The Shielded Heart

by Sharon Schulze

  “Nay, I don’t think it’s permitted.”

  How could anyone keep a parent from their child? “Permitted? By whom?”

  “When they gave me to the abbey, I think that the abbot—not Father Michael but the old abbot—said they could not see me ever again.”

  The biting remark Swen had been about to make died on his lips when he saw the pain in Anna’s eyes. She took a step back from the workbench and raised her hands to her face. “Why have you made me remember?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. “I hadn’t thought of it in so long. I had almost forgotten…’Twas better that way.”

  He hadn’t meant to cause her such pain! Swen reached for her, but she shrugged away from his hand. “Nay.” She spun on her heel and hurried to the door, her shoulders slumped forward as though she sought to protect herself from further harm.

  “Anna, please—I would never intentionally cause you harm.” He pushed away from the workbench, intending to go after her.

  “I think you’d better leave, milord Siwardson.” The determination in her words stopped him in his tracks. She straightened and turned to him, her tearstained face composed once more. “I thank you for your help, but I require it no longer.” Pulling the door open farther, she held it wide in silent invitation. “Mayhap I’ll see you at the funeral, if you’re still here.” Her voice and her expression both told him clearly that she hoped he’d be long gone by then.

  Not a chance, he thought as he crossed the room. He paused before her, took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “You can count on it,” he told her. His gaze holding hers captive, he bowed, then turned her hand over and kissed her palm. “Adieu, Anna.”

  Chapter Seven

  Anna sat alone in the darkness of her workshop after the villagers had come and taken the bodies to the church. There, they’d keep vigil over them until Father Michael arrived from the abbey to lay them to rest.

  Her tears had dried up earlier, but still the ache in her heart—over the guards’ deaths, as well as her confrontation with Swen—kept pace with the tide of confusion whirling through her head. So many memories, blessedly pushed aside by the passage of time until they lurked like creatures of the night, hidden deep where remembrance would not find them.

  She had not allowed herself to feel for so long! But now that the walls surrounding her childhood had crumbled into bits, she felt awash in all the emotions she had hidden away for so many years.

  The sensations were almost more than she could bear.

  She blamed Swen Siwardson, though she knew his innocent questions had not been intended to cause her hurt. But even before they’d spoken—aye, by his presence alone—he had caused the initial breach in her defenses.

  She could pinpoint it to the moment, that instant when a tingle of awareness had snaked its way along her spine and made her turn to see what had caused it.

  Groping for a flint, she struck a spark and kindled the wick of an oil lamp. The priests were wrong to blame Eve for seeking the fruit of knowledge and destroying Paradise, she thought as she stared into the tiny flame. ’Twas not the knowledge the apple gave Eve that caused her fall from grace, ’twas her curiosity about what the apple could give her.

  Just so had Anna’s curiosity about Swen Siwardson caused her own downfall. If she’d never turned to face him, never touched him, never spoken more than a civil word of greeting to the stranger in their midst, would the walls around her heart still protect her?

  She stood, picked up the lamp and made her way to the ladder leading to the loft. Weariness dogging her every movement, she gathered up her skirts and climbed the steep treads to her chamber.

  It seemed days since she’d slept, but even after she’d undressed and said a prayer for Ned and Pawl, she could not settle. She lay upon her bed, staring at the lamp, until she thought she’d go mad.

  After a time visions came to fill her mind as they had so often in the past, but these were not the usual visions of a beneficent God that she might use in her work. These scenes showed her a God of vengeance, sights to put fear in the hearts of those who would not believe.

  Had even her gift been tainted?

  Desperate to escape her morbid thoughts, she rose and tossed on her clothes. She knew of only one thing that could give her the respite she craved.

  Taking up the lamp again, Anna descended to her workshop, tied her leather apron about her waist and immersed herself in her craft.

