Annabel realized she’d balled up her fists. She should leave before this priest insulted her further and she lost her tenuous control over her frustration. But before she turned away, something prompted her to ask, “Do you have a copy of the Holy Writ?”
“Nay, as a matter of fact, I don’t.” He spat the words at her. “So you see, I cannot satisfy your silly whim even if I were so inclined, which I am not. You must say ten Ave’s to absolve yourself of your insolence today. May your penitence be swift and sincere, or I cannot say what shall come of such … such wicked boldness.” He turned and stalked away.
Annabel felt heat creep up from deep inside. I am not wicked. She turned and stalked down the aisle of the church.
She should have known! A man who preached the kind of sermons he did could not even know what God’s Word said. He doesn’t have a Bible. The unfathomable words went through her mind over and over.
The man who proposed to teach her God’s will did not even have a Bible.
She stopped at the door, feeling that anyone could take one look at her face and see how angry and upset she felt. She stood unmoving, her hand on her chest as she waited to get her breathing under control.
Finally, taking one last steadying breath, she pulled her white headscarf closer about her face and stepped out.
She immediately saw Lord le Wyse astride his horse several feet away, as though he was waiting for her, and looked down so as not to meet his eye. He probably wants to make sure I stay where I belong. She walked briskly, hoping to catch up with the rest of the servants and workers.
Then she spotted Bailiff Tom twenty feet ahead of her, standing by the side of the road with another man, watching her. He reminded her of a fox with its tongue hanging out, staring at the henhouse. Out of the corner of her eye, as she pretended to look down at the ground, Tom elbowed the man beside him and nodded at Annabel.
She moved over as she passed the two men, angry that he had the power to make her afraid.
Continuing to walk as fast as she could, she could hear Tom and his friend walking not far behind her, muttering. What were the two of them planning? She heard only snatches of their conversation: “high and haughty,” “too good,” “get her alone,” “nothing but a — “
Horse’s hooves clopped at a trot not far behind. Annabel glanced over her shoulder. Lord le Wyse was getting closer. Would he ride on ahead? If he did, she would be left behind with these two men following her.
Her heart pounded hard and fast in her throat. Lord le Wyse closed the distance, but instead of riding ahead, he placed himself between Bailiff Tom and Annabel.
She glanced back at Lord le Wyse. When he ignored her, she turned around and continued walking.
After escorting Annabel and the other servants home after Mass, Ranulf urged his horse into a run as he took a small path across a meadow and over a hill toward the river. Finally, he slowed the horse to a trot and patted Shadow’s neck. He surveyed the undulating countryside, green and lush along the river bank, despite the lack of summer rain. The river shimmered and tripped over short, rocky falls and wound around bends and through bogs where bluebells bloomed on the banks. He couldn’t have chosen a more picturesque village for his new home.
Guinevere would have hated it.
Just thinking her name sent a painful, sick feeling through his gut. But he’d learned to live with the pain, to think of it as a helpful reminder to him to never be so foolish again.
It was good to be away from the too-familiar paths and discover a new, as yet unspoiled place. If such a place existed.
Glynval was the location he had run to, an area where he intended to live at low ebb, flow with the simple rhythm of village life, breathe fresh air, and keep aloof. His peace would come from the natural beauty of the countryside, from his own independence and freedom. There would be nothing and no one to stir strong feelings of any kind.
His plan wasn’t working so well.
His mind went back to the girl, the merchant’s daughter — he refused to think her name — who had been forced, by him and by her lazy family, into his service. She couldn’t even walk home from Sunday Mass without attracting the wrong kind of attention — but perhaps that had been her intention. Perhaps she’d allowed herself to fall behind the rest of the maids for some perverse reason.
That thought made a growl rise up in Ranulf’s throat.
Even his master mason, Gilbert, was smitten with her. The bailiff certainly had an unhealthy interest.
But the girl seemed afraid of the bailiff. He would have to have a talk with Bailiff Tom and warn him to leave her alone and stop following her around, now that she had made it clear she had no wish to marry him.
Ranulf hated to think it, but the maiden haunted him too, and he of all people should know better. Her perfect features, her beautiful blue eyes, and her blonde hair waving about her shoulders … but it was her kindness to others, her quiet nature and the way she performed her duties with meekness and without ceremony that had caught his attention.