The Merchant's Daughter Page 2

  “Roberta Chapman, are you or your children able to pay this fine?”

  “No, sir steward.”

  “Jury, the Chapmans are not able to pay their fine. What will be their alternative penalty?”

  The jury huddled together. Annabel watched them, unable to walk away until she learned her family’s fate. She should have gone straight to the butcher shop instead. More people were staring at her, and she took a step back, partially hiding behind the miller’s overfed son.

  Finally the jury foreman broke away from the other eleven and stepped forward. “Sir steward, the jury says that Roberta Chapman, who is not able to pay the fine of two hundred forty pence, will send one of her grown children to work as Lord le Wyse’s servant for the next three years, doing whatever tasks his lord deems fitting, to pay for the three years the family did not do their work. If they are unwilling, they will forfeit their home and property immediately to Lord le Wyse.”

  Annabel backed away as murmurs of approval rose from the circle of villagers. Soon she was on the lane, heading back toward Glynval.

  Her face still burned from her family’s public humiliation, and she kept her gaze on the ground as she reentered the village, drawing her head covering closer around her face. A few more steps and she’d be inside the butcher’s shop and away from prying eyes.

  “Annabel? Is that you?”

  She recognized Margery’s voice and groaned. It would be impolite to ignore her, so she tried to smile. “Good morning, Margery.”

  Both girls had blue eyes, blonde hair, and evenly proportioned features, so people occasionally remarked that the two of them could be sisters, but Annabel hoped the resemblance was only physical. She always dreaded Margery’s embarrassing questions. Lately she was even harder to take, bragging and smirking at having married the wealthiest man in Glynval and remarking on the fact that Annabel was still unwed. But Annabel couldn’t imagine marrying such an old man. Or any man, truth be told.

  Margery caught Annabel by the arm and leaned close. Annabel leaned back to get away from the smell of garlic emanating from her.

  “Have you heard the news?” The girl placed a hand on her slightly protruding belly. “I’ll be a mother before spring plowing!” She giggled then stopped abruptly. She clamped her free hand over her mouth while her eyes widened and her face turned gray.

  “Are you unwell?” Annabel grasped the girl’s elbow and took a step away, afraid Margery would heave her breakfast on Annabel’s only pair of shoes.

  Margery took a deep, slow breath, then another, and lowered her hand from her mouth. “That was nearly the third time today.” She smiled in spite of her pallor.

  “I’ve heard that dry bread eaten in the morning before you rise is helpful for the sickness.”

  “All is well with me, but I’m distressed for you.” Margery’s brows drew together.

  “Oh, I’m well. I’m on my way to the butcher’s and must hurry — “

  “All the people say your mother and brothers have played our lord very false. Some say you’ll all be turned out of your home, your mother put in the stocks — or worse. Where will you go? Do you have any other family who could take you in?” She put one hand on her hip and pointed her finger at Annabel’s nose. “You should marry. I hear Bailiff Tom is looking for a wife.” Her eyes grew wide with excitement at her brilliant new idea.

  Annabel’s family deserved to be turned out of their house, as they’d not served their lord according to the law — and now that would indeed be their fate, as decreed by the hallmote, unless she or one of her brothers became Lord le Wyse’s servant. But Annabel had to feign confidence or risk Margery going on about Tom.

  “When everyone sees how willing we are to begin doing our share of the work, I’m sure everything will be well. In fact, the jury only moments ago decided our punishment. One of my family will work for the lord in his manor.”

  A visible shudder went through Margery. She whispered, “I’ve heard the new lord is a beast.”

  “Nonsense.” Annabel fixed her eyes on Margery, anxious to know if she had actually seen him.

  “He has a beard and one of his arms is afflicted. He holds his arm up like this — “ Margery demonstrated by crooking her arm across her midsection. She drew nearer, until her lips were almost touching Annabel’s ear. “And he has only one eye.”

  “One eye?”

  “He wears a black patch of leather over his missing eye, and a scar runs through his beard all the way to his chin.” “You saw him?”