  It seemed to Anna that the group gathered in Murat’s small church late the next morning for the funeral Mass wore sorrow and exhaustion upon their faces in equal measure. The sun shone bright through the open doors and windows, glinting off the plain silver cross, pyx and chalice that adorned the altar. They had no elaborate gold and enamel embellishments here; the objects Anna created were commissioned through the abbey. Since all the materials to make them were provided by the abbey—and Anna had no coin to purchase her own—she had not been able to create anything for the village’s own chapel.

  She felt the lack most keenly today. Ned and Pawl deserved better than this simple church could provide.

  The bright sunlight made her want to crawl back into the darkness of her workshop to escape its glare. She’d labored alone for most of the night, hammering copper ingots into thin sheets with a vigor that would have surprised her assistants, to whom that mindless chore usually fell.

  Despite the fact that they lodged at the opposite end of the village, far from the racket she’d made in the night, they didn’t appear to have slept much either, she noted as she scanned the chapel’s occupants. The attack had not just taken away two members of the community, but it had heightened the sense of threat to everyone in the town as well. The villagers wore their concern drawn tight about them, like a mantle held close against the cold.

  Father Michael must have journeyed through the night to have reached the village so quickly. He’d come well guarded by a troop of seasoned fighters, men who seemed as frightening to her as those who’d attacked her party.

  As Siwardson had warned, he was still here. He stood with William and Bess near the rear of the chapel. He met her gaze and nodded to her, sending a chill down her spine. She drew in a sharp breath and spun on her heel to face the altar.

  She let the words of the Mass flow around her, the soothing cadence lulling her overburdened mind into an almost dreamlike state. Here was the peace she sought.

  Too bad it would not last.

  She started when she looked up and found the abbot standing before her, ready to give her Communion. Her mind still adrift, she opened her mouth to accept the Host, then drank from the chalice he offered. Lowering her gaze, she attempted to bring her thoughts back in line with the solemn ritual.

  For the remainder of the Mass she focused her attention on her surroundings, hoping that she could regain the sense of well-being she’d lost the past few days. Mayhap listening to Father Michael might help her regain her gift. His faith in God and the Church was deep and true; she could not help but be inspired by him.

  William came up to her outside the church once the Mass had ended. “Will you join the abbot and me at my house, lass? Everyone’ll be there. Bess and some of the other women have made enough food for an army, been slaving away at the hearth since daybreak. Father Michael wants to speak with us alone before he heads back to the abbey. We can go up into Bess’ solar and be private there.”

  “Does he want to see us right now?” she asked, sensing a reprieve from the villagers’ questions and expressions of concern. They meant well, she knew, yet her emotions felt too new to run that gauntlet now.

  “Aye, he wants to leave as soon as he can after the ‘pleasantries,’ as he calls ‘em, are over.” He hitched up his belt and looked behind him, sending a fiery glare at one of the abbot’s guards who stood nearby. He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “I’d just as soon have the men he brought with him out of here, at any rate. I don’t trust ‘em at all.” He took her arm in his meaty fist an
d led her toward the street. “I’d just as soon see you safe to my house, mistress, if you don’t mind.”

  With William at her side Anna made it through the crowd gathered in his hall with little difficulty. Bess passed them as they headed for the stairs at the back of the room, gifting them with a smile and a promise to bring food and more drink to them so soon as she could.

  Bess’ solar was at the top of the house, a long, narrow chamber fitted under the eaves, with shuttered windows, now opened wide, at either end of the room. Seated in simple chairs at opposite sides of the trestle table in the center were Father Michael and Swen.

  Anna hesitated in the doorway, grabbing at William’s sleeve to keep him from entering the room. “Why is Siwardson here?” she whispered. “He has no business with us, nor with the abbot.”

  “Actually, lass, he does, a proposition that could affect us all. Be a good lass, now, and come along.” Since she still held his sleeve in her hand, William tugged her right into the room with him.

  Swen stood and offered her his chair. Anna glared at him, but could see no way to refuse it without appearing churlish. She nodded her thanks, sat down and settled her skirts about her. With her hands folded on the table, Anna waited for someone to explain what this was about.

