Fairy Tale Romance Collection

  “Annabel, get up and get out of here.” His voice was gruff. He grabbed her by her elbows and pulled her to her feet. “Get away from here before you get hurt.” His face was dark and angry.

  “No. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  “You will, because it doesn’t matter.” He let go of her and turned away. His features were anguished as he ran his good hand through his hair, and his voice was rough. “You should be on your way to the abbey by now. I don’t want you injured because of me.” He turned back to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t you understand? They have come here to kill me. There is nothing you can do.”

  “Your men are coming. I told them to come with their weapons — “

  “I will stop them.” He took a step to the door and started to open it.

  “No! They’ll kill you!” She grabbed his hand to stop him.

  “They will kill my men! I can’t let them do that.”

  Without any clear plan, Annabel jerked the door open and stepped out.

  “Stop, Annabel!”

  She ignored Lord le Wyse’s command. Men were streaming out from the trees and from the road into the glade below, brandishing weapons and torches. The workers also came, flooding in from around the back of the house, their own weapons at the ready.

  Annabel stood with one hand palm out and the other on her hip as Lord le Wyse came to stand beside her, his hand on her arm, probably ready to yank her back inside at any moment.

  The villagers’ faces twisted with hate and anger. Their teeth showed as they shouted epithets of rage toward her and Lord le Wyse. The workers raised their various weapons over their heads, but it was clear Lord le Wyse’s fears were founded. The workers were outmatched and disorganized.

  Annabel cried out in her loudest voice, “Desist! I have something to say!”

  The shouting quieted, but the looks of rage remained.

  “What are you doing here with your torches and implements of war?”

  Tom atte Water strutted forward, thrusting his torch over his head. “We are here to right the wrongs made against us by this man, Ranulf le Wyse. He deserves to die!”

  The men roared behind him as they all raised their weapons and shouted their agreement.

  In a strong, steady voice, she yelled, “Your lord has done nothing worthy of death.”

  A few of them roared back at her, Tom the loudest, his curses and sneers personal.

  God, help me. What shall I say now?

  Her brain registered the words, I will be with you. For it is not you who shall speak.

  “Will you kill your own lord for crimes he has not committed?” She stared them down, making eye contact with one villager, then another. “Will you kill a man who had been kind to you? Who of you has not benefited from your lord’s kindness? Who among you was able to replace the grain burned in the barn fire? Your lord did this — the man, Ranulf le Wyse.”

  They lowered their weapons and torches. Some of the men’s faces softened. Annabel drew courage and went on.

  “Would a man who had burned your grain buy new grain so you wouldn’t starve? Furthermore, has our lord not rescued you from the dishonest conniving of both the miller and the butcher? Who of you has not benefited from paying a fair price for your bread, for the first time in more years than any of you can remember? God has helped you — through Lord le Wyse!”

  “Are you going to listen to this — this chit?” Tom yelled, turning to face the mob. “What has God done for you? For any of you?”

  “Pray, let me speak!”

  “Let her speak!” a carter from the village shouted.

  Without waiting for further permission, Annabel pressed on. “Tom atte Water has spoken evil of your lord, and wrongly! You have let him lead you astray. If you were injured, had lost your eye in an accident, would you want someone saying you were cursed?”

  A few murmurs went through the crowd. Tom turned and sneered at the men around him. “Don’t listen to her!”

  The workers shouted at Tom, stepping closer to him. Lord le Wyse pulled on her arm. “Come inside, now.”

  Mistress Eustacia and Gilbert had arrived on horseback and were starting up the hill toward her. She ignored Lord le Wyse’s plea and motioned with her hand for Gilbert and her mistress to stop and stay where they were.

  Annabel went on in a clear, strong voice. “Tom has lied to you, and he’s lying now. Lord le Wyse is an honorable man. To the pure, all things are pure. But to the corrupted, nothing is pure. Tom’s mind is corrupted and he is trying to corrupt you.”

  A few shouts rang out, and Tom scowled and cursed.

  “Tom wants you to think that God doesn’t care about your wellbeing, but it isn’t true! God saved all of you from the pestilence. Are you not alive? Can’t you be thankful for that, at least? God is not trying to kill you, or trick you, or send your souls to hell. God loves His children. Will you kill the man God sent to bless you?”

  Her voice reached a fevered pitch with the last word. Her hands shook violently, and she clasped them to her chest to still them.

  Slowly, one by one, the men lowered their heads. No one, except Tom, would meet her eye. Two of them pushed their torches in the dirt and snuffed them out. Then three more followed suit.

  “Don’t listen to her! She lies!” Tom’s face was as red as a geranium. “You believe God cares about you? Or Lord le Wyse cares about you? You’re fools! God didn’t send this man to you! He’s from the devil!”

  The men turned away and began walking toward the road that led back to the village. That was when she saw Edward, her brother, walking with them, looking sheepish as he tried to hide the torch in his hand.

  Tom waved his arms wildly. “Where are you going? Be men! Are you going to listen to this girl? You’re all fools! Fools!”

  More of the men turned to leave. Tom caught one by the shoulder and spun him around. The man drew his fist back and hit Tom in the face.