  “I heard it from Butcher Wagge’s wife, who heard it from Joan Smith, and she heard it direct from Maud atte Water, who’s to be one of the dairy maids in the new lord’s buttery.”

  “You mustn’t believe everything you hear.” She could not let Margery’s description frighten her. Maybe the new lord was only very ugly, and that was why people made up such horrific stories about his appearance.

  “I must go now,” Annabel said quickly, trying to walk away. “May God favor your child and bless you. Good day.”

  “I’m sorry you’re in haste. You didn’t tell me what you’re going to do when they turn you out — “

  “We won’t be turned out. Good day.” Determined to get away from Margery, Annabel headed straight for the butcher’s shop. As she hurried inside, she immediately collided with a man, her sundrenched eyes almost blinded inside the dark shop.

  “So glad you could come.”

  Annabel blinked as the man’s face came into focus. It was Bailiff Tom.

  The bailiff wrapped his hands around her upper arms.

  She looked up into his small-eyed, sharp-nosed face, and then down to the hands that were holding her arms unnecessarily. Even though he wasn’t a large man, he still loomed over her.

  Bailiff Tom’s greeting was odd, as if he had been expecting her. He must have arranged with Edward to send her to the butcher shop, where he’d be waiting for her. The realization made her feel sick.

  She straightened her shoulders and tried to free herself from his grip by taking a step back, but he did not let go. “Pray excuse me. I was looking for the butcher.”

  “Are you sure?” He chuckled in a way that made her stomach clench. His dark, oily hair hung below his ears. He leaned over her, and she smelled his sweaty odor. When had he last taken a bath? It was summer, after all. He couldn’t use the excuse that the water was too cold.

  “The butcher’s not here, but I would be right pleased” — he paused as though to emphasize the last word, reaching his rusty-looking hand toward her face — “to help you.”

  She jerked back to avoid his touch.

  He took a step toward her. She dodged away from him, but as he was still holding her arm, she couldn’t get away. He leaned so close she could smell his breath, see a black spot on a side tooth and black hairs protruding from his nose.

  “Has your brother told you about my generous offer?” His smile grew wide.

  Imaginary bugs crawled over her. “Get your hand off me.” She jerked out of his grasp and turned to leave.

  The bailiff leapt around her, pushing her back and blocking her way. He hovered over her with menacing eyes.

  “I shall help you, help your whole family. Your brothers will be very disappointed in you if you say no to me.”

  “My mother is handling the situation, and I will not accept your offer.”

  She tried to dodge around the man, but he moved another step and covered the doorway with his body.

  “Let me pass.”

  His leer made her clench her teeth.

  “Tarry awhile. No need for haste.” He grabbed her hand. “I think of you, Annabel. With your mother about to get you all turned out of your house, you should marry me. I could take care of you, could keep your family from trouble with the new lord.”

  Her eyes darted to the door.

  He grasped her arms again, and suddenly his lips were coming toward her mouth. Annabel turned her head, and his slobbery lips landed on her cheek. She st
ruggled to break free, but he tightened his grip on her arms until pain shot up to her shoulders.

  The bailiff growled and tried to kiss her again, muttering his vile intentions, what he planned to do to her. She couldn’t move her arms, so she stomped down on his foot as hard as she could. He oomphed, then shook her until her teeth rattled.

  Her heart beat so hard it vibrated from within, but she refused to let him know she was afraid. “Get out of my way. Let go of me or I’ll raise the hue and cry. I’ll scream until every person in the village — “

  He dug a finger into the underside of her wrist, sending shards of pain up her arm. “You think you’re too good for me, but who’s going to help you now? Do you think the new lord will not punish you, will not throw you out of your fine stone house? Eh?”

  Anger surged through her. She gave a sudden tug at her arm and, managing to maneuver around Tom, she stood in the doorway. He let go with a shove, sending Annabel falling backward through the door. She struggled to right herself as she fell, and landed on her hip in the dusty street.

