He scowled at his foolish idiocy, noticing a woman’s beauty, especially a servant’s.
He remembered his anger when he’d caught her looking at his paintings behind his privacy screen. Recalled her impertinence.
But intelligence sparkled in her expression, and she was too well spoken to have been born to servanthood. Rather, she’d been born a freeman’s daughter and probably had been trained to marry a free burgher or even a landed knight. Her mother was the daughter of a knight, and her father was a wealthy merchant, until fate had turned against him.
How well Ranulf knew about heartless twists of fate.
But she was indeed a servant, and he wasn’t the type of lord to dwell on a servant’s fairness of face and graceful movements. He resolved to cast her from his mind. Of course, he could also leave this place and find a new village. He’d already made good progress on building his new home, and people would say he’d lost his mind, but why should he care?
Ranulf didn’t want to leave, but he also didn’t want to let the young woman haunt him. He was haunted enough as it was. His wife, dead these three years, had also been beautiful. And she’d used her beauty like a dagger.
Beautiful women weren’t to be trusted or allowed into a man’s heart when that man was less than perfect. He’d learned that lesson well.
Annabel was readying the upper hall for supper when Lord le Wyse entered. He seemed to be in his usual grim mood. With the door open behind him, she once again caught sight of the sky, which had bruised blue and purple with clouds and threatened rain. The lord instructed Mistress Eustacia not to prepare anything special for him. He would eat the same simple fare as everyone else.
As the storm approached, Mistress Eustacia brought in torches and set them in the wall sconces so that they could see to eat. The final sconce was lit as the servants trickled in for their meal of bread and cheese. Annabel felt Lord le Wyse’s gaze on her as she seated herself near the other end of the table. Bailiff Tom kept looking at her, and Gilbert Carpenter did as well, but she pretended not to notice them. Why did she always have to eat her food with an audience of men staring at her? It was beyond irritating.
Lord le Wyse’s mood seemed to grow blacker during the meal, and he growled at a serving girl who spilled ale on the table and didn’t wipe it up quickly enough.
Annabel helped Mistress Eustacia clear away the leftovers while most of the other servants remained in the hall, including Bailiff Tom and Gilbert Carpenter, who talked quietly near a corner of the room.
To keep her mind from the two men’s conversation, Annabel began to speculate on what Lord le Wyse thought of the day’s sermon. Was he accustomed to more uplifting messages? Did his priest back in Lincoln give more intellectual sermons?
While the servants and workers talked or went about their duties, Lord le Wyse suddenly cleared his throat, jarring Annabel from her thoughts.
Everyone became quiet as all eyes focused on him, waiting for what he would say. He looked around the room, scowling darkly — his usual expression.
“I desire reading,” he declared in a loud voice. “Does anyone here know how to read?”
They all continued staring at him, not saying anything. His scowl deepened. Annabel’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She would have to speak up if no one else did.
Given his wealth and station, it was almost certain Lord le Wyse knew how to read himself, but perhaps at night, in dim light, it would be difficult with only one eye.
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Hadn’t Lord le Wyse considered whether any of the servants he’d brought to Glynval with him knew how to read? Surely there is someone.
Her heart beat faster as she hesitated.
His gaze came to rest on Annabel. He would find out eventually, and she didn’t want to anger him. She took in a quick breath. “I can read.”
Everyone turned to stare at her.
“Can you read Latin?”
“Yes, my lord.” She met his eye briefly.
“Come, then,” he ordered.
She walked toward him, realizing that she had just ruined her plan to keep her distance from him. He stood scowling at her until she had crossed the room and stood in front of him. Then he turned away. He dragged his own high-backed, cushioned chair nearer the fire, pulling a small table up beside it.
“Sit here.”
He motioned to Mistress Eustacia. “Bring more candles.” He hastened behind the screen, and amid the flurry of activity, most of the other servants hurried out the door.
She sat enveloped in his chair, clasping her hands in her lap to keep them from fidgeting. A creaking sound came from behind the lord’s screen, and when he reappeared from behind it, he carried a huge tome. Her breaths became shorter as she watched him come closer, her gaze fastened on the book in his hands.
Reverently, he laid the huge book in her lap.