Her eyes burned from reading so long in the dim light, as well as from the candle smoke.
“Perhaps you should stop now.” Lord le Wyse’s voice sounded hoarse. “You look tired.”
Only six chapters. She wanted to go on, but it must be late. She couldn’t resist rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.
She closed the book. “Thank you.” She was amazed that her lord, the brooding and intimidating Lord le Wyse, would be the means of obtaining her dearest wish.
He nodded curtly, taking the heavy book from her.
She curtsied in response and followed Mistress Eustacia out the door.
Eustacia had picked a red rose and placed it in a small pottery flask of water, setting it on the gray stone mantle over the fireplace. Ranulf studied it, admiring the shape, the color, the delicate beauty of the petals. The servants were engaged in their early morning chores, leaving him alone in the upper hall, so he set up his easel and parchment next to the east-facing window. Placing the rose on a table beside him, he took out his materials and began to paint.
It had been a long time since he had wanted to paint. Perhaps the country and this village were good for him after all. He stroked the brush across the parchment until the rose emerged, full and lush, but something else was emerging as well. The real subject was not the rose but the person holding it: a girl with blonde hair — he decided to let it flow loosely about her shoulders — with full lips and a feminine chin and wide blue eyes —
He suddenly realized who was emerging on his canvas, and it made him growl irritably. But he’d already started the painting. It would be a shame not to finish it.
Then he’d hide it in the wooden chest.
He added a slight blush to her cheeks and a wisp of hair touching her jawline, the way she had looked when his horse nearly trampled her. He took particular care in forming her nose and eyebrows, trying to get them exactly right — if he was going to paint her, he might as well do it to the best of his ability. He pulled the parchment closer to the window, since the sun was nearly overhead and not streaming in as brightly as before. When he did, he caught sight of movement next to the manor house. The subject of his painting — the girl, Annabel — sat washing laundry with Beatrice. But sneaking up behind her was Bailiff Tom.
Annabel worked opposite Beatrice on the tub of dirty laundry. She let her mind wander over the passages she’d read the night before, and she marveled again at how God had given her exactly what she’d longed for. Through the person of Lord le Wyse, God literally laid it in her lap. Perhaps God had heard her prayers and he wanted her to read His Word.
While scrubbing a sheet from one of the servants’ beds, she marveled at how the rude and scowling Lord le Wyse had seemed almost kind and … human, at least for a few minutes. He was formidable to look at, but he seemed to be bringing stability to their village. He’d made sure all the grain was harvested, and he seemed to be successful in keeping the miller from stealing a good portion of it, as had happened before in all the years Annabel could remember.
She supposed it was proof that God could use anyone to accomplish His will.
Yes, God was blessing Glynval after the tragedy of the Great Pestilence, and in spite of the recent drought. God did love them, even if most of Glynval chose not to believe it.
“Annabel. You look as if you’re solving the world’s problems, you do.” Mistress Eustacia stood beside her, holding a bundle of laundry that overflowed her arms.
“Forgive me. I was thinking.” She took the bundle from the mistress’s arms and plunged the load into the warm tub of water.
“There’s naught to forgive, my dear. You girls have washed much in a short time.” She picked up the basket of clean linens that Annabel and Beatrice had finished wringing out, groaning as she lifted the wet laundry and carried it toward the clothesline.
Annabel glanced up at Beatrice then stared as the servant girl held one of Lord le Wyse’s unwashed shirts against her cheek and closed her eyes. She seemed to be inhaling the scent of it, an intense, almost pained look on her face.
Beatrice’s eyelids flickered open and she caught Annabel gaping. Beatrice scowled and pushed the shirt down into the water, applying soap and roughly scrubbing the material between her hands.
Annabel wondered how Beatrice could have such strong feelings for Lord le Wyse. She herself had never felt such attraction for any man, and couldn’t imagine men having such appeal that she would sniff their dirty shirts!
Beatrice clearly had what the priest called “natural lusts and desires,” and therefore Annabel must be “unnatural,” since she felt no such lust. But if it was natural, why did God condemn it? It was all so confusing.
Though she’d learned much from the six chapters she’d read last night, Annabel still wondered about many things contained in the Holy Writ. Perhaps she could pose a few questions to Lord le Wyse — when he was in a good mood.