The Shielded Heart Page 4

  Still, he wished for her presence, even as he knew ’twas better that he spend no more time with her. Now that he remembered she’d been in his dreams—although the dreams themselves were naught but a blur in the back of his mind hinting of danger—he’d be best served to make his farewells and leave Murat.

  Leave before the dreams he’d already had became clearer in his thoughts.

  Or before he dreamed of her again.

  But he feared the plan even now taking shape within his foolish mind would keep him firmly rooted here.

  Because for the first time in his life, the desire to stay was stronger than his fear of what might happen if he didn’t go.

  William came striding toward him, a welcome distraction from his pondering. “What? No one’s taken your mount for you?”

  Swen looked down at the reins, still held tight in his hand, and shook his head.

  “Here, milord, Owen’ll take him.” A young boy stood just inside the stable doorway despite William motioning him forward, his eyes wide as he stared at Swen.

  “Come along now, lad,” William said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “They’re big, I grant you, but neither the man nor his beast will do you harm.”

  Still Owen hesitated within the stable.

  William shook his head. “Beg pardon, milord. We’re far from the world here, and most of the folk hereabouts live simple lives. The boy thinks you’re a giant or some such creature, most like.” He reached over and took the reins from Swen. “Owen, this brave knight saved Mistress Anna from as fierce a pack o’ brigands as it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. We could not have beaten them without his help. Will you reward his courage with a show of cowardice?”

  Swen wondered he did not hear the gulp of air Owen took—for courage, no doubt—before the boy moved out of the doorway. Owen took three steps into the open, planted his feet square in the dust and held out his hand as though he expected to lose it. His eyes, if anything, appeared wider than before as he stared at Swen, but his gaze and stance did not falter.

  Swen reclaimed the reins from William, led the huge black stallion toward the boy and placed the reins in Owen’s outstretched hand. “Here, lad—see you care for Vidar well,” he said, speaking the accented words slowly so Owen would be sure to understand him. “Don’t let his size frighten you. He’s sweet-natured.” He nudged the horse with his shoulder. “Aren’t you, old fellow?” Swen stepped back. “He especially likes it if you scratch right here;” He pointed to the area just below Vidar’s ears. “Rub him down well, and you’ll gain a new friend.”

  Owen stroked Vidar’s velvety muzzle. “Aye, milord. I’ll take good care o’ him.”

  Swen nodded and turned to William. “May I speak with you?”

  “Of course. I figured to bring you along to my home. My wife’ll see you fed. We can talk then.” He led the way toward the odd cluster of buildings at the end of the street.

  They passed through an open door in the palisade side of the largest building into a tidy hall. A sturdy trestle table and benches marched down the center of the room, and a beautifully carved wooden rack held several shelves of plates and drinking vessels—and pride of place—against the far wall. Fresh rushes and herbs crunched underfoot, releasing a crisp scent to mix with the homey smells of bread and cooked meat. Swen drew in a deep breath and released it with a bittersweet sigh.

  The sights, the scents surrounding him…this place smelled of home.

  A small, slim woman dressed in a vivid blue gown and linen apron bent over the hearth at the far end of the room, stirring something in an iron pot. Her headrail had slipped to the side, revealing a pleasant face surrounded by a nimbus of fiery curls touched with streaks of gray.

  William laid a hand on Swen’s shoulder and motioned him to silence, then somehow managed to cross the rush-strewn floor without raising so much as a rustle. He paused behind the woman and nodded toward the door. Swen closed it.

  She looked over her shoulder as the door shut with a thump. “William!” she cried. Metal clanged as she dropped the spoon into the pot and spun into William’s arms. “Welcome home, husband.”

  “Bess!” William stooped to buss her on each cheek. He captured her lips for but a moment before he sighed and eased his hands from her trim waist. He reached up and brushed his fingers over her disheveled curls. “I’ve brought us a guest, m’love.”

  She stepped back, reached up to straighten her coif, then looked across the chamber at Swen. Her eyes were the same bright blue as her dress. “Good day to you, sir,” she said as she bobbed a curtsy. “Welcome to our home.”

