“No, my lord, they do not.”
Now he was undoubtedly thinking that she hoped he might send her to an abbey. She waited for him to speak again, but the silence stretched on and grew awkward. Finally Mistress Eustacia came toward them, having packed away her sewing.
“It is late, my dears. Are you ready, Annabel?”
She nodded, but the book in her lap was so heavy she was unable to stand.
He stood and stared down at her, still not saying anything. If only she knew what he was thinking. She suddenly remembered again the night she had seen him bent over in agony and the strange, animallike sounds of anguish that had come from him. Such an impassioned man. But at the moment she had the impression that he was forcing a look of indifference.
“Of course.” He took the book from her lap. “You may go.”
She hurried away from him, and Mistress Eustacia went out with her.
When Annabel got down to the undercroft, all lights were out and she could barely see to get to her cot. As she crawled under the sheet, Beatrice sat up in the bed beside hers.
“Annabel?” she whispered.
“Yes?”
There was silence before Beatrice finally asked, “What are you and Lord le Wyse doing every night?”
“I am reading to him. That is all.”
Beatrice sniffed. She sounded like she was crying.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you miss Lincolnshire, your home?”
“Not much.” She sniffed again, loudly. “I only wish I knew how to get Lord le Wyse to notice me.”
What could she say to that? “We are only servants, Beatrice. Perhaps it’s better not to be noticed.”
“Does he ever … you know … say nice things to you, tell you you’re pretty, when you’re reading together?”
“No, of course not. He summons me only because I understand Latin. I read, then I leave.” She didn’t want to tell Beatrice that the two of them actually had a conversation tonight. Beatrice wouldn’t take that well — or understand it was completely innocent.
“He is a good lord, don’t you think?” Beatrice wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Yes, I think he is.” Better than most, I suppose. He seemed much kinder tonight, less judgmental of her. She remembered her profound relief and gratitude at the way he came to her aid, protecting her from the bailiff both in the field a few days ago, and today as she was doing laundry.
She could almost forget he told the bailiff that he was fortunate because she wouldn’t marry him. Almost.
Annabel awoke a few hours later to the sound of muffled yells from outside. She sat up in bed. Only a tiny shaft of light came through the shutters. What could be happening in the middle of the night to cause such a commotion?
The undercroft door flew open, revealing a man’s form, an eerie orange glow behind him. His shoulders heaved up and down as he gasped for breath.
“Fire! Come and help us!”
Then he disappeared.
Frightened squeals and gasps filled the room as several girls scrambled out of bed. Annabel jumped out of bed as well. She hastily pulled her oldest dress over her nightgown and ran outside with bare feet.
Chaos met her. Bright red-orange sparks shot into the night sky from the barn roof. Men ran back and forth, some bearing buckets, others pointing and shouting. A line began forming between the well and the barn; Annabel ran toward it and filled a space between two men, grabbing the full bucket from her left and heaving it into the hands of the man on her right. Gilbert Carpenter dashed from the front to the end of the line, ferrying empty buckets with a grim determination.
The stone barn was discharging red-hot flames from its huge door and tiny windows, flames so hot she felt as though her face was burning along with it, even from thirty feet away. The group’s efforts to put out the flames seemed hopeless. The thatched roof was completely engulfed, and the interior of the barn, along with the barley and oats stored within, were being completely destroyed.
Gilbert Carpenter came to a stop near Annabel and Bailiff Tom, who stood nearby. With labored breath Gilbert announced, “Many of the beams have given way. I don’t think we can possibly save anything inside.”
“Is everyone out?” Bailiff Tom stared at the burning building. The enormous barn housed not only the sheep and the entire barley harvest, but many of the laborers Lord le Wyse had hired to build his castle, who bedded down at the opposite end from the animals.
“Everyone’s accounted for,” the man to the left told Bailiff Tom, “except Lord le Wyse. I haven’t seen him since I first grabbed a bucket.”
Gilbert Carpenter flung his arms out wide and yelled, “Has anyone seen Lord le Wyse?”
“No,” one man said.
“Went to save the sheep,” another offered. A few men nodded in agreement.