Fairy Tale Romance Collection

  Ranulf sat on the high stool, eyeing the way she slipped the blade from its leather holder and placed it on a bench. Then she stood before him with the shears in her hand.

  “May I ask if you have experience in the realm of shaving men?”

  “You may, and I do.”

  He’d never seen such a confident, impertinent smile on her face. He frowned. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

  “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.

  A tear splashed onto his hand, and he wasn’t sure if it was his or Annabel’s. He lifted his eyes and caught her watching him. She scooted forward on her knees and took his face in her hands. His heart pounded faster. Slowly, reverently, her eyes half closed, she kissed his eyelid, brushed her cheek against his, then kissed his chin and jawline, her lips igniting a burning deep inside him. He pulled her close and their lips met.

  What could be more miraculous than that?

  Justice and love had both won this day.

  Epilogue

  “Adam shall carry the bridecup,” Mistress Eustacia declared as they prepared to walk to the church. Adam smiled.

  Ranulf’s shoulders were erect and his head high as he watched the lad pass through the massive wooden door. Annabel took Ranulf’s arm and they followed Adam out onto the top step.

  A large gathering of villagers stood on the lawn before them. As soon as they stepped out, the crowd saw them and fell silent.

  Ranulf’s whole body tensed, and Annabel took a step back.

  The scene brought back the memory of the morning, three weeks ago, when the villagers stood defiant and angry, holding up weapons, yelling and cursing as they followed Tom atte Water across the yard.

  “What is it you want?” Ranulf asked them.

  A carter named Henry in the Lane stepped forward, pulling off his tippet to bare his head. “If it please you, my lord, we have come to ask forgiveness for what we did, or were about to do, when we followed Tom.” He kept his head half bowed, not daring to lift his eyes.

  “It was a grave sin to come to our lord with intent to harm.” The group around him kept their heads bowed as well, most of them nodding quietly to agree with his words. “We all know that the merchant’s daughter, Annabel Chapman, was right in all that she said. We were led astray by Tom atte Water, who has now reaped the just reward for his sin.” He crossed himself then added, “May God have mercy on his soul.”

  Ranulf asked, “What happened to Tom?”

  “He was taken ill of a sudden, my lord. A fit of rage came over him after everyone went home, and he fell down as though dead. He never moved again, and this morning the breath of life left him. He’s dead.”

  So Tom was gone forever, and the people were sorry for what they’d done. O God, let me not rejoice in anyone’s suffering, but I thank you for the peace this news brings to our wedding day.

  “You are forgiven,” Ranulf said evenly.

  “You are most kind, my lord.” Henry in the Lane crushed his cloth hat between his hands, bowing low.

  The people randomly offered words of thanks. “Thank you, my lord.” “May our lord be ever blessed.” “May you live long and have many children!” A cheer rose up from the crowd at this last shouted sentiment.

  Gilbert Carpenter stepped forward and announced in a loud voice, “Your lord is getting married today. Let us give honor to Lord Ranulf le Wyse and his new bride!”

  A much louder cheer arose. All the people’s faces had changed from fearful submission to joyful exult
ation. Ranulf held out his hand to acknowledge their expressions of elation.

  “Long live our lord’s bride, the most beautiful maiden in the land!”

  Another cheer. Annabel seemed unable to stop smiling as she curtsied to the crowd. Ranulf turned to her and elegantly kissed her hand.

  They made their way down the steps, Annabel being careful of the hem of her dress, and the crowd parted for them.

  Soon they were on the road to the church. Some of Ranulf’s men played instruments, including the lute and shawm, as they followed them down the road. Adam, holding the bridecup out in front, led the entire procession.

  As they neared the village, young children, both boys and girls, fell into line in front of the couple, skipping and dancing, twirling ribbons in the air. But Ranulf hardly noticed anything except the maiden on his arm. She looked so striking in his mother’s court dress. The soft blue color brought out the creamy tone of her skin and golden hair, which hung in ringlets about her face.

