The villagers resented the Chapmans as idlers, too proud to work, but Annabel would prove that she was not, and she would prevent her mother’s home from being taken from her. She tried to imagine Mother sleeping outdoors, with no food and nothing to protect her from the rain or cold or wild animals. What a sin it would be if she and her brothers allowed that to happen to their mother.
But her brothers would run off, abandon their demesne village to join a band of outlaws before they would become indentured servants forced to do the most menial tasks, carting dung and herding sheep and geese at the lord’s manor house.
Edward was the oldest at twenty-two, and so should be the one to go. However, besides keeping his personal appearance tidy — his black hair cut and combed, his face shaved and clean — all he did was sit around all day and drink ale with the miller’s sons. Now that a crisis had come their way, could Edward not play the part of a man this once?
She looked again through the crack in the door. Durand clutched the back of his neck, emitting a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. He was always fancying himself ill and expecting to be waited upon. Father had not become a wealthy merchant by refusing to work, but her brothers couldn’t seem to grasp that. They’d expected to have wealth dropped into their laps and could not accept that their father’s riches had disappeared forever the moment his ships were destroyed.
“I’m afraid Annabel won’t marry the bailiff,” Durand said, sinking down in a chair and covering his eyes. Then he suddenly lifted his head, almost smiling. “Perhaps she would agree to become the lord’s servant for three years.”
Edward snorted. “Even if she did, we’d still have to work in the harvest fields.”
Durand’s bottom lip poked out like a petulant child. “You’re all healthy and strong, not like me.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Durand!” Edward took a menacing step toward his brother. “Do you expect us to feel sorry for you when we’re all in the same predicament?”
Durand cringed, as though afraid Edward would strike him.
Edward walked away from his brother and stared out a window. “We’ll just have to convince Annabel to marry Tom. It’s the only way.”
Annabel backed away from the door, already planning what to do. She would leave early in the morning before anyone else woke up. And that vile Bailiff Tom would never touch her again.
For the rest of the day her brothers tried coercion, coaxing, and manipulation to convince her to accept Bailiff Tom’s offer, and even her mother tried to tell her all the reasons marrying the bailiff would benefit her. Annabel said very little, allowing them to think she was wavering. But secretly she was vowing she would never marry the vile bailiff.
When her family wasn’t badgering her, Annabel’s mind churned, skittering back and forth between thoughts of her family, the villagers, Bailiff Tom, and Lord le Wyse. Evening encroached, and Annabel collected her belongings — a few books her father had bought for her long ago, clothing, a comb, and a coif and veil to wear to church — and stuffed them into a bag.
The thought of leaving home and living at the manor house, being at Lord le Wyse’s mercy, tied her stomach in knots, but she had little choice. He was as scarred and disfigured as everyone had said he was, but it was his ferocious manner that made her nervous.
She would have to avoid him and not make him angry. But would that be possible? She had seen his outrage at his own bailiff for pushing her. The episode in the village had shown that Lord le Wyse had an ill temper — though it could also show his desire to protect women. But he hadn’t seemed very chivalrous when he accused her of throwing herself in front of his horse. Perhaps he was simply … fierce.
She’d heard the rumors about a nearby lord, young like Lord le Wyse, who regularly took advantage of the young maidens of his village and then bestowed a “dowry” on them, which amounted to paying someone to marry them. Was Lord le Wyse capable of doing something so vile?
She pictured him again, forcing Bailiff Tom to apologize to her. The eye patch gave him a sinister look, and while his fine clothing made him look sophisticated, the beard was strangely out of place. Nearly all the men of the village were clean shaven. He had looked like a bear of a man while holding Tom.
Tom.
Her hand stopped in the middle of placing a dress in her bag. Since Bailiff Tom was Lord le Wyse’s bailiff and worked directly for him, he would be at the manor house — with her — skulking about every day. He would look at her, speak to her, could manage to get her alone …
The noise of a thousand bees filled her ears. Dear God, how can I do this? How could she work so closely with the bailiff? See him every day?