The Shielded Heart

by Sharon Schulze

  “Aye.” Too restless to sit, Swen rose again and walked to the window and gazed out at the colorful trees visible over the top of the stockade. “I’ve seen her work—’tis beautiful. And I saw how much the attackers wanted her. They fought harder than I’d have expected for their kind.”

  “Must have been promised a heap of money in return,” William said wryly. “I’ve no doubt Siwardson could be a big help to us, Father. He already has been. And I’m certain he understands how important it is to keep the lass safe.”

  “Yes,” the cleric agreed. “But I have reservations about this, William, and concerns that you should take into consideration as well.” He frowned. “Indeed, your own behavior toward Anna of late gives me grave cause for concern.”

  “I’d never allow any harm to come to her!” William leapt to his feet and slammed his fists on the table.

  “Sit down, William.” The abbot waited until William obeyed him before continuing. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply that you would. But I fear you’ve come to care too deeply for Anna, to the point where your affection for her causes you to allow her too much freedom.”

  William looked ready to explode, his face red and his hands gripped into tight fists upon the table. Swen crossed the room and laid a calming hand on William’s shoulder. “’Tis clear to anyone who knows you that you hold Mistress Anna in high regard.” He sat down and took a drink of mead while he sought to marshal his thoughts. “I’ve seen firsthand how careful William is of her safety, Father. He’d sooner take a sword through the heart himself than to allow anything to do her an injury.”

  “I apologize, William,” Father Michael said. Gone was the stern authority of before; in its place Swen saw the kindness so apparent to him earlier. “I didn’t mean to imply that you’d ever intentionally risk Anna’s safety. You love her like a daughter—both you and Bess—which is a blessing to her and a comfort to me. The child has given up so much…” He lowered his gaze, but not before Swen saw some deep emotion in his eyes. “But I worry that like many a fond parent, your love could lead you to give in to her when it’s not in her best interest to do so.”

  William unclenched his hands slowly. “’Tis true, Father, Anna’s the child Bess and I never had. But we try to be strict with her.”

  “Mayhap my presence here will help,” Swen said. “She doesn’t know what to expect from me. I’ll be firm with her if she tries to wheedle William into anything.” He grinned when William frowned in answer. “It matters not if she thinks me stern and unyielding.”

  William mumbled something to himself—it sounded like “Not bloody likely!”—but Swen ignored it and the abbot evidently didn’t hear it.

  “I believe your presence here could be a great help to William and his men, milord,” the abbot said. “Especially since the years of quiet we’ve enjoyed here seem to be over. But in order for you to join us, you must agree to my terms.”

  “Of course,” Swen said. He’d expected no less.

  “Well, then.” Father Michael shifted in his seat. “As I told you, Anna’s gift has made her greatly prized. We’ve done all we could to guard her safety. This involves more than just protecting her life.” His face grew flushed as he continued, “’Tis the opinion of the Church that Anna’s gift is tied to her virginity. You must promise me you’ll do whatever you must to shield her innocence—at all costs.”

  Chapter Eight

  Once the gathering had ended and Father Michael took his leave of her—in a much improved mood, it seemed—Anna headed back to her workshop filled with a sense of anticipation. Since she’d only lost half the day, she could still manage to make some inroads on her work, providing her assistants were not so far gone on ale and mead as to be more hindrance than help. The past few days had put her far off schedule, for she hadn’t planned on making the journey to St. Stephen’s for another fortnight at least.

  Nor could she ever have predicted the other events that had thrown her life into such disarray.

  She looked forward to losing herself in the joy of creation, for that would surely bring her world back to normal.

  The sound of voices raised in song greeted her as she walked up the path to her door. Good! Her lips curved into a smile. Her helpers often sang as they went about their work; perhaps they’d already fired up the forge and set out everything she’d need to begin right away.

  Her smile faded when she heard the words of their song. She paused with her hand on the latch. The words that wafted through the open window shutters were so crude, she wasn’t certain she knew the meaning of half of them.

  Judging by their choice of songs, they’d accomplish little today.

