“Forgive me. I am simply happy. Now hold still so that I don’t cut you.”
Not even married yet and already she’s taking liberties with me. But he sat perfectly still, feeling like a sheep at shearing time as she clipped his beard. He could have taken the shears away from her and told her he could do this part himself. He was accustomed to trimming his own beard. But he would be a fool to protest, not when he could drink in her nearness, the way she kept placing her hand against his face to tilt him, or touching his forehead to tip his head back to reach the hair under his chin.
He closed his eyes and breathed in her feminine smell of roses, dried lavender, and fresh air. He remembered all the times she had touched him in the past, changing his bandages, even putting her arms around him a few times. He no longer had to steel himself against her touch. Now he could enjoy it, revel in it, encourage it.
In three weeks they would be married. Was such an event possible?
Mistress Eustacia brought the steaming water in a pot and set it by the shaving blade. Annabel dipped a cloth into the water, squeezed it out, then placed it over his face, pressing it against his beard.
The heat from the cloth sent a soothing warmth through him, relaxing his shoulders. He gazed deeply into her sky-blue eyes, trying to see inside her heaven-born soul. She seemed to see inside his too, into the most intimate part of his heart, where all his longings fed upon her gentleness, her softness, and her beauty.
“Oh, my dear Lord Ranulf.” Mistress Eustacia jarred him from his exquisitely pleasant thoughts. “Pray allow me to wish you joy in your marriage to this dulcet maiden.” She ended her statement with a half laugh, half sob.
He intended to say, “Thank you, Mistress Eustacia.” But the cloth around his face, covering everything but his nose and eyes, prevented him.
Smiling widely, Eustacia nodded. “I knew you would love her, my lord. I knew she was the one who would make you happy.”
Annabel put the cloth aside and picked up the shaving blade. “Now stay still.”
Mistress Eustacia left the room and they were alone again.
Annabel began to shave his right cheek. “I used to shave my father all the time.” She rinsed the blade in the warm water and resumed her labor. “I even shaved my brothers. So you see, you’re in safe, experienced hands.”
He didn’t answer. He was enjoying a close examination of her features, her hair, her skin, her eyelashes. The feather softness of her breath on his cheek drew his gaze to her lips, which were parted slightly in her concentration.
She said nothing until she finished the right side and started on the left cheek. His scarred side.
How hideous would he look with his scar exposed? Would she be repulsed?
She didn’t say anything for a while as she shaved, but her eyes were cloudy with her thoughts. Finally, she murmured, her face opening up like a rosebud in the sun, “You look so different … so handsome.” She reached out and ran two fingers along his jawline, caressing his cheek and then his chin. “You always were handsome … manly … but now … you look so young. Your skin … it’s so smooth. Without the beard, your scar is hardly noticeable at all.” Tears welled in her eyes.
“Mistress Eustacia!” she cried. “Bring a mirror.”
Mistress Eustacia hurried back into the room and gasped as she stared at him. “Your scar has faded to almost nothing.” She handed him a mirror.
He was startled to see himself without a beard for the first time after so many years. As he held the mirror closer, his left cheek was streaked with a pale line. But it was quite faint and looked nothing like it had when he’d grown his beard.
He glanced at Annabel, then Eustacia. They both stared with wide smiles. “So handsome,” Eustacia murmured.
“Yes indeed,” Annabel answered. Eustacia excused herself from the room, winking at Annabel.
Annabel placed her hand in his, and a reverence came over him, as though he were on holy ground. “Will you kneel with me?”
They slipped to their knees on the floor. Facing her and clutching her hand, he bowed his head. “Thank you, God. Thank you for protecting Annabel when she spoke to the angry villagers, and that they left peacefully. And thank you for taking away my scars.” His voice broke, but he forced himself to go on. “Thank you for showing that you do love me.” O God, I can hardly believe Annabel is mine, a gift beyond what I deserve. You are so good, God. You truly do love your children. Forgive me for doubting it. All the painful memories are nothing compared to the surpassing joy I feel at this moment.