He waited for her to go on.
“You didn’t deserve to have your arm burned. How could that be a good thing? Or the grain crops getting burned up, or Sir Clement’s questions … How could all that be good?” She shook her head and looked down. “I suppose I shouldn’t say such things.”
“It doesn’t say it’s all good. It only says that God works in all things for the good of those who love him.”
She seemed to think for a moment. “Do you love God, my lord?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I suppose we must believe that all this can be, and will be, worked out for your good.”
“And for your good.”
“Yes.” She seemed afraid to look at him tonight. Had he frightened her that much when he held her in his arms this morning? She hadn’t seemed repulsed by him, had laid her cheek against his chest … but then she’d seemed to realize what she was doing and ran away.
Finally, she did glance up at him, but her gaze darted around so that she never looked him in the eye. “God wouldn’t want us to disbelieve him,” she whispered. “So we must believe it will all … be well in the end.” She sighed.
He reached out, on impulse, and grabbed her hand. “It will be well. I promise.” He squeezed her fingers and let go.
Staring down at her hand, she nodded. After another minute, she continued to read, her voice shaky.
The next morning Ranulf found Annabel in the kitchen. It has to be done. “Will you take a walk with me?”
She looked startled, even a little afraid, but she nodded and laid aside the bread dough she was patting into a loaf, wiping her hands on her apron. Mistress Eustacia gave Annabel a look that made him wonder what they had been talking about.
She followed as he strolled toward the clearing where the work was going on for his new home. After several moments of silence, she asked, “How is the construction of your castle coming along?”
“Castle? Is that what you call it?” He smiled in amusement. “I suppose it must look like a castle, but castles are fortresses for the politically ambitious. This house won’t be built for defense. If someone wishes to do me harm, I’m afraid they’ll encounter little resistance.”
“Oh.”
“We have finished the foundation. I hope to move in most of the household by All Souls’ Day — which is appropriate, I think.”
All Souls’ Day came almost two months before Christmas, the day when everyone said prayers to help extricate the dead from purgatory. He only hoped by then he could keep his heart out of the purgatory of loving beautiful women who didn’t love him.
As they drew nearer, the clang of the smiths’ hammers rang out, as well as shouts from the various workers. Soon they were able to view the whole scene on the swell of land above them. Carters hauled stone up the hill and up the ramps built along the sides of the walls. Masons laid the stones with mortar while a nearby lime burner made more.
The trenches for the foundation had been dug, the foundation laid, and the walls were rising quickly. Lead workers, carpenters, and roof tilers all performed their various skilled tasks, with laborers assisting, carrying, and fetching.
“Oh.” Annabel stood still, watching the scene with wide eyes. She looked so fascinated, Ranulf couldn’t help but smile.
“What do you think of my ‘castle’?”
“It’s nearly finished!”
“Only the front section. I shall move into it in a few weeks.” And she wouldn’t even be around to see it.
“I can hardly believe how much has been done. They’ve worked quickly, haven’t they?”
“It’s quite an army of men,” Ranulf acknowledged.
It was certainly a stately home, even he had to admit. The stone front rose two full stories, its gray stone formidable. The wooden front door was wide enough for three people abreast, with long, black iron hinges reaching across it. The roof came to a point, and dipped and rose again at the two round towers on either side. Generous glass panes gave it a peaceful look, as no fear of besiegers had dictated the size of the windows. The beauty of it was undeniable, if he did think so himself, and there was much more house to come, extending far to the rear and to the north from the main section.
Annabel was one of the few people from Glynval who had been to London, and so would have seen other buildings — churches and a few castles — to rival its eventual size, but even she seemed impressed.
Ranulf led her to a felled tree in a shady nook where they could observe the builders without being noticed themselves.
He took a deep breath and began, “We are friends, are we not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You are not an ordinary servant. You’re the daughter of a wealthy merchant.”
“Perhaps at one time, but my father is dead and his ships were all lost. He died a poor man.”