  She drew in a deep breath, prepared to raise her hand to knock and warn of her presence—and her voice to chastise them—then let out a sigh and turned to slump back against the door. She worked them hard—indeed, they’d labored at menial tasks even while she’d gone to obey the abbot’s summons—and they, too, had suffered a loss by Ned’s and Pawl’s deaths. ‘Twould likely do no harm in the long run if she gave them the rest of the day to themselves.

  She could still find plenty of work of her own to do that wouldn’t require their help.

  By fumbling a bit with the door, she gave them warning. The song stopped at once, she noted with a laugh.

  “Mistress!” cried Luc, the most skilled of her assistants, as she stepped into the workshop. He hurried across the large room, the three others lingering not far behind him. “We didn’t know for certain if you would want to work, with so little left of the day.” He watched her with a gleam of hope in his bloodshot eyes. “But we readied everything, should you wish to—”

  She raised her hand to silence him. “I thank you for your efforts,” she said, taking note of the glowing coals in the hearth, and her tools, laid out on the table. “I won’t require your help with the engraving I plan to do, so you may have the rest of the day to do as you wish.”

  “Thank you, mistress,” Luc said solemnly, then smiled as he turned to the others.

  Did she work them so hard? she wondered, watching them put away the materials they would have used. Certainly they seemed eager to leave!

  “We’ll start early tomorrow,” she reminded them as they hastened out the door.

  In no time, she’d changed from her good bliaut to the sturdy tunic and leather apron she wore in the workshop and bundled her unruly curls into a loose braid that fell to her waist. She found herself humming as she descended the ladder from her chamber, then laughed when she realized ’twas the same bawdy song Luc and the others had been singing. A grin plastered on her face, she shrugged and took up the tune again.

  She swung around the foot of the ladder and smacked headlong into a tall, solid body, her voice rising from a hum to a shriek.

  “I’m surprised you know that tune, I must confess,” Swen said. He caught her about the waist to steady her, apparently unharmed by the impact himself, judging by the smile on his face and the laughter in his voice.

  “I thought you’d have left by now,” she told him. “You could have traveled as far as St. Stephen’s with the abbot and the protection of his guard.”

  His smile faded. “I’m not afraid to journey alone, mistress. There’s no one in this area who means me harm.”

  She realized he still had his arms loosely about her waist; they stood so close she could see the flecks of gray in his pale blue eyes that lent them their icy glow.

  But his body felt warm, a heat she could feel down the entire side of her body where they touched.

  That heat rose to her cheeks when she noticed how he stared at her. His roving gaze took in the wispy hair curling wildly about her face, lingered for an eternity upon her mouth. When her tongue slipped out to moisten her suddenly parched lips, Swen drew in a sharp breath and released her so quickly she tottered on her feet before finding her balance.

  He turned and crossed the room to her worktable with surprising haste and sat down on a stool on the far side of it
. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Anna leaned back against the ladder for a moment. She greatly feared ’twas not surprise, nor the impact when they collided that accounted for her wobbly legs. Nor for the breathlessness that kept her silent for the moment.

  Not unless she considered the surprising sensations he sent coursing through her body from the simple touch of eyes and hands.

  But there was nothing simple about the way her heart pounded so hard in her chest.

  “I didn’t realize you were still at Murat, is all.” Her composure restored—at least enough to mask her lingering reaction to him—she walked to the hearth and busied herself checking the fire. “I certainly didn’t expect to find you lurking about in my workshop.” After a few more calming breaths left her feeling more settled, she turned to face him. “What are you doing here, milord?” she asked in the coolest voice she could muster.

  He picked up a graver from the soft leather case on the table and tested the tool’s cutting edge against his thumb as though he were judging a knife for sharpness. The action reminded her of the picture she carried in her mind, of Swen limned in firelight, defending himself with but two daggers and a smile against a sword-wielding foe.

  He looked up and caught her watching him, a habit she wished he’d cease.

  Or perhaps if she stopped staring at him every chance she got, she thought wryly, it would solve the problem.

  He placed the graver back in its case, pushed the stool back and rose. “I came to share my news,” he told her as he rounded the workbench. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned his hip against the edge of the table.

