He tried to deny that God was truly speaking to his soul. He was the lord of the manor and wasn’t afraid of anything. But his conscience pricked him again. He was afraid. Afraid of the agony he had felt from loving Guinevere and then finding she never loved him and never would. He was humiliated and betrayed, both publicly and privately, by the only woman he had ever loved.
It was easier to believe the worst about everyone, especially women. But if he held that attitude toward Annabel, he was no better than the village priest, who repeatedly condemned his flock for being full of depraved lusts, and condemned women as universally wicked. Ranulf didn’t want to be bitter and cruel like Sir Matefrid, but if he was honest with himself, that was what he had become.
O God, forgive me. He forced himself not to groan aloud as he closed his eyes and prayed for forgiveness. Even as he did so, however, he wanted to cling to his belief that all women, especially beautiful ones, were duplicitous and evil. If all women were evil, then it wasn’t his fault that his wife had not loved him, had been repulsed by him, and had loved another man. If all women were evil, he could hate them all to dull the pain of his wife’s betrayal.
He hadn’t been listening to Annabel read for some minutes. She’d come to the part where Jesus said, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.” Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it. What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose or forfeit their very self?’”
He knew if he had it to do over, he wouldn’t have allowed the wolf to hurt that servant girl. He shouldn’t resent his scars. Are they not proof, God, that I have lost my life to save it? But he was sorry his inner scars had caused him to lash out at Annabel.
“Wait,” he said, stopping her reading before he should change his mind.
She looked up at him with a curious expression.
“I’m sorry for what I said when the bailiff asked to marry you.”
Her cheeks flushed red and she looked down.
“I never should have assumed the worst of you. I was wrong when I said the bailiff should count himself fortunate you refused to marry him.”
She shook her head and looked confused, no doubt surprised that someone as bitter and ill-tempered as he would apologize. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
“Simply say you forgive me, and I am satisfied.”
“I forgive you,” she said.
There was silence for several long moments, then he said, “When a person has been hurt, they must let God heal them or their pain will drive them into sin. You understand?”
A crease formed between her eyes. “I do.” She stared down at the page.
Was she thinking about saying something more? Was she thinking of hurts she had experienced in the past? He waited, realizing he was holding his breath, hoping she would speak.
The door creaked open. Ranulf clenched his jaw in annoyance. He turned and saw one of the maids — Beatrice, he thought her name was — walk hesitantly into the room. Her gaze skimmed from him to Annabel and stopped. The girl pursed her lips. He was about to demand what she was doing there when she smiled broadly at him and hurried to his chair.
“My lord, if it pleases you, I would be happy to bring you something for your arm, for the burn.” Beatrice stopped a mere handbreadth away and leaned forward. She went on in a breathy voice, “My mother always was the best at collecting the finest herbs for any sickness or injury, and I know what will do your arm good. Allow me to change your bandage tomorrow and I will show you how to apply — “
“Thank you. I will let you know if I need your assistance. You may go.”
“Yes, my lord.” As she left she curtsied low and shot another glance at Annabel.
He turned away from the girl and saw Annabel struggling to rise from the chair while holding the heavy book in her arms.
“I should go as well.” She looked at him for permission, and her expression had turned to one of worry. He took the book from her, and without meeting his eye, she went out the door behind Beatrice.
He was struck again by the difference between Beatrice’s practiced flirting and Annabel’s open sincerity. But thinking about that only led to an ache in his chest. At the same time, he realized he felt lighter, as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. He was looking at things from a different perspective than before, and it was as if he had reached the end of a journey, only to embark on a new one.
Beatrice caught Annabel’s arm when she came into the undercroft. “Why do you always get to change the lord’s bandage?” she hissed.
“I don’t know. Because Mistress Eustacia asked me to?” Perhaps she doesn’t trust you because you’re always flirting with him.
“You had better tell her to let me bandage the lord’s arm tomorrow. Do you understand, Annabel?” Beatrice poked her finger into Annabel’s shoulder.