  William pulled a bench up to the table for Swen, then went around the table to sit opposite him. “Shall we get started then, Your Eminence?”

  “Of course.” Father Michael toyed with the goblet in front of him on the table, but he did not pick it up to drink. Anna stared at him, impatient to learn what he had to say.

  And why Swen Siwardson had to be present to hear it.

  Swen watched as the abbot squirmed beneath Anna’s expectant look. He couldn’t decide if the elderly cleric was afraid of her, or if a woman’s presence made him uncomfortable. Despite Father Michael’s calling, he was still a man, after all.

  Lord knew, Anna made him uncomfortable, Swen thought, stifling a chuckle.

  But more likely ’twas the way Anna stared at Father Michael, as though waiting for some word from God Himself, that played havoc with the man’s composure. That was more than anyone should have to bear.

  The abbot was not at all like Swen had expected, after hearing Anna’s tale of how she’d come to be in the abbey’s possession. Although she’d told him that it was the previous abbot who’d accepted her—as their chattel, from the sound of it—he’d assumed Father Michael must be of a similar disposition, most likely a worldly, venal man.

  Instead, he appeared kind, honest in his faith and sincerely concerned for all the citizens of Murat.

  William picked up the pitcher of mead from the table and topped off the abbot’s goblet before filling one for himself. “Not that I’m trying to rush you, Father, but what did you wish to see us about?” he asked.

  The abbot drained his goblet, then set it on the table and began to trace the design of trailing leaves with his finger. “This attack, William—have you learned anything about who ordered it?”

  “Nay, sir. The two men we took captive who survived knew nothing,” he said, disappointment coloring his voice. “Let me tell you, just having Siwardson stand nearby, looking threatening, worked like a charm. But they know naught. ‘Tis no more than I expected. They’re tavern scum out to earn coin for drink. They don’t know who hired ‘em, they’re just mad they didn’t collect all their pay for the job ‘cause we caught them.”

  “Surely they knew who arranged for them to attack you!”

  William refilled the abbot’s drink. “’Fraid not, Your Eminence. They heard about the job from another alehouse drunkard like themselves named Rob. Rob arranged it all, they said, met with the man who hired them, brought them some of their money.” He swallowed his mead and thumped the cup down on the table—in disgust, Swen had no doubt. He had cause. “’Tis our misfortune that Rob is one of the men we killed, Father.” He grimaced and hurriedly crossed himself. “May God have mercy on his soul, of course.”

  “I see.” The abbot lowered his gaze to examine his fingertips, then looked up at Anna. “I understand you learned some information from the ruffian who attempted to drag you off?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. “Chances are he’s Rob.”

  “I don’t believe he’s Rob, Father, but the man did talk.” Her voice devoid of emotion—though Swen thought he could see a hint of fear in her eyes—she repeated what she’d told them after the attack, concluding with, “I realize he wouldn’t have been able to grab me if I’d stayed where William told me to.”

  “You don’t know that for certain, lass,” William said. “He could have taken you from your tent just as easy, and us none the wiser till after the fight.”

  “Indeed.” Father Michael turned a stern look on both of them. “Anna, it’s not up to you to decide willy-nilly if you wish to obey your guard. And you, William, should not be making excuses for Anna. It’s your duty to protect her any way you can, not to coddle her when she disobeys you.”

  The abbot turned to Swen. “I understand we owe you our thanks, Lord Siwardson. William tells me your assistance was invaluable in keeping our losses to a minimum, and that you protected Mistress Anna well.”

  Swen felt pinned in place by the abbot’s penetrating gaze now that it was turned upon him. ‘Twould be all but impossible to lie to the man, of that he had no doubt. Those dark, patient eyes demanded the truth.

  He’d give it to him, as much as he was able.

  “I did what I could to help,” Swen said. “And they attacked me, too, since I was already in the camp. But ’twas an enjoyable fight, and I’m pleased I could be of service.”

