their donkey. Annabel shrank back from running out to greet her. Mother’s shoulders slumped as she slowly dismounted, her eyes weary as she went inside. Annabel said a quick prayer, squeezing her eyes tight, then opened the back door from the kitchen.

“What news?” Her brothers stood facing their mother.

Annabel leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the main room of the house and watched, unseen, as Mother took off her wimple, her face drawn and pale. Mother sank onto a stool, which creaked beneath her weight, and laid her hands, palms up, on her knees.

“Tell us,” Edward demanded.

“It is a very hard ruling.” She shook her head and sighed. “The jury said we must begin immediately to do our share, as free landholders, of the demesne fieldwork.”

Annabel huffed. Leave it to her mother to moan about the easiest part of the ruling. What was so bad about that? At least no one could accuse them of shirking their responsibilities any longer. And as free landholders they wouldn’t have to work as many days as those of villein status.

“Surely you can pay the censum so we don’t have to work.” Durand, who was two years older than Annabel, looked ready to cry. He had always claimed he was too sickly to work. He wrung his hands as he awaited his mother’s answer.

Edward stood with his head high, looking down his prominent nose at their mother. He — and their mother — thought it beneath their dignity to work in the lord’s fields. But what good had pride done them? And if they were this upset by having to simply do their share, what would their reaction be to the jury’s actual punishment?

“We’re still in debt because of your father’s lost ships. There is no money. But that isn’t the worst of it.” Their mother hung her head.

After a few moments of silence, with Edward clenching his fists by his sides, Mother told them of the jury’s demand that one of her children serve the lord for three years, keeping her eyes on the floor the entire time she spoke. “The worst is that our lord will seize our house if we don’t comply.”

Silence fell over them. When their mother spoke again, her voice was flat. “In the morning, the reeve will come to fetch … one of you.”

Durand gasped. “An indentured servant? Mother, not I. You know I’m sick. I get fevers, chills. I can’t do it. I wouldn’t last a week. That kind of hard labor would kill me.” He sniffled and wiped his nose with his hand.

“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about it.” Edward casually glanced down at his hands and then brushed off his sleeve, as though ridding himself of a speck of dirt.

Mother and Durand stared at him with open mouths.

“It will all be taken care of. Bailiff Tom will speak to our lord today and pay our censum for us.”

“Why would he do that?” Durand asked.

“Because Tom wants Annabel, and I’ve given him permission to marry her.”

Annabel watched her mother’s face, waiting for her to protest and say that such a thing could never be. But she didn’t say a word.

“Will Annabel marry the bailiff?” Durand looked not doubtful but hopeful. It seemed he wanted to sell her to the bailiff as much as Edward did.
Mother, please say no. Say you won’t let them do this.
Besides, Edward didn’t realize the enormous fine the jury had set against the family. The bailiff could never pay such a fine. In fact, Tom must have known the fine would be extreme and lied to Edward so the family would force Annabel to marry him.

“What choice does she have?” Edward’s voice was hard and forceful. “She has to marry the bailiff, or one of us will be forced to indenture ourselves to the new lord.”