The Merchant's Daughter (21 page)

But the sinking feeling inside her that hollowed her out and made her knees weak told her he was dead.
Dead.

They were taking a roundabout way back to the manor house. She wondered if anyone was following her, but all she could hear was the crunch of dry leaves under their feet and branches that brushed by her ears. She stumbled over a fallen tree branch lying in her path, then her toe hit a root and she fell. She registered skinned knees without feeling any pain as Stephen grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet again.

“Hold on to me,” he said.

Without taking time to brush herself off, she hurried on.

She imagined Lord le Wyse finding the bailiff’s body. What would he think? She swallowed the nastiness that rose into her throat. Vomiting would only slow them down.

Would Lord le Wyse think she had killed him? Perhaps he would think it was an accident, that the bailiff fell and hit his head.

Annabel and Stephen came to the edge of the forest at the clearing around the manor house. She searched but didn’t see anyone as she tried to catch her breath. A few men could be heard laughing in the vicinity of the wooden building that now served as their sleeping quarters.

Stephen hung back in the shadows of the trees. He whispered, “I beg you, Annabel, don’t tell anyone I was out here tonight.”

She felt sick at the desperation in his voice. Their eyes met.
Oh, Stephen.

He turned and hurried toward the road to the village, skirting the edge of the greenway to avoid being seen.

Another loud
hoo-hoo
rang out from the forest behind her. She shivered and ran toward the undercroft. Just as her hand reached out for the door, a voice split the air behind her.

“Annabel. Halt.”

She jerked her hand back. Her heart stopped beating then raced so fast it stole her breath.

Lord le Wyse emerged from the trees and strode toward her. She pressed her back against the undercroft door, wishing she could hide. But he had seen her already, his eye focused intently on her face.

He stood two feet from her. “Come with me, quickly.”

She followed him as he practically ran up the steep steps that led to the upper hall of the manor house. What did he plan to do? Her behavior certainly was suspicious, and Lord le Wyse had likely seen Stephen with her, or at least noticed someone pulling her along. She couldn’t tell him Stephen was with her. He had asked her to swear not to tell anyone, but how could she lie to her lord?

She tried to steady herself as Lord le Wyse led her inside. Standing in the shadow of the doorframe, he glanced outside before shutting the door. He paced off each corner of the room, which was deep in shadows, as if trying to make sure no one else was there. The hall’s only light came from one candle on the table across the room and a little moonlight shining through the windows.

Apparently satisfied no one lurked inside, Lord le Wyse looked to Annabel. She simply stood there, praying,
Father God, let it all be a dream.

He beckoned to her with his hand, and she stepped slowly toward him, her knees weak. He led her to a corner, backing her into it and standing beside the window in such a way to block her view — or perhaps to keep anyone outside from seeing her.

“Who was with you in the forest just now?”

Her heart dropped to her toes. It was against the law to
withhold the truth from one’s lord. She searched his face and saw a spark of compassion. “Oh, my lord, please. Please don’t ask me.” Her words became a whisper as tears clogged her throat.
God, help me. Tell me what to do.

“Annabel.” His voice softened. “You must tell me everything that happened.”

She pressed trembling fingers to her lips as the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m so afraid.”

“What were you doing in the forest tonight?”

“I-I visited the privy.” She had to struggle to stop the sob that was emerging from her throat.

“Did you see anyone?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Who?”

She looked down at the dark floor. She wished Lord le Wyse would stir up the embers in the fireplace and light a torch. The darkness seemed to close in around her, reminding her of the forest and the events that had taken place mere minutes before. But Lord le Wyse did not move as he waited for her to answer.
O God, what shall I say?

“Tell me. Who did you see?”

“I saw — “ She shook her head. She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say his name.

“You saw Bailiff Tom, didn’t you?”

Her tears came faster. “Yes. Is he …?”

“He’s not dead. At least, he was still breathing when I left him. I sent Gilbert Carpenter to get some men to take his body to his sister’s house, since it isn’t very far away.”

The sob broke through and she cried from relief.

Lord le Wyse touched her hand with a handkerchief. “Here.”

She took it and held it to her eyes and nose, willing herself to stop crying.

In her mind’s eye she saw her father, draped with a linen sheet, after he died from the horrible pestilence. Her brothers had carried him out and had even dug his grave themselves. As her mind reeled, she imagined Bailiff Tom covered in a similar
sheet, the priest performing the last rites. Her father died of a sickness, but this … this death would be by her own knife.

No, she was getting confused. He wasn’t dead, she hoped, and it was a rock that hit him in the head. Her insides trembled violently at the memory. But perhaps it was caused by her knife, in an indirect way. After all, if Bailiff Tom hadn’t been holding her knife, Stephen wouldn’t have thrown the rock. Would he?

Lord le Wyse shifted, drawing her attention back to his looming form. “What happened? Tell me.” He reached out and touched her arm with his fingertips, a brief caress.

“It was an accident.”

“I know. Only tell me what happened and I can help.”

“I’m not sure I should tell you.” She felt torn. Her throat ached with held-back tears, making her voice sound rough.

“I know you were there when Tom was injured. And I know someone was with you in the woods. I saw him behind you. You mustn’t try to protect anyone, Annabel. It will look bad for you.”

