The Merchant's Daughter (9 page)

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 smile 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.”

He nodded. “That’s fair enough. Perhaps we can talk more another day.”

Adam came running toward them and grabbed Annabel’s hand. “My father knows how to sing five songs. He learned me all of them when I was only six years old. Do you want to hear them?”

She laughed and squeezed his hand. Her laugh sounded nervous and high-pitched.

“Another time, Adam,” his father said, grabbing him affectionately by the neck. “Miss Annabel has work to do inside the manor house now.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, bobbed a quick curtsy, and fled from them, her face tingling with a self-conscious blush.

Like a bird escaping its cage, she flew up the manor house steps into the upper room and over to Mistress Eustacia’s side, and began helping her set the trenchers on the table for the evening meal.

She’d heard the other maids talking about Gilbert Carpenter and supposed they were right — he was handsome, in a boyish sort of way. But the thought of him holding her hand, or hugging or kissing her, just made her feel ill.

The next day Annabel dreaded the evening meal. Mealtimes were always torture because of having to see Bailiff Tom. Every time she encountered him, her mind would go back to his slobbering lips sliding over her face and the disgusting things he’d said he was going to do. She hated being afraid of him, but she couldn’t seem to stop. The knife in her pocket contributed very little to her peace of mind.

She had been able to force down only a few bites at the midday meal, and though she was hungry, her stomach churned dangerously at the thought of being at the table with the rest of the manor house workers and builders. It was awkward enough seeing Adam and his father again. Thank goodness Gilbert had been too busy to approach her, although she couldn’t believe Adam would give up so easily.

But most of all, she dreaded seeing the bailiff, his horrible, leering face with his disgusting, pointy nose and stubby chin. Thankfully, the bailiff’s duties kept him out of doors and away from the manor house, supervising the fieldwork and making sure the crops were properly harvested and stored and that the manor was stocked with all the supplies it needed.