“Jesus, help us,” she murmured in reply, no doubt sincerely praying about their situation.
He felt her relax against him, taking deep breaths, one hand hanging onto his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted as she rested against him.
She suddenly dropped her hand from his shoulder and pulled away.
He loosened his hold but was reluctant to let her go. Her eyes flicked nervously from his face to the floor. She muttered, “Forgive me. My behavior is … unseemly.”
“No, not at all.” He cupped her elbows in his hands to keep her from turning away from him.
Annabel stared up into his face. Her cheeks blushed red. “I must go.”
She turned and practically ran from him.
Grateful to find the undercroft empty, Annabel flung herself onto her bed.
It was the worst morning of her life. By accusing Lord le Wyse, the coroner had wrung much more information from her than she’d been willing to give. Sitting alone now, she wondered if the vile man had mentioned her lord only to trick her. Annabel wrapped her arms around herself, still feeling Lord le Wyse’s warmth. I touched him. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. What must he think of me? She wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t looked at her the way he did. But she had wanted to be in his arms. In fact, she had wanted it … and enjoyed it … far too much.
While she had stood, soothed by the rhythm of his beating heart against her ear, she had remembered the way Lord le Wyse had tried to defend her from Sir Clement’s harassing questions. The thought had stirred her heart and caused her breath to hitch in her throat.
When she looked up at Lord le Wyse, something about his expression — seeking, tender, intense — caused something to ignite deep inside her. The feeling intensified when she realized she enjoyed his comfort, enjoyed being close to him.
And that terrified her.
She knew with all certainty that it wasn’t the way a servant should feel toward her lord. Her heart was still pounding from the effect of it. Was she as bad as Beatrice?
“O God, send me away. Send me away to a nunnery, please. I want to get away from here, from this turmoil. Save me from the coroner, and don’t let me betray poor Stephen. O God, send me away. I’m so confused.”
Maud’s surly attitude toward Sir Clement infuriated Ranulf. She mumbled her answers, glared openly, and all but accused Ranulf of attempting to murder her father, though she gave no proof for her assertions. He’d apparently made an enemy of the maiden when he spurned her late-night offers.
Maud sat stiffly. Sir Clement asked, “Did your father have any enemies?”
“Nay, everyone admired my father. He was friendly with everyone.”
What would Maud do if she found out what her father had done to Annabel? Or even that Annabel knew who struck her father? He prayed that Sir Clement would keep that small piece of information to himself. But why should he? The jury would need to know all the facts they could get in order to decide whom, if anyone, to accuse in the attack on the bailiff, and then everyone would know the facts. And that Annabel had hid them.
His breath shallowed at this new thought.
Annabel was not safe. He had to get her out of Glynval altogether. And soon.
Maud glared at him from across the room. The coroner was asking her something, but her eyes were locked on Ranulf, her expression overflowing with hatred. One thing was now clear: if Maud found out Annabel had actually seen what happened to her father but was refusing to tell, she’d rip her apart with her fingernails.
He would write to his aunt, the abbess at Rosings Abbey, and send the letter by messenger today. He resolved to speak to Sir Clement as well and beg him to keep what he knew about Annabel a secret. As Maud’s examination continued, a plan formed in Ranulf’s mind. He had been trying to get Annabel to confide in him before, and he still intended to find out whom she was with that night; he would merely tell Sir Clement he needed more time to draw the attacker’s name from Annabel’s lips. Knowing Clement, the man’s curiosity would win out and Annabel would be safe for the moment.
If she revealed to Ranulf who struck the bailiff, would he tell Sir Clement? She would feel betrayed, but it might be the only way to clear her — and him — of suspicion.
He was sure of one thing: he couldn’t let Sir Clement know he was sending Annabel to the abbey.
Annabel, locked away at an abbey. He wouldn’t be able to see her or speak to her ever again. But she would be safe from the inquest, and safe from Maud.
The hundred bailiff wasted no time in gathering a jury from Glynval and a few neighboring villages. That afternoon, while they were alone in the upper hall, Sir Clement read the names of the jury to Ranulf. He didn’t know any of them, of course.
“You’re frowning,” Sir Clement remarked. “Do you disapprove the selection?”