The room had started to tilt to one side, then the other. “Truly, I don’t want to get anyone into any trouble, my lord. Don’t tell anyone I was there. I’m afraid — don’t make me tell you — “

She began to sob again. He drew her to the chair by the fireplace and gently helped her sit.

“Annabel.”

She looked up at him, hearing the gentle command in his voice.

“If the bailiff doesn’t recover consciousness, I must summon the coroner. He’s coming anyway to investigate our barn fire. He will make an examination, attempt to question witnesses. If he finds out you were there, you will have to answer a lot of questions. And you cannot refuse to answer. The coroner has the authority of the king.”

She felt stunned.

“But if it truly was an accident, you should tell me exactly what happened. No one will be hung for an accident.”

Hung? Was it an accident? She tried to sort it all out, tried
to figure out how to explain it without it seeming as if Stephen had tried to … kill Tom.

It sent a pain through her chest and into her stomach to even think the words. She wanted so much to tell Lord le Wyse, but she had to protect her friend. The bailiff might still die.

“You should tell me.” His voice was tender and coaxing.

With anxiety wringing her stomach like wet laundry, she said, “If someone tried to protect themselves — or someone else — but they didn’t mean to kill the person, only to frighten him away, is it an accident if the person is killed?”

“Are you telling me that the person who was with you was trying to protect you?”

She had said too much. She pressed her hands against her cheeks.
I promised not to tell.
“I didn’t say that.” She shook her head and turned away. If he continued questioning her, she would end up telling him everything and betraying poor Stephen. Stephen was only trying to defend her.

But she could trust Lord le Wyse, couldn’t she? Perhaps he would truly help her and Stephen — would protect her friend. Could she risk it? Nay. The consequences for Stephen were too great; if the bailiff did not survive, Stephen would be tried for murder, she was sure. And if the bailiff lived, he would tell the jury that Stephen attacked him, and who would believe a cripple over the bailiff?

Her head was pounding in her temples, pounding like a thousand drums. She wanted to lie down. “May I go now? I’m so sorry, I … I need to go.”

Chapter
11

Annabel was as transparent as a child as she
stood and took a step away from him. She was trying to protect someone. Great anxiety and pain etched lines on her forehead at the thought of betraying this person. Who could it be? A brother? Or maybe Stephen the furniture maker with whom he’d seen her talking when she first arrived. It could be anyone, since she would feel a sense of loyalty to whoever had tried to defend her from the bailiff. He fervently wished he had been the one to help her, wished he had already stripped Tom of his duties as bailiff and made him fear for his life if he dared touch Annabel again.

But what had the bailiff done to her? Tom had been clutching a knife.

Ranulf was seized with a horrible thought. “Did he hurt you?” He stepped closer as his gaze raced over her body, from head to foot.

“Who? No, no. I am unhurt.”

But he saw her hand go to her arm and rub it distractedly.

“Tell me the truth. Did he hurt you?” He emphasized each word.

Her bottom lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth. “He hurt my arm, and he hurt my face … to keep me quiet, so I couldn’t raise the hue and cry. But he didn’t hurt me in the way you mean. Although he would have had I not gotten away.” Tears started to gather in her eyes.

He should have been there. “Let me see your arm.”

Reluctantly, she held out her arm. He grasped her hand and pushed up the sleeve of her dress to reveal bruises on her wrist, then more dark fingerprints against the pale skin of her upper arm.

Staring at her arm, he had a sudden yearning to kiss her soft skin —

He let go as if her arm had turned into a hot brand. But it was too late. He should never have touched her. She looked so pale and shaky, so vulnerable. How he longed to hold her.

He was crazed to think this way. He must get hold of himself. Such thoughts could only lead to pain.

He backed away from her. Instead of foolishly thinking about comforting her, he should be thinking of the best way to help her.

It would not look good if she was found alone with him, crying, her face tearstained and lightly bruised.

“Come.”

She placed her hand trustingly in his and he led her to the door. “You must go. No one must see you just now.” He hurried her toward the door, much too aware of the softness of her small hand in his. “Don’t speak of this to anyone. Go down and wash your face then climb into bed and pretend all is well. I will get a message to you if the bailiff dies. Otherwise, you are to assume he is alive and well.” He opened the door and stood back in the shadows. “Now go.”

As she made her way down the steps, he only saw one person: Mistress Eustacia. She emerged from the kitchen, headed toward the manor. Annabel disappeared into the undercroft.

Annabel climbed into bed, her limbs aching and still trembling. Thankfully, no one seemed curious or even noticed that she had been missing. While the other maidens were talking and laughing, she covertly searched each face until she was certain none of them knew about the body of the bailiff lying in the leaves.

Then Maud walked in.

Her stomach sank. Did Maud know her father could be near death?

Dread and fear saturated her senses. Maud looked tired, her eyelids drooping. No one spoke to her as she made her way to her bed and began to rummage through the things stored underneath. Her every movement seemed to convey aloneness.

What kind of father had the bailiff been? Poor Maud had already lost almost her entire family. She had only one sister left, who was married, and apparently an aunt, who lived nearby. Annabel’s body seemed to sink deeper into the mattress, weighed down by guilt and regret.
O Father God, what have I done? What did I cause Stephen to do? It’s too, too terrible.