  Soon she would belong to him, and he would cherish her with every beat of his heart.

  The stone church loomed ahead of them. Sir Matefrid stood on the steps, waiting to bless their union and to celebrate Mass with the wedding party. He wore the white wool tunic Ranulf had sent to him for the wedding, along with a white stole embroidered with red, gold, and green thread around his neck, hanging to his knees, and a great hat more than a foot tall.

  Their vows to love and honor and obey, in sickness and in health, in wealth or in want, in good times and bad, were spoken before the silent throng behind them. Then the priest blessed them and led them all into the church for Mass.

  Emerging from the church with Annabel beside him, he stared for a long time into her eyes. The overcast sky hung low and was strangely gray. But the lack of brilliance in the sky did not dim her beauty in the least. She seemed to glow with a light from within.

  He felt moved to declare, “God is good.”

  “Aye, my lord. God is good.” She squeezed his arm and pressed closer.

  He looked out over the crowd of people. The servants had gone to lay out the food for the wedding celebration, which would take place in the courtyard of the manor house. All those who now stood before them, who had witnessed their sacred union inside the church, no longer looked like his enemies. They smiled. Many of them carried cakes to stack on top of each other, a traditional way of wishing them good favor. A few of the villagers looked sheepish and avoided his gaze, but no one fled. No one crossed his arms in anger or resentment.

  They had all accepted his forgiveness. They all wished them well.

  This — this was what he had wanted when he came to Glynval, though he never imagined himself marrying again. He was starting anew, among strangers.

  A white flake floated down from the sky. Then another and another, until everyone noticed and looked up.

  “It’s snowing.” Annabel raised wide eyes at him and laughed. “It’s snowing before Saint Catherine’s Day.”

  The snow raced down in a thick sheet of white, dusting everything and everyone. Children whooped and held out their tongues to catch the flakes. Smiles grew wider on every face. Ranulf said a silent prayer of thanks for the unusual gift then led the whole company toward the manor house.

  The irony struck him that he was celebrating his wedding feast in the same place where the jury had accused him of both murder and lechery.

  But today it looked different, not like the same place at all. The beautiful blanket of white quickly covered the courtyard, making the town clean and new.

  Several voices began to chant, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

  Annabel pulled on his arm, and he turned his attention to her. Snowflakes stuck to her eyelashes and made her blue eyes sparkle. He kissed her.

  Cheers went up from the onlookers. He pulled away as music trilled behind him. A lively tune jounced to the beat of a tambourine.

  Annabel murmured, “Shall we dance?”

  “We shall.”

  ̃THE END̃

  The Fairest Beauty

  Prologue

  Pinnosa passed through the town square and the cobblestone Marktplatz. Hagenheim Castle loomed straight ahead. Once she passed the guard at the gatehouse, she would need to find her way to the young lord.

  A chill passed over her thin, old shoulders. This fever, brought on by rain and exhaustion, would probably kill her, but if she could only make it to the castle, could only tell them that Sophie was still alive, Pinnosa’s life would not have been in vain. Perhaps God would forgive her for helping the duchess perpetuate so many lies.

  She plodded forward, wanting to hurry, but she could only force her swollen feet to take slow, mincing steps. Sweat dripped from her eyebrows even as she shivered and fought the urge to drop to the ground, close her eyes, and sleep.

  “Who goes there?”

  Pinnosa stopped, then leaned her head back as far as she could. When she parted her cracked lips, no sound came out. The guard’s face began to blur, her knees trembled, and the ground quickly came up to meet her. Strange how she didn’t … even … feel it.

  Chapter

  1

  Sophie kept her head bowed as she waited for the duchess to speak. She started to clasp her hands together but stopped. Clasped hands presented an image of idleness, the duchess often said, and the gesture sent her into a rage every time. Sophie let her arms hang limply at her sides.