  “This is Swen Siwardson, a knight of Lord Ian ap Dafydd’s household,” William said. “Siwardson, Mistress Bess de Coucy, my wife.”

  “‘Tis a pleasure to meet you, mistress,” Swen said. When he bowed to her, her eyes widened and a flush mounted her cheeks. Apparently courtly manners had not yet reached Murat. He stifled a smile. He shouldn’t be surprised, for they were new to him as well, among the many pleasant and useful things he’d learned since he left Bergen.

  But did those pleasures compensate for the sense of loss he felt whenever memories of home intruded on his mind?

  “Come, sit and be welcome, milord,” Mistress de Coucy said, interrupting his maudlin thoughts. He consigned them to the devil, where they no doubt belonged, and sat down on the bench she drew away from the table. She returned to the fireplace, crumbled some fragrant leaves into the pot and, taking up the spoon, gave it a stir. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

  William fetched a pitcher from the hearth and three mugs from the shelves of plates. “Mead, milord?” He poured a generous measure into a mug and handed it to his wife, taking the opportunity to kiss her cheek again. He then filled the other mugs and set one on the table in front of Swen before settling onto the bench across from him.

  Swen accepted the cup with a nod of thanks. “Your health, mistress.” He raised the cup in salute.

  “Aye, Bess,” William added as he did the same.

  Swen drank deeply of the spiced brew and considered how best to broach the idea nagging at his brain.

  William drained his mug and thumped it onto the table. “By the rood, I’ve been craving a taste of Bess’ brew since last night! My Bess makes the best mead I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his pride in his wife’s talent obvious.

  Mistress de Coucy wiped her hands on her apron and joined William on his bench. “He always says that, milord.” She nudged her husband in the ribs with her elbow. “And I always say ‘tis because he’s ne’er been anywhere else to drink any other that he thinks so,” she added with a smile.

  Swen took another drink. “Nay, he’s the right of it, mistress. ‘Tis fine mead.” He grinned. “And I’ve traveled far and wide enough to know.”

  “Stop teasing with my wife, you young pup,” William grumbled. “Else I’ll be forced to boot you from my door ere you chance to taste her cooking.”

  “William, behave,” his wife scolded with a shake of her head. “You’ll give him a strange idea of our hospitality.” She took up the pitcher and refilled their cups. “Don’t you worry, milord, he doesn’t mean a word of it.”

  William gave the hem of her coif a playful tug, but his face wore a somber expression. “Aye, you’ve the right of it, wife. Even a taste of your cooking’s not enough to repay him for all he’s done. Siwardson, here, deserves far more reward than we can be giving him.”

  “What do you mean, William?”

  “Anyone would have done the same,” Swen protested, and meant it.

  “I take leave to doubt that,” the older man said, his voice laden with disbelief. “Why should a chance-met stranger risk his life for the lot of us? ‘Tisn’t as if our decency and honor—assuming we have any—is branded upon us for all to see. You knew nothing of us, milord, and that’s God’s truth. We could have been the enemy, like the rabble that attacked us.”

  His wife grasped his arm. “You were attacked? By the Virgin, William, i
s everyone all right? What of Anna?” She rose and made to step over the bench.

  He drew her back down and shook his head. “We lost two, Ned and Pawl, and two more are wounded.” His voice, his expression, his bearing all spoke of his sorrow at the loss. “But Anna’s safe.” He slipped his arm about her shoulders and tugged her closer. “Would I be sitting here, swilling mead, if aught had happened to the child? As it is, I wouldn’t be here now if I could be of any help to those who were hurt.”

  Mistress de Coucy made the sign of the Cross and pressed the hem of her apron against her tear-filled eyes. “Why were you attacked? No one’s ever threatened you on the road from the abbey before.”

  “That’s true, but the abbot doesn’t set us to guard the lass for no reason, Bess. They came for Anna. One of them said so to Anna, right before she whacked him upside the head and sent him running off with his tail between his legs. And it would have gone far worse for us all without Siwardson’s aid.”

