The Shielded Heart Page 3

  She peered up at him through her lashes, then placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her off the ground. She moved slowly, as though she hurt, but the look she turned his way dared him to remark upon it.

  He understood pride well enough to ignore her challenge. He placed her hand on his forearm and covered it for a moment with his own.

  William motioned them ahead with the torch. “Come along,” he growled, falling into step with them as they entered the camp. “’Tis past time to settle down for the night. And I’ve a powerful hunger and thirst. We’ll eat, then see what we can learn from those mercenary scum.”

  A tug on his arm brought Swen to a halt. “William, how do you know they’re mercenaries?” Anna asked.

  “‘Tis a simple matter. Their armor and clothes are worn and mismatched, their weapons, such as they are, were old in my father’s day, and they fight like a pack of wild dogs after a bone.” He glanced at Swen. “What think you, Siwardson?”

  He’d plenty of experience with hired soldiers. “Aye, you could be right. ‘Tis a pity, for they’re not apt to tell us who hired them, or why.”

  William grunted his agreement. “Probably don’t even know who paid ‘em, most like.”

  Anna looked from Swen to William and scowled. “So some unknown person may have hired these men to attack us, or to capture me?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  “But why?”

  William sighed. “Have you no notion of your value to the abbey? Your work is prized above most others’, and you’ve a gift no one can steal from you. There’s only one way to get it, mistress. If they take you, they take your gift. There’s plenty who’d pay no heed to whether you wished to work for them or not.” He doused the torch in the dirt, for they had no need for it by the fire. “At least they’ll do you no harm, if it’s any consolation. No one would risk damaging the goose that laid the golden egg. But have you never wondered why Father Michael keeps you and the village under guard? ‘Tis to protect you. Christ on the Cross, child, you’ve wits enough to understand this.”

  “How wonderful,” she said, tossing her mass of hair over her shoulder. “If I’m taken captive, I need not worry for my safety.” She reached a hand toward William. “But what of yours? Or your men? We’ve lost two already, and for what?”

  “They knew the risk when they hired on,” William said, but he did not meet her eyes. “They lived a good life in Murat, and their families will never want.”

  “I know.” Anna gazed at William’s face for a long while. “But that doesn’t make me feel much better about their deaths. I do understand, William,” she murmured. She slipped her hand free of Swen’s arm. “I’ve forgotten my place in the world, I fear.”

  “None of that, lass,” William said. “Come, sit by the fire and eat. You’ll feel better for it. Let Siwardson look over that bump on your head while I get the food.”

  He’d not escape Anna’s spell so soon after all, Swen thought with a skip of his pulse. “I’m no healer, milady, but I’ll do what I can.”

  Someone had brought a rough order to the clearing. Their victims and their few prisoners were gathered off to the side, overseen by an armed guard. The wounded would need tending; then, perhaps, they might be coaxed to reveal who’d sent them here.

  Could they be so fortunate? He doubted it.

  Though they’d been lucky so far. Anna had escaped abduction, only some of her men had been killed, and they had vanquished their foe—for the nonce. Much of their success was due to Anna’s guards. William had trained his men well; they were efficient fighters. He doubted that the grizzled captain had learned his craft in this remote backwater of the Marches. But whatever drew him here, ’twas to Anna’s benefit to have him lead her escort.

  It wasn’t William’s fault she’d nearly been taken, Swen thought as he settled her beside the fire. Despite the fact that he’d been busy, he’d noticed her roaming about the clearing as the battle progressed. He was certain the older man had told her to keep away from the fighting. She shouldn’t have been there.

  Though who could say she’d have been any safer in her tent?

  If she’d been abducted from there, the farthest edge of the camp, they’d not have seen or heard a sound if she’d called for them.

  He sat down next to her. “What happened back there?” Fingers tingling in anticipation, Swen reached to move her unruly curls out of the way. Her hair was so soft…

  She turned slightly away from him to allow him better access to the lump. “The man lay hidden in the bushes.” She winced as he drew a finger over the bruise. “He grabbed me by the ankle and pulled me to the ground.”