  Carefully, she peeked through her lashes at Duchess Ermengard. The woman’s skin was unnaturally white, her hair dyed ebony using black hickory hulls. Her lips were stained red from berries, and her teeth were so white they made Sophie want to shade her eyes. Did the duchess ever think of anything besides beauty? The irony was that she was naturally beautiful and would look better without all the powder and dye.

  The duchess stood unmoving, not making a sound. The silence began to crowd against Sophie’s ears. Duchess Ermengard liked to draw out the waiting, knowing it only increased her victims’ apprehension. Having to stand and wait to hear what her punishment would be was perhaps the worst part.

  At long last, when the duchess addressed Sophie, her hoarse voice sent a chill down Sophie’s spine.

  “So this is how you repay my kindness to you? You, an orphan, and a girl at that. I could have let you starve by the roadside. Others would have done so in my place.”

  No one but you would be so cruel. Sophie’s breaths came faster — she was dangerously close to speaking — but she forced the words down.

  “How could you be so audacious as to think … when I rightfully punish one of my servants … No. No, I want you to confess what you have done. You seem to enjoy prayer. Surely you enjoy confession as well. Now confess.” Sophie’s skin crawled as the duchess’s voice lowered to a slow, quiet whisper. “What … did … you … do?”

  Sophie almost wished the duchess would scream instead. A dark feeling of oppression, of an evil presence in the room, came over her, as it often did when the duchess was interrogating her. Jesus, help me. Take away my anger.

  The oppressive feeling subsided.

  Following the rote formula required by the duchess, Sophie began, “Duchess Ermengard, your servant Sophie confesses to sneaking food to your servant Roslind while Roslind was being punished in the dungeon.” Sophie curtsied humbly. Oh, God, please, please, please let it be enough. Let my confession be enough to appease her. And let me appear meek before her.

  Silence. Again. With a churning stomach, Sophie waited for the duchess to speak. Her hands trembled but she dared not hide them behind her back. The duchess had a rule against that as well.

  Sophie waited so long for the duchess’s next words that her mind began to wander, imagining what her friends, the other servants, would be doing now. But she pulled herself back, bracing herself for what the duchess would say or do next.

  “You confess as though you’re not truly sorry for what you did.”

  “Please forgive me, Duchess Ermengard.” Sophie suppressed a shudder. Thi
s was not going well. It was no longer a matter of if she’d be punished, but how severely. She bowed her head lower, hoping to appear truly repentant. Even though she wasn’t.

  “And there is more, isn’t there?” Once again, the duchess let the silence linger.

  What would the duchess accuse her of now? Sophie searched her mind for things she had done that the duchess may have uncovered. She had given food to some starving children who had come begging at the kitchen door, but that had been days ago. She searched her memory for something else …

  Then she remembered. Yesterday she had followed a guard into the woods, and after he’d heaved a sack of squirming puppies into the river, against her better judgment, Sophie had dived in after them. Dragging the heavy cloth bag from the bottom of the shallow river, she’d dumped out all five creatures on the riverbank, wet but alive. Someone must have seen her and told the duchess. She couldn’t read minds, could she?

  “Nothing to say? You know what you did. You defied me.” The duchess’s voice sounded like the hiss of a snake. “You followed the guard to the river in order to save those worthless, mongrel puppies. You are a disobedient, deceitful, horrible little wretch.” She spat out the words as if they were venom.

  Sophie’s mouth went dry. Duchess Ermengard hated dogs, especially lap dogs. Anything small and helpless incited her hatred. And these puppies would never grow anywhere close to the size of hunting dogs, which the duchess gave to Lorencz the huntsman to use in his deer hunts.

  “I expect my orders to be obeyed. I don’t expect my scullery maid to defy them.” She said the words scullery maid the way she always did, as though they were a curse.

  Sophie thought about the tiny dogs she’d saved and remembered their soft fur and the way they’d whimpered and licked her hand. For a moment she could almost feel the little brown-and-white one snuggled against her cheek. The feel of his furry little face against her skin had made her feel loved, as if he knew she’d saved him.