  Hooves pounded toward her, and a horse’s high-pitched whinny sounded above her head. Annabel raised her arm to protect herself.

  Just inches away, the horse danced to a halt, snorting and throwing dirt into her face. The animal’s hot breath ruffled her hair. Dust clogged her nose and throat and made her cough.

  The rider dismounted. “What are you doing?”

  The man’s voice and accent were unfamiliar. Her hair had fallen in front of her eyes, making it difficult to see the hands that slipped under her arms and hauled her to her feet. She pulled away, looking around on the ground for her headscarf. Darting a glance at the butcher shop doorway, she saw Bailiff Tom lurking in the shadows. She wiped his vile saliva from her face with her sleeve.

  “Throwing yourself in front of a galloping horse?” The stranger’s voice reminded her of a snarling animal in its pitch and intensity. “We could have both been killed.”

  Shiny black boots waited beside her. Even the stranger’s stance showed his irritation.

  Finally seeing her scarf, she bent and snatched it from the dirt.

  Her eyes traveled from his expensive leather boots to his broad chest. He wore the most elegant clothing she’d seen since the last time she visited London with her father — a red velvet doublet and gold-embroidered shirtsleeves — a vast departure from the dull gray and brown of the villagers’ coarse woolens.

  She beat the dust from her skirt as anger boiled up inside her. It wasn’t her fault she’d fallen in front of his horse. Did he think she had tossed herself into the street? First that disgusting lecher Bailiff Tom, and now this stranger … Her gaze finally met his face and she stifled a gasp.

  A black patch covered his left eye, and a scar cut a pale line down his cheek, through his thick brown beard, all the way to his chin.

  The back of her neck tingled. His expression demanded an answer as he glared at her from one brown eye.

  Her surprise at his formidable appearance quickly turned to anger. She was determined to let him know she wasn’t a lack-wit and didn’t relish being treated like one.

  “My lord.” Her voice was surprisingly steady. “My name is Annabel Chapman, and I am not in the habit of throwing myself in front of galloping horses. I was pushed.” She had to bite her tongue to keep from adding, And perhaps you shouldn’t gallop your horse through the village as though you’re the only person on the street.

  She leaned down to continue beating the dust from her clothes.

  “Who pushed you?” He shouted the question so thunderously, she forgot about her dusty clothes and stared up at him. “Where is the man who would push a woman into the street?”

  Her gaze involuntarily shifted to the butcher shop’s doorway, where Bailiff Tom stood just inside. He immediately stepped back into the shadows.

  The lord followed her gaze and then looked back at Annabel. “Wait here.”

  His expression became even fiercer just before he turned from her and strode into the shop.

  “Bailiff Tom? How dare you shove that maiden?” His booming voice easily carried into the street.

  He reappeared in the doorway, clutching Bailiff Tom by the back of his neck.

  Pushing Tom toward her, the stranger jerked him to a halt only an arm’s length away.

  “My bailiff wishes to ask forgiveness for his behavior.”

  Tom didn’t look her in the eye but said in a strained voice, “Forgive me.”

  She nodded, aware of the small group of wide-eyed villagers gathering to watch.

  The man let go of Bailiff Tom’s neck. After straightening his elegant waistcoat, the lord stood tall, his back straight and his broad shoulders looming over the small group of villeins that now surrounded him. He held one arm tight against his midsection as he spoke. “I am Ranulf le Wyse, the lord of this village.”

  The people immediately sank to one knee and bowed their heads before him.

  “I will not tolerate loutish behavior from the men of my demesne.” The people lifted their heads. Lord le Wyse’s commanding tone riveted every eye. “And I warn you not to hope for preferential treatment. My father’s steward may have taken bribes, but I’m the lord now, and,” he fairly growled, “it isn’t in my nature.”

  He turned in one swift motion, mounted his black horse, and galloped away.

  Annabel watched him disappear down the road, then she turned to go home, moving quickly to get away from all the people staring at her. What kind of man was this new lord? He’d assured them that he didn’t tolerate bribes or lawlessness. Her mother had been guilty of both.