  “How did you get away?”

  Her breath escaped in a hiss when he blotted the blood from the swelling. Surprisingly, she chuckled. “I hit him in the head with a rock—the one you used as a hammer.”

  “So you gave him a bruise to match yours,” Swen said with a smile.

  Her answering smile was so fleeting, he wondered if he’d imagined it. “Nay, it did naught but dent his helm. But when I kicked him in the face he released me at once and ran away.” She reached up and captured his hand in hers, bringing it to rest briefly against her cheek. “’Twas what he said that frightened me worse than being held down,” she added, frowning. “He told me he was to take me captive, but he must not harm me—” she met his gaze, her own steady “—in any way. Though he wanted to. But ’twas worth too much to him to keep me safe. Someone is willing to pay very well to gain my services, it seems.”

  Swen tightened his grip on her hand, then released it. “Don’t be afraid,” he told her. “Do you imagine William would permit any harm to come to you? Especially after tonight’s events?”

  “This is all too much to consider. That my guards laid down their lives for me…” She shuddered and wrapped her arms about herself. “It’s not right. They shouldn’t be at risk because of me. I only wish to do my work, without interruption, to the best of my ability, for the abbot keeps me busy with commissions. I don’t have time to worry about whether someone will try to take me from Murat. I’ve too much to do.”

  Was her work so important? He knew he was ignorant about many things, especially life here in the south. A man who could fight and protect his family, or who could provide well for his loved ones through his skill in trading—those were talents of great value in his world.

  And they were occupations for men. He’d never met a woman whose worth was not tied to her beauty, her family bonds or her dower. Anna de Limoges must create objects of great importance to be so valuable herself.

  Despite the roaring fire, Anna continued to shiver. Swen looked around and spied his cloak where he’d tossed it aside earlier. He retrieved it from the ground and, after shaking it out, draped it around Anna’s shoulders.

  She snuggled into the heavy fabric with a murmured word of thanks. He drew the fur-lined hood up around her neck, his fingers lingering to stroke along her cheekbone.

  He’d been right earlier when he’d likened her skin to silk—soft and smooth to the touch, sending a shiver of awareness over his own skin before he forced himself to back away. “Does the cloak help?”

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  One of the guards brought them a trencher of bread and cheese and a wineskin. Anna picked at the food, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. She looked troubled, tired, and her face had not lost its pallor.

  What could he do for her? he wondered, for her uneasiness weighed heavily upon him.

  “Mistress Anna, don’t feel you must stay here on my account,” he said. “You’re weary, and dawn will arrive before you’ve had a chance to get much rest. Come, let me escort you to your tent.”

  Her eyes grew round. “I don’t wish to be alone.”

  “I’ll guard you myself. No harm will come to either of us, I promise you. Who would be mad enough to attack me?” he added with a grin, patting the hilt of his dagger.

  Her answering smile was faint, but beautiful. He ro
se and helped her to her feet. “William,” he called, “Mistress Anna is retiring to her tent.”

  The captain turned, set aside an ale horn and joined them, bending to kindle a torch in the leaping flames. “Get some rest, lass. ‘Tis the best thing for you.”

  William went into the tent first, sword at the ready, and lit a lamp. “Come, lass,” he said, opening a bundle of furs and spreading them on the ground. “You look ready to swoon. Sit you down before you fall.”

  Swen held back the door flap and led her into the tent. “I told her I would stand guard,” he said. “She is concerned that her attacker might return with more men.”

  “Aye, ‘tis a good idea. There’s not enough of us left to sleep in shifts. We’ll all stay awake for what’s left of the night.” He gazed at Anna, curled up in the furs. “All except you. You might as well sleep, if you can.”

  She nodded, though Swen didn’t believe for a moment that she’d rest. He could see too many questions in her amber eyes. But she’d stay put in the tent.

  He’d see to it himself, if need be.