  Swen had sat there in silence, watching and listening to the de Coucys. He hoped to gain some insight into the situation at Murat and how Anna fit into the lives of the people there. Despite William’s description of her value to the abbey, Swen didn’t understand at all. She was a person—a woman—and not a nun or a ward of the Church, from the sound of it. How could she belong to an abbey, like land, or riches, or livestock?

  And how had they gained possession of her?

  But whatever the circumstances, he could see that both William and his wife valued Anna, and he’d lay odds it had nothing to do with her worth to the abbey. Their love and concern for her shone from their eyes, sounded in their voices, when they spoke of her. He’d seen firsthand William’s gruff affection for his “lass.”

  Mistress de Coucy stood. “Husband, you cannot expect me to stay here and see to your comfort—nor yours, begging your pardon, milord—when we’ve injured people to tend to.” She climbed over the bench. “And I’ll not believe Anna is fine until I see her for myself.” She strode to the hearth and wrapped the tail of her apron around the handle of the pot. “Our dinner will keep until we’re through.”

  William leapt to his feet. “Here, Bess, let me get that. I’ve told you before, ‘tis too heavy—”

  “And many a time I’ve told you, there’s no need. I’m no dainty flower to be coddled.” She lifted the pot from the hook over the flames and set it down away from the fire. Moving with the ease of long practice, she gave the pot a final stir, covered it and banked the coals. “Though I appreciate the offer.”

  “So you always say,” William muttered.

  She untied her apron and hung it on a peg near the mantel. “Come, love,” she said, moving to his side and giving his cheek a pat. “We’ll be giving Lord Siwardson a bad opinion of us both if we don’t cease our squabbling.”

  Swen opened the door, startling a young girl in the process of reaching for the latch. The child gasped, but stood her ground.

  “Where’s Bess?” she asked, clutching her side.

  “Here, child.” Mistress de Coucy nudged Swen aside.

  “Come right away,” she said. “Else I don’t know what’ll happen. We can’t make Mistress Anna stop. And she’ll take sick if she don’t, Mam says.”

  “What is she doing, Ella?” Mistress de Coucy took the girl by the hand. “Come along. You can tell me as we walk,” she added as they set off.

  “You’d best come too, William,” she called over her shoulder. “No telling what she’s about. I may need you to talk sense into her.”

  Swen wondered if he should wait there, or tag along. He wanted to go—

  William must have noticed his hesitation. “You too, lad. Even if she won’t listen to me, whatever this latest crisis is—” his sour expression provided a perfect complement to his dry tone “—I’ve no doubt she’ll do anything you ask of her.”

  Chapter Five

  Anna stared down at the familiar width of her workbench. The large wooden table dominated the expanse of her workshop, just as the task that now covered it filled her heart. Tears spilled from her eyes as she reached down and adjusted the woolen blankets shrouding the battle-marred bodies of the dead guards.

  Trudy placed two winding sheets alongside them. “Ye need not do this, mistress. Nay, you should not even be here. We’re here to serve you, not t’other way ‘round. Especially with such work as this. Father Abbot would ne’er approve.” She took a deep breath and wiped away her own tears, moved to the forge and hefted an iron kettle from the coals. “Ned’s my man, mistress,” she said as she poured the water into a shallow basin and carried it to the workbench. “’Tis a hard task, sorrowful. But it must be done. ‘Tis my place to ready him for burial.”

  Anna dropped the cloth she’d held clutched in her hand into the basin and met the woman’s steady gaze. Trudy wanted to do this last task for her husband, she could see it in her eyes. ’Twas not her place to deprive her of these last moments with her husband to satisfy her own sense of guilt.

  She reached out and gave Trudy’s work-worn hands a squeeze. “Aye, you’re right. But are you certain there’s nothing 1 can do to help you?”

  “Ye’re a good lass, Mistress Anna. I thank you for offerin’,” Trudy said, sniffling again. “But ‘twould be best if ye just leave me to it.”