  Tom staggered, clutching his cheek. “Cowards!”

  The entire mob left the hillside. Tom followed after them, yelling foul threats and accusations. Soon they all disappeared from view.

  Annabel went weak with relief. She stepped inside and Lord le Wyse followed her, closing the door with force.

  She threw her arms around him. Then she remembered that he was bleeding. “Let me take care of your leg.” She took his hand and led him to his large chair, the one she always sat in to read to him. She knelt beside him.

  His eye focused on her face. His lips curved up ever so slightly at the corners. “You shouldn’t have come.”

  She forced her face into a scowl. “A fine thing to say to me when I just saved your life.”

  A sigh escaped his lips. “I didn’t want you to come back. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” He stared away from her, at the floor, at nothing.

  Why didn’t he look at her? “I’m not hurt. Didn’t you see how God turned the hearts of the people from their anger and caused them to cease listening to Tom?”

  “You were amazing.” The slight smile graced his lips again. “I thank God you’re safe.”

  Why was he behaving this way? So listless? “Does your leg pain you?” Annabel bent and examined his leg. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. “Shall I bandage it for you?”

  “Nay. You must go now. Go on to the abbey. Your work here is done.” His words sent a pain through her heart, but the bitter note in his voice gave her hope. She understood it now.

  “I don’t wish to go.” Still on her knees, she leaned against the arm of the chair, her side pressing against his knee.

  “Don’t wish to go?” He sounded gruff, and his brows lowered. “Why?”

  She shook her head. This was harder than she had thought. But she had come so close to losing him, she couldn’t stop now. Picturing the arrow racing toward him as he stood outside his front door, remembering the absolute terror she’d felt at the possibility of him being killed, she felt courage surging through her. She leaned closer, wishing he w
ould sit up and put his arms around her. But he only regarded her from beneath a half-closed eyelid.

  She wouldn’t let him send her away without telling him she loved him. If he cared for her at all — and it was possible she had misread him — he might think her confession of love brazen and unseemly, or worse yet, he might think she was offering herself to him in a sinful way. He had never said he wanted to marry her. But she found those risks were meaningless.

  “Answer me! Why don’t you wish to go?” His voice sounded angry now.

  She swallowed nervously. “I-I don’t wish to leave you.” “Don’t wish to leave me?” His voice was softer and shook slightly. “Why not?”

  His eye sought hers. He leaned toward her until his face was only a handbreadth from hers. “Tell me the truth, Annabel. Do you want to be a nun?”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Please don’t send me away, my lord.” She clasped her hands in front of her in a pleading gesture.

  He sat back in his chair, drawing back again and looking away. He spoke in a lethargic voice. “Sir Clement said truth and justice were the most important thing. But we both realized it isn’t. Love and mercy are much greater.” After a short pause, he met her gaze again. “Love tears out your heart, but pain is better than bitterness.”

  The look on Lord le Wyse’s face revived her hope. He did love her. Oh, he must! Why else would he look that way? He needed her love. But whether he did or didn’t, she wouldn’t hold in the truth any longer. She had to speak or her heart would leap out of her chest.

  She seized his good hand, caressing his large fingers between her palms, and spoke quickly. “I love you. I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it before. Pray, don’t send me away. You’re the dearest person in the world to me.” She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it reverently.

  His shoulders straightened. His gaze bore into her, as though he hadn’t seen her until that moment. His forehead creased in a pained expression. “You love me? How …?”

  “I do love you, I do.” She blinked rapidly to keep the tears from flooding her eyes.

  “What about this?” He held up his crippled hand.

  She grabbed it and pressed an eager kiss into his palm. She leaned closer, rising from her knees, and pressed his hand to her cheek, her heart fluttering at the warmth of his skin against hers.

  “Annabel.” His voice was low and rough.

  “Your scars only make you dearer to me, reminding me of what a hero you are. My eyes behold the most handsome man in the world. I love you. Please say you love me too.” Her voice broke. She bit her lip and held her breath as she waited for his answer.

  He leaned toward her, his face only a breath away. His intense look captured her fully.

  His words rumbled from his chest. “If you love me, kiss me.”

  Her stomach leapt. Even so, she didn’t hesitate. If he wanted proof, she would gladly prove her love with a kiss. She clutched his upper arms and pressed her lips against his.

  His mouth was warm and moved ever so slightly beneath hers, creating the most pleasant sensation she’d ever known, radiating all the way to her fingertips. Her insides melted like butter over the fire.

  Breathless, she pulled away. His expression was pleasant surprise mingled with gentle longing. He focused on her lips. The request was plain. She leaned forward and complied, kissing him again.

  His arms went around her and pulled her against his chest. Her feet no longer touched the floor, but she hardly noticed. His hand sank into her hair at the back of her head as his lips moved over hers, kissing and enticing her to kiss him back, to deepen the connection between them.

  Thank you, God, for this. Thank you that I’m no longer afraid.

  Ranulf poured his soul into the kiss. His arms shook as he held her close and he had to force himself to pull away and look at her. Her hair fell about her cheeks. Her lips parted and her expression was one of mingled shyness and wonder.