  “Good night, milady.” He raised her hand to his lips. As he turned to leave her, an image suddenly filled his mind, a picture so vivid and real he felt it like a blow to the heart.

  Swen drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he willed his feet to carry him a short distance from the tent. He slid his knife from its sheath and leaned back against a tree, letting the knife’s familiar weight soothe him.

  He knew now why Anna de Limoges seemed so familiar to him, an awareness he felt deep within his being.

  He’d seen her before—many times before.

  In his dreams.

  Chapter Four

  By the time the sun began its slow climb into the sky, they’d tended the wounded, bundled the dead onto the pack animals and set off upon the last leg of the journey to the village of Murat.

  Anna pulled her cloak high about her chin against the morning chill and fought to remain upright in the saddle. She hadn’t slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, a confusing melange of images and feelings whirled through her brain.

  And no matter how she tried, she could not regain her usual clearheadedness.

  Her gaze strayed once again to the broad back of Swen Siwardson as he rode beside William at the head of their motley party. Mayhap she should blame him for her lack of sleep, for she’d felt his presence outside the thin walls of her tent all night.

  She had no words for the sensation he evoked. It reminded her of the warmth radiating from a fire, more intense when he was near, lessening with distance.

  It was as if some invisible cord bound them together.

  He drew her toward him with no effort that she could see, yet like the flames, he tempted her nearer, pulled her toward the heart of the fire.

  Anna closed her eyes and sought to clear her mind. Her puzzling reaction to this newcomer in their midst was naught but an aberration. She’d never met his like before, ’twas nothing more than that.

  For the remainder of their brief journey, she sought to focus her vision on the brightly garbed trees, to keep her mind fixed with grim determination upon the tasks awaiting her return to the workshop.

  Yet it seemed, for the first time in her life, she’d encountered a distraction that made the lure of her craft pale in comparison.

  Siwardson’s face appeared before her mind’s eye, his ice-blue gaze intense.

  And try though she might, she could not erase the image from her brain.

  They reached Murat much sooner than Swen had expected. By his estimation, they’d traveled little more than a league or two from where they’d made camp. But given last night’s attack, he understood why William had stopped. If they’d sought to finish their journey by moonlight, they’d have made an even easier target.

  Though Anna had ridden in silence behind him, every time her gaze lit upon him, he felt it as clearly as if she’d reached out and trailed her fingertips along his spine. He’d swear her eyes’ caress had the weight and substance of a physical touch.

  He shifted in the saddle. If she did not cease her no-doubt unwitting assault soon, he suspected he’d embarrass them both with his body’s enthusiastic reaction when he dismounted.

  Swen looked about as they rode out of the trees. The village stood in the midst of a wide clearing, surrounded by a crude wooden palisade. The expanse between the wall and the forest was filled with tilled fields, most already harvested from the look of them, with a few rough-hewn animal pens along either side of the gate into the village.

  As soon as William led them into the open, the workers toiling in the fields abandoned their tasks and began to hurry toward them, shouting greetings as they made their way across the uneven ground. But their cries of welcome turned to wails of alarm once the injured guards and the packhorses with their grievous burden came fully into view.

  A woman, skirts kilted to her knees, ran ahead of the others. “Ned?” she called, her voice aquiver. Eyes frantic, she scanned the cluster of horses as they drew near.

  “Damnation,” William muttered. Grim-faced, he halted his mount and leapt from the saddle into her path.

  “Where’s my Ned?” she demanded, though she gave William no chance to reply. Despite his attempts to hold her back, she squirmed past him. Her gaze lit upon a worn pair of boots sticking out from beneath the blanket-wrapped body atop one of the packhorses. “William, ‘tis not…”

  William turned to her. “I’m sorry, Mistress Trudy.”

  “Nay!” Sobbing, she clasped the guard’s feet to her chest with one hand and tugged at the blanket with the other.

