The Merchant's Daughter by Melanie Dickerson
To Joe, Grace, and Faith
Chapter
1
August 1352, Glynval, England.
Annabel sat in the kitchen shelling peas in to a kettle at her feet. A bead of sweat tickled her hairline while only the barest puff of warm air came through the open door.
“Annabel!”
Her brother called from the main house. As she hurried to finish shelling the pea pod in her hand and see what Edward wanted, the pot over the fire began to boil over. She jumped up, banging her shin on the iron kettle on the floor.
Snatching a cloth from the table, she used it to pull the boiling pot toward her and away from the fire. But as the pot swung forward on its hook, the cloth slipped and her thumb touched the lid. She jerked back. Spying the bucket of water she had used to wash the peas, she plunged her hand into it.
“Annabel!” Edward yelled again.
He thinks he doesn’t have to help with the work, but I should abandon my task and come running whenever he calls.
She blew on her burning thumb as she hurried from the kitchen.
Edward stood propped against the wall in the spacious front room of their stone house, scraping under his fingernails with a sharp stick. When he lifted his head, his green eyes fixed her with a hard look. “Mother was summoned this morning to appear before the hallmote.”
“I know that.” The manorial court, or hallmote, was being held today, and a jury of twelve men from their village of Glynval would decide the penalty for her family’s neglect of their duties.
“The new lord is coming to Glynval. Even if the hallmote is lenient, I’ve heard he is far from forgiving. What will happen to us? To you?” He thrust the stick at her face.
Annabel bit back annoyance at her brother’s derisive tone. For the past three years he had stood by, just like the rest of her family, refusing to do any of their required work in the fields, putting them all in this situation.
“I’ve decided to help with the harvest this year.” She crossed her arms as her brother moved closer to her. “We should all help.”
“Do you want to end up sleeping in ditches and begging bread? Help with the harvest? It’s too late to start doing your share now, little sister.” He flung the words at her, jabbing his stick in her direction with each phrase. “If you are wise, you will try to think whose bread you need to butter to see that you have a home after today.”
Annabel’s back stiffened, and she prepared for whatever offensive thing her brother would say next.
“We have to fend for ourselves. You’re seventeen years old now and well beyond the age of accountability. Maybe you know of someone who might marry you. Do you?”
“Nay, I do not.” She glared back at him, wishing she could think of a scathing retort.
He began rolling the stick between his fingers, smirking at it. “But there is someone. Someone who is prepared to smooth over our trouble with the new lord and pay the fines so we don’t have to work in our lord’s fields.”
Her brother wasn’t concerned about her, she knew — he wanted to solve his own troubles by throwing her to the wolves. But which wolf was he planning on throwing her to?
A pleased smile spread over Edward’s thin lips. “I am speaking of Bailiff Tom.”
Bailiff Tom? “He’s as old as Father!” Annabel’s face burned at the notion. She tried to think of some dignified reply, but the words tumbled out. “If you think … for one moment that I — “ She clenched her jaw to stop herself.
“He has been widowed these three years. Surely you’ve seen him look at you with the eye of one who is looking for a wife.”
She had seen the bailiff once or twice with a lecherous sneer on his pinched face — and been thoroughly disgusted that a friend of her father’s would stare at her that way. Marry Bailiff Tom? She would rather sleep in a ditch.
“You will marry him, because there’s no other way.” Edward leaned over her, his eyes cold and dark. “Besides, where will you get a better offer of marriage than from the bailiff?”
“I won’t marry him.” Annabel spoke through clenched teeth. “If Father were still alive, he’d never force me to marry Bailiff Tom.”
Her brother turned his attention back to cleaning his nails. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. I’ve already told the bailiff yes.”
Heat climbed up her neck and burned her cheeks. How dare you?