  She whispered, “You do love me, don’t you?”

  He moaned. “I love you — “ Unable to go on, he took a few raspy breaths as he gazed into her blue eyes. “I tried not to love you, but … even a man with a heart of stone, like me, couldn’t resist you.”

  Her eyes glistened, and she placed her palm against his beard. He turned his head and kissed her fingers.

  “You never had a heart of stone.”

  “You must admit, I wasn’t kind to you at first.”

  “But why?”

  “I was bitter. I didn’t believe any woman could love me, as disfigured as I am, and especially anyone as beautiful as you are, inside and out. I still can hardly believe it.” He stroked her cheek with two fingertips, his breath catching in his throat at the softness of her skin. He pulled her down into his lap. Instead of resisting, she snuggled against his shoulder.

  She lifted her head enough to gaze into his eyes.

  “I thought the way I was feeling about you was wrong because you were my lord and I was only a servant, and I thought I wanted to go to the convent and never marry. But now I know I never would have been content at the abbey, after knowing you and loving you. I loved being close to you and talking to you.”

  He pulled her closer, and she rested her forehead against his neck.

  “I wasn’t sure I could ever give love to a man, after what Bailiff Tom did.” She placed a hand against his chest. “But you … you were so noble, so kind …” She stroked his beard with her fingertips. “I want to make up for every cruel thing that has happened to you.”

  Her words seemed to come to him through a dream. They filled his heart with a strange peace.

  “You make me feel so safe.” She brought her knees up and tucked her head beneath his chin, curling up like a kitten on his chest.

  If he died now, he would die happy. His chest expanded and his whole body felt alive with pleasant sensations. He could be content to stay here, without moving, forever.

  She lifted her head and leaned into the crook of his arm. “We shall marry?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “We can’t marry tomorrow.” She smiled. “We’ll have to wait until the banns have been cried. That will take three weeks.”

  “We will be married in three weeks, then.”

  “Three weeks, then.” She sighed, her eyelids lowering.

  Saints surround us, she was staring at his lips. He would surely awake from this heavenly dream, but he hoped not too soon. She kissed him.

  She sat straighter and tugged lightly at his beard. “Pray allow me one request.”

  Anything.

  She stroked the hair on his cheek and jaw, wrinkling her charming little nose. “Let me shave your beard.”

  “My beard?”

  “Pray allow me, my lord. I long to see your face. And your beard prickles me.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows in a shy, hopeful way. “You won’t deny me this small request, will you?”

  He couldn’t deny her, but he had to swallow the uncomfortable lump that had formed in his throat. The beard was the only thing hiding his scars.

  “Aye.”

  “Thank you.” She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. “Ow. You see? My husband needs to be clean-shaven.”

  Her wily smile made his chest ache with the longing to kiss her perfect lips again. He was contemplating doing just that when he heard shouts coming from the front door.

  His arm tightened around Annabel’s waist. He stood to his feet, lifting her with him. He stepped in front of her, expecting the worst — that the villagers had returned.

  Mistress Eustacia and Gilbert burst into the room.

  Chapter

  21

  “My lord.” Mistress Eustacia’s bosom heaved with her heavy breathing, one hand pressed against her heart. “I was so frightened for you both. But we waited outside for everyone to leave. Everyone is at peace, I do believe, except for the old bailiff, Tom.”

  Ranulf pulled Annabel to his side.


  “Oh, thank God you are both well.” Eustacia covered her face with her hands.

  “My lord, forgive me,” Gilbert put in. “I tried to stop her—”

  Ranulf interrupted him. “I need you to ride to the church and find the priest. Tell him there will be a wedding as soon as possible.”

  “A wedding, my lord?”

  “Yes. He must proclaim the impending marriage between myself and Annabel Chapman. Where are the servants? Did anyone get hurt?”

  “I-I believe they are all well and have gone to the manor house to get breakfast.”

  “Good. You may go to the priest.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Gilbert’s eyes were wide as they flitted from Ranulf to Annabel. He lingered, as though hoping for an explanation. Receiving none, he spun on his heel and departed.

  Annabel left his side and hurried to Eustacia, who threw her arms around his future bride. Her mistress exclaimed her joy in high-pitched accents.

  After she had calmed a bit, Annabel asked, “Mistress, does my lord have a shaving blade and hair shears?”

  “A shaving blade? Whatever for?”

  “He wishes me to shave his beard.”

  That wasn’t completely true, but she was determined and he wouldn’t stop her. Besides, it would bring her in close proximity to him again, and nothing could please him more than that.

  Eustacia stared quizzically at her. Annabel whispered in her ear and they embraced, then the two of them hurried off to who knew where.

  He sat down to wait for them.

  A strange day indeed. An hour ago he’d believed it quite likely that he was about to die, knowing his villeins were bent on killing him. Now he was anticipating not his demise but his wedding — to Annabel, the most beautiful, virtuous, courageous creature he’d ever known.

  “I’ll get some hot water,” Eustacia called as Annabel entered the room, smiling with her whole face. In her hands Annabel carried his shaving blade and hair shears.

  “Now, my lord, this chair won’t do. Come sit on this stool.”