Mistress Eustacia and Gilbert both asked questions as well, but Annabel waited for Beatrice’s answer.
“He says it’s Lord le Wyse’s fault the drought came and that the barn burned, that the lord is cursed and he’s bringing ill fate on our village, and it will only get worse. He also said Lord le Wyse is to blame for what happened to him. He incited the villagers to get rid of Lord le Wyse.”
Beatrice swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, and stared at Annabel with wild eyes.
Mistress Eustacia started making panicked exclamations. Annabel motioned for her to stay quiet and to follow her into the trees to hide. Then she turned her attention to the small, huddled group down the road, which was becoming more animated. Tom raised his voice — and his arms — and soon the men were pumping their fists in the air. A cry gradually grew louder, and she made out the words “cursed” and “put an end to” and “Lord le Wyse.”
Abruptly, the group disintegrated as they each went in a different direction.
A woman and her young son walked by and were stopped by Margery, just in front of where Annabel was hiding. Annabel inched closer as Margery asked, “What’s amiss?”
“Bailiff Tom and the men are going to burn the lord in his castle.”
Annabel clapped her hand over her mouth.
“Burn the lord’s castle?”
“Aye. Tom’s stirred them all up. The men have gone home to get whatever weapons they can find — and torches. Today is the end of our lord. If he isn’t killed, they’ll at least run him back where he came from. I suppose he deserves it …”
Annabel didn’t wait to hear the rest. She turned to her companions. “We must go back to the castle. Lord le Wyse is in danger.”
“I couldn’t hear,” Mistress Eustacia cried. “What did they say?”
“The people want to kill Lord le Wyse. They’re going now to burn down his house with him inside.” Even as Annabel said the words, a fire rose up inside her. They will not hurt Lord le Wyse! A strange calm came over her as she thought about what to do.
“How could anyone …?” Mistress Eustacia clutched at her throat, looking pale, even as sweat broke out on her forehead.
The grim set of Gilbert’s jaw told Annabel he was with her.
Annabel grabbed his arm. “Let us make haste!”
Slowly, he shook his head, increasing the roar in her ears. Why wouldn’t he hurry?
“I will go, but you and Mistress Eustacia should stay here. I promised the lord I would keep you safe. Besides, there is naught you could do against an angry mob.”
Did the man think she would do nothing while Lord le Wyse was being attacked?
She turned away from him. Mistress Eustacia wouldn’t be any help; her panicked questions were a mere noise that never developed into comprehension. Annabel leapt onto the back of her horse and urged her mare into a gallop toward the lord’s home. But instead of going to the front of the house, she steered the horse to the back, where the male workers were bedded down in an old shed. She rode right up to the shed and slid off her horse. Banging on the door, she yelled, “Lord le Wyse is in danger! Please help!”
She continued to pound until one of the laborers opened the door.
“What? What’s amiss?”
“The villagers are trying to kill Lord le Wyse,” Annabel announced, loudly enough for the rest of the men inside to hear.
A few shouts broke out as she heard scrambling and thumps from inside. She had to step out of the doorway as they came barreling out. A few of the men carried weapons — longbows and crossbows and knives — as if they had been prepared.
She didn’t stay to observe them. She mounted her horse again and urged it across the clearing behind the lord’s house. Her heart pounded with the horse’s hooves. O God, don’t let them hurt Lord le Wyse. Help me, God. I have to save him.
Why? the voice in her head asked. Why do you have to save him? The voice answered itself. Because you love him.
I do! O God, I do love him.
She’d loved him for a long time, and she suddenly wanted to tell him so, more than anything. But first she had to get to him before anyone else — before it was too late.
Annabel held on tight to the horse’s reins, clutching its mane in her fists as she drove the mare harder, up the grassy hill toward the completed section of the house.
What would she say to Lord le Wyse? I love you? I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks? She almost laughed. Obviously she was hysterical.
As she rounded the side of the stone building, however, those thoughts abruptly left her. On the lawn, spread out on the hillside, were villagers, not only men but women as well. Every one of them held a weapon — an ax, a longbow and arrows, a spear — and several carried torches.