She unwrapped the bandage from his arm. Dipping a cloth in the cold water Mistress Eustacia had brought her and holding him by the wrist, she washed the sticky honey from his arm. As ever, Lord le Wyse sat perfectly still.
She held his arm up to the candlelight to get a better look at the burns. Sir Clement said nothing, but Annabel felt his eyes on her. His gaze flitted from Lord le Wyse’s face to hers and back again.
She concentrated on her lord’s arm as he and Sir Clement began discussing the weather. The burns on his arm still looked far from healed.
Lord le Wyse’s left hand was much different from the right — she couldn’t help but compare the two. The fingers of his maimed hand seemed smaller, and they were drawn inward. Long, pale scars cut through the dark hair on the back of his hand and halted above his wrist. He had once called himself beastly. But the scars only reminded her of his selfless act, of how he had saved a human being, someone who was beneath his social station.
As she always did, she supported his arm with her left hand while she carefully used her cloth to clean around the edges of the burn, to remove the sticky residue of the honey from the healthy skin. For the first time, she was very aware of his skin on hers. Her palm tingled against the warmth of his arm.
“How does it look?” Sir Clement asked, leaning forward. “Do you think it’s healing?”
“It seems to be improving.”
She realized she’d begun bandaging his arm and had forgotten to put the honey on first. “Oh.” She began unwrapping. Her face grew hotter and her hands shook.
“Honey?” Mistress Eustacia asked.
“Yes.” The honey would help keep gangrene from setting in while keeping the scab from becoming hard, making the scarring less severe.
Lord le Wyse didn’t deserve any more scars. He’d already been hurt enough.
She clumsily poured the honey over his arm, and a glob dripped off the side and plopped onto the floor.
“I’ll clean it.” Mistress Eustacia bent and wiped at the mess.
So much for being ignored and treated like a stick of firewood. She was the center of everyone’s attention.
Annabel concentrated on wrapping the wound quickly without making any more mistakes. Her lord assisted her by holding his arm higher or lower, as the need arose. But Sir Clement’s stares made her wish someone would speak and break the awful silence.
She tied the bandage in place. Her task was finished.
Lord le Wyse turned to Sir Clement. “It is my custom to have my servant read to me every evening.”
“By all means, go about your usual activities.”
They all migrated toward the fireplace, and Mistress Eustacia pulled up a chair for Annabel. When Lord le Wyse placed the large Bible in Annabel’s hands, she opened it to the page where they had stopped the last evening.
Mistress Eustacia quietly backed out of the room.
Annabel began to read, forming the words deliberately and dispassionately, concentrating on reading well for her lord and his guest. Soon, she found herself so immersed in what she was reading she forgot she wasn’t alone, until she paused to ponder what she had just read.
She glanced up, catching Lord le Wyse watching her, and Sir Clement watching him. The coroner’s expression reminded her of a dog who had cornered a rabbit in its hole.
Peculiar that she should have such a thought.
She read on, stumbling over the first few words before getting into a rhythm again.
Sooner than usual, Lord le Wyse interrupted her. “That will be enough for tonight.”
She sent him a questioning look, but he turned away from her.
Trying to fit into her servant role, she waited until Lord le Wyse lifted the book, keeping her head bowed, and curtsied before leaving the room.
Ranulf waited. Would Clement say what he was thinking or keep it to himself?
“Who is the young maiden?”
“A servant, Annabel Chapman, from Glynval.”
“How did she come to be in your service?”
“An unpaid debt her family owed.” Ranulf eyed the coroner.
“Very comely lass, isn’t she?”
The hair on the back of Ranulf’s neck prickled. “She is my servant.” He hoped to infuse his voice with just enough warning.
“Is she, perhaps, more than a servant to you?”
“Nay. Why would you ask such a question?” Ranulf kept his voice low.
“No reason.”
“She grew up not as a servant but as a merchant’s daughter.”
“I knew some such thing must be the case, since she is able to read.”
“And as her lord, I have a duty to protect her —”
“You need have no fear on that score, not from me.” Sir Clement smiled in amusement, his hands motionless in his lap. Only his sharp eyes moved. “As your duty is to provide for and protect your servants, my duty is to ask questions.”
“Of course.”
Ranulf tried to focus his thoughts and keep alert. Had he already revealed more to the coroner than he’d intended? He should not have allowed Annabel to read to him tonight. The coroner had taken the opportunity to read his thoughts. He should have stared at the floor, anywhere but her winsome face as she read the Scriptures.