  “Enjoyable! Are you a mercenary?”

  “Nay, I am not.” Indignation lent heat to his words. Swen rose to his feet, unable to sit still and be dragged over those coals. “I’ve many faults, sir, but selling my sword’s not one of them. I’ve offered my loyalty and my service to an honorable man—”

  “The Dragon?” Father Michael cut in.

  “Aye. Lord Ian ap Dafydd.” Swen returned to his seat and raked his hand back through his hair. He forced himself to calm—he couldn’t understand why he felt so agitated—before he continued. “I joined his household in the spring. He and his wife have been good friends to me. They command my allegiance—and my sword—because of my affection and respect for them. That is the coin to buy my loyalty.”

  Father Michael nodded. “You sound an honorable man, milord. I thank you for answering me so honestly. I had to ask, you understand.”

  Swen did understand the abbot’s caution; after all, they knew nothing of him but what he’d told them. For all they knew, he could be the man behind the attack.

  And although he had not lied to them, some of his answers had not been the complete truth, either.

  Mistress de Coucy entered the room carrying a tray of food. While she laid it out on the table, Swen took the opportunity to ponder once more the idea that had been plaguing him since the day before. His heart told him ’twas right, even as his head said he’d be twice a fool to even suggest what he was considering.

  Once she’d emptied the tray, Mistress de Coucy paused by the abbot’s chair and bobbed a curtsy. He motioned her closer, and whispered something to her.

  “Thank you, mistress,” he said after she stepped away. He turned to Anna. “There’s no reason for you to remain here for the moment, child, and Mistress de Coucy could use your assistance. You may go with her now. I’ll speak with you again before I go.”

  Anna looked disappointed to leave, and perhaps she feared she might miss something. But she rose, curtsied to Father Michael and, taking the tray from Mistress de Coucy, followed the older woman down the stairs.

  The abbot settled himself in his chair and fixed his gaze on William, then Swen, before he spoke. “Bess’ arrival couldn’t have come at a better time. While I wanted to hear Anna’s interpretation of the events of two nights past, the information I wish to tell you now is not for her ears, at least for the nonce.�
�

  “Would you rather I left as well?” Swen asked. “I did wish to speak with you before you went back to the abbey, but I can wait until you’ve finished here.”

  “Go ahead and tell me now,” Father Michael suggested. “Then we can move on to my business.”

  Once more Swen wondered if he was about to make a huge mistake, but he plunged on despite his misgivings. “I’d like to offer my services as a guard, Father. William needs more men here, especially now, and I believe he’ll vouch for my ability as a fighter.”

  William smiled. “That I will, Your Eminence. I’ve not seen so brave a warrior as this lad in far too long. I’d be pleased to have his help.”

  Father Michael rested his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers before him, gazing meditatively at the heavy gold ring he wore. When he leaned forward and met Swen’s gaze, the look in his eyes matched in intensity the piercing one he’d pinned upon Swen earlier. “Let me explain to you how and why Murat exists. The abbey built this village to provide Mistress Anna with all she requires to carry out her work. The villagers take care of her, and some assist in her workshop. She has a talent for creating astounding examples of the enameler’s art, but also a wondrous God-given gift that permits her to see images of the past, and to recreate the history of the Church in the enamels she makes.”

  Swen felt as though he’d taken a blow to the gut. Anna saw images of the past? He had never known of anyone besides himself who did, though what he saw had nothing to do with the Church.

  Even more amazing to him, it seemed this was not only a widely known fact, but it was accepted by those who knew of it. Indeed, the abbot had called it a gift.

  “Can you accept that this is so?” the abbot asked.

  “Yes, Father, I can.” He certainly could believe it—far more easily than most, he’d imagine.

  “The abbey has dedicated itself not only to providing for Mistress Anna, but also to protecting her. Her work is highly prized and in great demand. It appears we’ve reason for our concern, judging from what her attacker told her.”