  Anna walked around the table, paused to steady her racing heart, then forced herself to raise the edge of the blanket and look at the other guard’s face. “What of Pawl? He has no wife to ready him for his final journey. Shall I bring his mother here, guide her crippled hands as she prepares her only son for the grave? Or should I stand beside his orphaned daughters—little more than babes—and watch as they wash his life’s blood from his body?”

  Anna drew aside the blanket and folded it before she placed it at Pawl’s feet. She kept her gaze fixed upon his blood-spattered body, though she wanted nothing more than to look away, to run away, as far and as fast as she could.

  Her stomach heaved. In her mind’s eye she’d seen sights as bad as Pawl’s corpse…visions far worse, if truth be told. But they were nothing more than pictures in her mind. Fingers shaking, she reached out and touched the closed eyes, the pale, flaccid face. ’Twas Pawl, and yet not. In her visions, she’d never smelled the scent of death that clung to the men, never felt the sorrow and pain that clenched like a fist round her heart as she straightened Pawl’s limbs.

  She’d never looked upon the face of someone she knew in her visions, someone who had given his life that she might live.

  Never had the scenes in her mind made her feel.

  She would not cry, for her tears would change nothing. Instead, as always, she’d do what she must. She looked across the workbench and met Trudy’s sympathetic gaze. “I cannot let his family see him like this. They should remember him as he was…At least let me lay him out with what decency I can. He gave his life for me. ‘Tis the least I can give him in return.”

  Trudy nodded. “Aye, mistress, your help would be a blessing to them, I’ve no doubt.”

  Anna started as the sound of footsteps along the stone-lined path came through the open door. Trudy met her questioning look with a shrug and went on with her work. With a swipe of her sleeve over her eyes Anna blotted away her tears, then moved to stand in the entry. Whoever was coming, she’d send them on their way. She neither wanted nor needed an audience to watch her perform this task.

  Anna’s heart sank as the visitors came around the curved path and into view. Trudy’s youngest daughter, Ella, hurried along the walk, with Bess and William in tow.

  And Swen Siwardson right behind them.

  She forced herself to calm, though she felt herself teeter on the edge of losing her usual placid composure. For now ’twas almost more than she could bear to carry out her obligation to Pawl and his family. She hadn’t the means within her to contend with Bess’ concern, nor with Siwardson’s presence.

  She fumbled behind her until she grasped the leather strap used to latch the door and, giving
it a tug, stepped outside her workshop and closed the door behind her.

  Bess let go of Ella’s hand and rushed to envelop Anna in her arms. “What are you about, Anna?” Before Anna could think of an answer, Bess released her and stood looking up at her face. “William told me of the attack. Were you harmed and didn’t tell him? When Ella said to come right away, I knew that there was something wrong. What is it, child?”

  Her shrewd gaze nearly destroyed Anna’s resolve. Sympathy was the last thing she needed at the moment, else she’d dissolve into a puddle of tears.

  “I’m fine, Bess,” she snapped, then reached out a hand in apology when she saw the hurt in Bess’ face and realized how she’d sounded. “Forgive me. It’s been a difficult time…”

  Bess’ expression softened. “There’s no need,” she said. “I should not have attacked you so soon as I saw you.” She patted Anna’s arm. “Trudy sent Ella to fetch me, said you were about to do something that would harm you?” Eyebrows raised in question, Bess waited.

  Harm her? While Anna wondered what she meant, Bess headed for the closed door. “You’ve no need to go in there,” Anna said as she moved past Bess to block the door with her body—too late to stop Ella, who squirmed past her and, opening the door a crack, slipped through and shut the door behind her in a trice. But Anna stood her ground. “I was just about to prepare Pawl’s body for burial.”

  William and Swen had stayed several paces away from the women while they talked, but at Anna’s words, William moved toward them. “Lass, you’ve a kind heart. His mother will appreciate your help, won’t she, Bess?” Grasping his wife by the arm, he moved her back a few steps.

  Grateful for his intervention, Anna gave him a weak smile, wondering all the while how she might make everyone leave. The longer she waited, the more she dreaded what she must do. She sent William a pleading look and hoped he would understand what she wanted.