  What would her family’s future be at the mercy of Lord Ranulf le Wyse?

  Chapter

  2

  Instead of going inside when she reached home, Annabel ran around to the back of the house, unable to stop her mind from reliving the confrontation with Bailiff Tom — and with their formidable new lord. Her hands were shaking as she stared down at the ugly bruise that had formed on the underside of her wrist.

  She found Dilly nibbling the grass in her pen and sank down on her knees beside the goat. Dilly grunted and nudged Annabel with her soft head. She stroked the animal’s furry sides and her hands gradually stopped shaking.

  She let her fingers find the scar on Dilly’s leg. Just after Father died, she had discovered the goat in a muddy ditch. A bloody wound oozed from the animal’s foreleg, and she had bleated so piteously Annabel climbed down and rescued her. The leg soon healed, leaving a scar. It reminded Annabel of the new lord’s scar that ran down one side of his face, cutting a line through his beard. What had happened to cause Lord le Wyse’s scar and the loss of his eye? A fight? Some kind of accident?

  She moved away from the goat’s leg and rubbed her ears. Thankfully, no one had yet claimed the lost goat. It was a serious offense to steal another person’s animal. But Dilly’s milk supplied a valuable part of the family’s daily sustenance. If anyone told their new lord that she’d found the animal, he might take Dilly away, claiming the goat belonged to him. She probably did, as did almost everything in Glynval.

  In addition to having to live off the milk from a lost goat, many things had changed when her father died, including Annabel’s future. While her family and the villagers expected her to marry, Annabel’s dearest wish was to enter a convent, to read the Holy Writ, to know all that God had spoken. But without money from her father’s ships, it was impossible. Convents were a haven for the daughters of wealthy families.

  A familiar donkey’s bray sounded from the lane. Annabel stood and peeked around the corner of their house. She leaned against it, the sharp stones’ edges digging into her hip, reminding her that the rest of the villagers lived in wattle-and-daub structures with dirt floors. The stone house had never seemed so dear.

  Roberta Chapman came into view, sitting astride their donkey. Annabel shrank back from running out to greet her. Mother’s shoulders slumped as she slowly dismounted, her eyes weary as she we
nt inside. Annabel said a quick prayer, squeezing her eyes tight, then opened the back door from the kitchen.

  “What news?” Her brothers stood facing their mother.

  Annabel leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the main room of the house and watched, unseen, as Mother took off her wimple, her face drawn and pale. Mother sank onto a stool, which creaked beneath her weight, and laid her hands, palms up, on her knees.

  “Tell us,” Edward demanded.

  “It is a very hard ruling.” She shook her head and sighed. “The jury said we must begin immediately to do our share, as free landholders, of the demesne fieldwork.”

  Annabel huffed. Leave it to her mother to moan about the easiest part of the ruling. What was so bad about that? At least no one could accuse them of shirking their responsibilities any longer. And as free landholders they wouldn’t have to work as many days as those of villein status.

  “Surely you can pay the censum so we don’t have to work.” Durand, who was two years older than Annabel, looked ready to cry. He had always claimed he was too sickly to work. He wrung his hands as he awaited his mother’s answer.

  Edward stood with his head high, looking down his prominent nose at their mother. He — and their mother — thought it beneath their dignity to work in the lord’s fields. But what good had pride done them? And if they were this upset by having to simply do their share, what would their reaction be to the jury’s actual punishment?

  “We’re still in debt because of your father’s lost ships. There is no money. But that isn’t the worst of it.” Their mother hung her head.

  After a few moments of silence, with Edward clenching his fists by his sides, Mother told them of the jury’s demand that one of her children serve the lord for three years, keeping her eyes on the floor the entire time she spoke. “The worst is that our lord will seize our house if we don’t comply.”

  Silence fell over them. When their mother spoke again, her voice was flat. “In the morning, the reeve will come to fetch … one of you.”