“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.”
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.”