No matter what it cost him, he would protect her now.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He continued to stare down at his hand. “I will protect you and the person who was with you last night.” His voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “And if you still wish to enter a convent, I will help you.”
Annabel’s eyes were drawn to his face, and she felt bathed in comforting peace. Her lord would protect her. This was what she had wanted from her brothers, but they had failed to give her — a feeling of protection and security.
A tiny movement in the underbrush near her foot caught her attention. She forced her eyes to focus on it, to see what was moving the leaves. A dark, geometric pattern slithered on the ground not a handbreadth from her foot. A poisonous adder.
She stifled a scream. If she pulled her foot away, it might strike.
“Be still.” Lord le Wyse stood.
The adder turned its head toward him, then struck at his leg.
He leapt back.
Annabel jumped backward off the rock, landing on the ground behind the boulder.
She spied a fallen limb, almost as thick as her arm. She grabbed it and scrambled to her feet. Lord le Wyse stood beside her, facing the snake, which lay coiled and ready to strike again, a mere six feet in front of him.
He stretched his hand out to Annabel, keeping the rest of his body perfectly still. She handed him the limb. Carefully, he lowered it toward the adder’s flat, broad head until the limb rested on the ground in front of the snake. Then, with a sudden flick of the stick, he sent the adder sailing through the air. It plopped to the ground, unharmed, thirty paces away.
Her heart pounded so hard it hurt her chest. She looked down at Lord le Wyse’s leg and grasped his good arm. “Are you hurt? Did he strike you?” If he was bitten — O God, don’t let him die!
“Nay, he missed.”
She stared hard at his face. “Truly? I saw him strike! You could be poisoned! Those snakes are deadly.” She gasped as panic stole her breath. “Show me your leg. Let me see.”
“I’m telling the truth.” A smile turned up the corners of his mouth and he shook his head. “He never touched me.”
Annabel took deep breaths to calm herself. She closed her eyes as relief stole through her, relief and gratitude that Lord le Wyse had not been hurt.
Lord le Wyse reached out to her, and before she had time to think, she had leaned into his embrace, resting her cheek against his hard chest as his arms wrapped around her. She was trembling in delayed reaction to the snake, inhaling deeply in an effort to calm herself, and was surrounded by the smell of lavender on his freshly laundered shirt.
She realized she was enjoying his warmth and nearness far too much. Not only should she not be enjoying it, but her lord should not be holding her in his arms. It was highly improper.
She suddenly had a terrifying thought. Was Lord le Wyse holding her because he was having the same feelings for her that Bailiff Tom and Gilbert Carpenter had? Now that she thought about it, why had she agreed to this meeting alone with him? Was she enticing Lord le Wyse? Would he begin to treat her the way other men treated her?
She stepped away from him. He let his arms drop and took a step back as well.
He could probably see the horror on her face. She watched as the tender look in his eye turned hard and cold, and his smile was replaced by a scowl.
“Let us go,” he barked, “before someone sees us and thinks we’re doing something improper.” He seemed to hurl the words at her, putting sarcasm into the last word, improper.
She felt stung. Instead of waiting for him to lead the way, she hurried forward, leaving him behind. She was no longer worried about the snake. Maybe it should have bitten him. She immediately regretted the thought, but it felt good, for a moment, to get angry at him.
They walked in silence, he slightly behind her. They had been through so much in such a few days. He had defended her from Tom, had refused to force her to marry the bailiff, and just now had saved her from the snake. He’d been terribly burned in the fire that had destroyed their winter grain. She had tended his injuries. And he had provided her heart’s desire when he asked her to read the Bible to him.
A connection had formed between them. But now, with one comment from him, she felt as distant from him as when she’d arrived. The awkward feeling when he yelled at her for looking at his paintings seemed to have returned in full force.
But it wasn’t only his angry sarcasm that made her feel uncomfortable. Her own feelings toward him confused her, though she was sure they would go away.
They came into the clearing in front of the manor house. She had let her lord hold her in his arms, and actually enjoyed it. Did he despise her now, thinking she was trying to entice him?
Sir Matefrid said women were a snare. She could see Sir Matefrid’s scrunched-up face, his accusing finger pointing at her, as he spoke his familiar sermon, “Woman is the gate of hell.”