  “Here now, you don’t want to do that.” William grabbed for her, but she pulled free of his hold. Wrapping her arms about the body, she laid her face against the horse’s coarse coat and began to wail.

  Anna gathered up the trailing hem of her cloak and pushed it aside. “Trudy, nay,” she cried as she grasped the high pommel of her saddle to dismount.

  Swen slid from his mount to help Anna down, but before he could reach her, her feet became entangled in her skirts and she began to slip sideways.

  Heart pounding wildly, he lunged for her, capturing her against his chest as she fell. She rested in his hold for a moment, a warm and welcome burden, then squirmed free in a flurry of fabric.

  “Have a care, mistress.” Reluctant to let her go, he steadied her on her feet.

  “Thank you, milord,” Anna murmured, then hurried to the grieving woman, eased her away from the body and bent to enfold her in her arms. She peered over Mistress Trudy’s shoulder and met Swen’s gaze, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  Swen turned away from their grief, for there was naught he could do to ease it.

  He could, however, do his best to see that no more of her people came to harm.

  He took up Anna’s reins along with his own and led the horses to William’s side. “’Tis not my place to tell you your business,” he said to the older man, scanning the thick trees surrounding the fields. “But I think ‘twould best serve your mistress to move her and the others inside the village without delay.”

  William nodded. “Aye, milord, you’ve the right of it, I trow.” He rubbed his gloved hand over his mouth, his gaze sharp as he, too, eyed the dark menace of the forest. “Do you feel it, then—eyes watchin’ us?”

  “Aye. Sharp as a dagger’s point against my back,” he added, fighting the urge to twitch his shoulders and erase the sensation.

  “Come on, all o’ you,” William ordered. He climbed back into the saddle. “’Tis past time, most like, to get within the walls.”

  Swen led the horses to where the women stood, Anna still helping to support Mistress Trudy with an arm about her shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss, mistress,” he told Trudy. “Your Ned fought brave and true.”

  With a sniff and a swipe of her sleeve over her eyes, she stepped away from Anna and straightened her gown. “I thank you, milord,” she said, her voice faint but firm. “
Ned always did his duty.”

  “Here, ladies, I’ll help you up,” Swen said, standing next to Anna’s mount and cupping his hands.

  Anna stepped back. “You first, Trudy.”

  “Nay, mistress, you go on.” Though her lips trembled and her eyes remained glazed with tears, she squared her shoulders and took the packhorse’s lead rein from the guard who held it. “I’ll walk wi’ Ned.”

  “I understand,” Anna murmured. She laid her hand on Trudy’s shoulder for a moment, then allowed Swen to help her into the saddle. He handed her the reins and, mounting, followed the others into Murat.

  William ordered the gates closed and guarded, then marshaled his men outside the stable to give them their orders. Swen dismounted and gazed about him with curiosity. In the months since he’d arrived in Wales he’d yet to see inside the walls of a town, having stayed within castle walls for the most part.

  Murat appeared much like most other villages he’d seen, both in his native Norway and on his journey through Scotland and England on the way to Prince Llywelyn’s court in Wales—a series of cotters’ huts along a main street, several barns and large buildings and an assortment of crude sheds ranged along the palisade wall. The cluster of well-made stone and timber buildings at the far end of the wide street caught his eye, though, as did the cloud of smoke rising into the sky from a large stone chimney in their midst.

  It looked far neater and more organized than any smithy he’d ever seen.

  The sudden clatter of hammer against metal coming from behind the stable told him where the blacksmith plied his craft.

  Mayhap ’twas no smithy after all. Swen turned away with a shrug. No matter, Murat was small; whatever the strange buildings’ purpose, he’d learn it soon enough.

  He looked about for Anna, but she’d disappeared into the group of villagers as soon as she’d dismounted. She hadn’t returned.

  Though why should she? This was her home; she’d no reason to linger outside the stable with him. After watching him lay about with knives and fists the night before, wearing a half-wit’s grin on his face, no doubt, she could hardly be blamed for wanting to be quit of him.