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Authors: Melanie Dickerson
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held the answer to the mystery of why he was in so much agony.
The third picture was a wolf snarling at a young woman who, from her plain, ragged dress, was a poor villager or servant.A young, dark-haired man stood between her and the wolf with an upraised arm, bracing for the wolf’s attack.
Annabel leaned closer. This last image was somehow familiar, and she gasped as she remembered the story the maidens from Lincoln had told the night before about the wolf attack causing Lord le Wyse’s scars.
The sound of footsteps made her realize someone else had entered the room and was walking toward her. She’d been so engrossed in the paintings, she’d barely noticed.
“What are you doing here?” a voice rasped behind her.
Annabel spun around. Her heart leapt into her throat at the fierceness of Lord le Wyse’s tone. His eye was rimmed in red and his jaw muscles twitched as he clenched his teeth. Would he strike her? She shrank back.
“Answer me!” he commanded. “What are you doing?” His dark eye flashed as his words rumbled from deep in his chest. “No one is allowed behind this screen. No one. Do you understand?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but no sound came out.
“Go.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t know,” she mumbled as she stumbled away from him and out of his reach, the broom still clutched in her hand.
As she darted past, she glanced up at his face. A flicker of some inscrutable but intense emotion passed over his features.
She hurried to the corner of the room where she’d left her basket of fresh rushes. Should she leave? Lord le Wyse’s presence in the room was so unnerving, she could hardly breathe.
She snatched up the basket. What else could she do but go on with her work? She grabbed a handful of straw and dried lilac and clumsily strewed the prickly stalks on the flagstones.
Footfalls echoed in the sparsely furnished room. She glanced over her shoulder as Lord le Wyse’s broad back disappeared through the entry and he shut the door behind him.
Annabel leaned against the cold stone wall. She should never have gone into his sleeping area, should never have had the audacity to examine his private things, those paintings. Thememory of his angry face looming over her felt forever embedded in her mind. His lip curled and she saw the flash of white teeth and the rage in his eye.
Would she be punished? She’d wanted only to do her duty and avoid Lord le Wyse. Instead she’d enraged him, the last thing she ever wanted to do.
Chapter
5
Annabel retreated to the hot kitchen as the rain sprinkled her head. Sitting as far as she could from the huge fireplace and the pungent smell of two pigs roasting on a spit, she and Mistress Eustacia chopped beans and leeks and cabbage. Eustacia commented on how much nicer things would be once the lord’s new home was finished. Annabel murmured a reply, then listened to the rain pattering on the roof and against the shuttered windows.
Lord le Wyse burst through the door.
A puddle formed around his feet, his beard dripped, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and temples. His fine linen shirt, alarmingly transparent, clung to his shoulders and arms, revealing muscular upper arms and shoulders.
His eye locked with Annabel’s and she glanced away, uncomfortable with seeing him again, especially in such a disheveled state. She looked down at the cabbage then chanced another glimpse.
He was still looking at her. Her heart thumped painfully against her chest as his eyebrows drew together and his lips parted. What would he say? Would he tell Mistress Eustacia that she’d snooped in his sleeping area when she was supposed to be cleaning? Would her mistress regret making Annabel her helper, thinking her too nosy to be trusted?
But by the look on his face, she actually wondered if he would tell her he was sorry for yelling at her earlier. That was foolish thinking, of course. Lords didn’t apologize to servants.
She ducked her head, trying
The third picture was a wolf snarling at a young woman who, from her plain, ragged dress, was a poor villager or servant.A young, dark-haired man stood between her and the wolf with an upraised arm, bracing for the wolf’s attack.
Annabel leaned closer. This last image was somehow familiar, and she gasped as she remembered the story the maidens from Lincoln had told the night before about the wolf attack causing Lord le Wyse’s scars.
The sound of footsteps made her realize someone else had entered the room and was walking toward her. She’d been so engrossed in the paintings, she’d barely noticed.
“What are you doing here?” a voice rasped behind her.
Annabel spun around. Her heart leapt into her throat at the fierceness of Lord le Wyse’s tone. His eye was rimmed in red and his jaw muscles twitched as he clenched his teeth. Would he strike her? She shrank back.
“Answer me!” he commanded. “What are you doing?” His dark eye flashed as his words rumbled from deep in his chest. “No one is allowed behind this screen. No one. Do you understand?”
She opened her mouth to answer him, but no sound came out.
“Go.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t know,” she mumbled as she stumbled away from him and out of his reach, the broom still clutched in her hand.
As she darted past, she glanced up at his face. A flicker of some inscrutable but intense emotion passed over his features.
She hurried to the corner of the room where she’d left her basket of fresh rushes. Should she leave? Lord le Wyse’s presence in the room was so unnerving, she could hardly breathe.
She snatched up the basket. What else could she do but go on with her work? She grabbed a handful of straw and dried lilac and clumsily strewed the prickly stalks on the flagstones.
Footfalls echoed in the sparsely furnished room. She glanced over her shoulder as Lord le Wyse’s broad back disappeared through the entry and he shut the door behind him.
Annabel leaned against the cold stone wall. She should never have gone into his sleeping area, should never have had the audacity to examine his private things, those paintings. Thememory of his angry face looming over her felt forever embedded in her mind. His lip curled and she saw the flash of white teeth and the rage in his eye.
Would she be punished? She’d wanted only to do her duty and avoid Lord le Wyse. Instead she’d enraged him, the last thing she ever wanted to do.
Chapter
5
Annabel retreated to the hot kitchen as the rain sprinkled her head. Sitting as far as she could from the huge fireplace and the pungent smell of two pigs roasting on a spit, she and Mistress Eustacia chopped beans and leeks and cabbage. Eustacia commented on how much nicer things would be once the lord’s new home was finished. Annabel murmured a reply, then listened to the rain pattering on the roof and against the shuttered windows.
Lord le Wyse burst through the door.
A puddle formed around his feet, his beard dripped, and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead and temples. His fine linen shirt, alarmingly transparent, clung to his shoulders and arms, revealing muscular upper arms and shoulders.
His eye locked with Annabel’s and she glanced away, uncomfortable with seeing him again, especially in such a disheveled state. She looked down at the cabbage then chanced another glimpse.
He was still looking at her. Her heart thumped painfully against her chest as his eyebrows drew together and his lips parted. What would he say? Would he tell Mistress Eustacia that she’d snooped in his sleeping area when she was supposed to be cleaning? Would her mistress regret making Annabel her helper, thinking her too nosy to be trusted?
But by the look on his face, she actually wondered if he would tell her he was sorry for yelling at her earlier. That was foolish thinking, of course. Lords didn’t apologize to servants.
She ducked her head, trying
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