  Anna stood and watched him, marveling at the fact that until she’d met Swen Siwardson a few days ago, she’d never noticed how a man looked, how he smelled, how he moved…all the interesting details she couldn’t seem to stop noticing whenever the brawny Norseman was near.

  And even when he wasn’t.

  ’Twas past time to cut short her fascination with him. She had neither time nor place in her life for any man—especially not for one like Swen Siwardson. He’d already proved himself dangerous to her emotions and her peace of mind. All she could think to do was to get him out of her mind—and her life—now, before he infiltrated her heart.

  She’d best ask him about his news and send him on his way, get the hurt over with and begin to mend.

  She hadn’t the time for anything else.

  “I’ve work to do, milord.” Eager to speed him on his way—away from her—Anna went to a storage chest and brought out the copper plates meant to embellish a chasse she’d left unfinished when she went to St. Stephen’s. Careful to avoid looking at Swen, she walked past him and plunked the pieces down on the table with more force than she’d intended. She winced at the sound, but a swift inspection told her they’d come to no harm.

  She couldn’t go on like this, else she’d destroy the next thing she tossed about so carelessly. “So tell me, what is your news?”

  Swen allowed Anna to move past him as though he did not exist, but upon hearing metal clank against the table, he turned to face her. She confused him. Friendly one moment, hostile the next…then she looked at him, and the heat in her eyes almost felled him where he stood.

  He’d not soon forget the feel of her body clasped against his, her heart pounding as hard as his own. When she’d moistened her lips, he’d nearly given in to the temptation to press his mouth to hers for a taste.

  Putting the distance of the room between them had been sheer self-preservation on his part. A few moments more of that innocent embrace and he feared he’d have had her shoved against the wall, his tongue in her mouth, his hands taking liberties everywhere he could reach.

  He’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her; even now, knowing she was beyond the reach of any man, he wanted her still.

  Only a fool would place himself in mortal jeopardy apurpose.

  Watching her for reaction, he said, “William has agreed to take me on as one of your guards.”

  When she stared at him this time, no heat brightened her eyes. Instead she looked frozen.

  “How can that be?” Her expression brightened. “Your lord—Lord Ian—surely he won’t allow it.”

  Swen lowered his gaze; she got to the heart of the matter sooner than he’d expected. William hadn’t asked why he’d been roaming the Marches on his own, and Swen hadn’t volunteered any information.

  He wouldn’t lie about it. He could only hope she wouldn’t ask.

  “I’ve left Lord Ian’s service. I’m free to do whatever I choose.” He shrugged. “I choose to stay here.”

  She slammed her palms on the table and leaned toward him. “Why?” she cried. “Why can’t you leave, go torment someone else?”

  Her words hit him like the slap of a glove across his face, and he reeled from the blow. She wanted to know? So be it.

  It appeared Anna was the one challenge he could not run away from.

  “I stayed for you!” he shouted. “To protect you, if I can. More than ever before, you need someone capable of shielding you from harm, Anna. I’d give my life—gladly—to save yours.”

  “No!” she cried, pounding her fist on the table. She slapped her palm against the wood again, with less force, and crumpled onto the stool behind her. “No, Swen. I’ll ask that of no one. You don’t even know me—you can’t throw your life away for a stranger.”

  “You cannot stop me. ‘Tis my life to give. You have no choice in the matter.”

  “Do I not?” She straightened on the stool, then leaned toward him across the corner of the table, her gaze intent. “Don’t threaten me, milord, else you’ll find I can play at your game after all.” She glanced away. “I need only tell William that you’ve—”

  “I’ve done nothing, and you know it!” he snarled. Only in your thoughts, a voice in his head taunted. But his actions had been innocent enough. “You cannot look me in the eye and say that, can you?” He reached over and took her hand, holding it tight so she couldn’t pull free. He waited to speak until she looked at him again. “I refuse to believe you’d stoop to lying to get your way—you’re too honest for that.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. “I would not, though I don’t understand how you know that.”

  Neither did he, if truth be told.

  “It doesn’t matter how I know,” he said, releasing her hand. She sat back, putting more distance between them, and lowered her hands to her lap, cradling the one he’d held with the other. He felt like shouting his frustration, for she confused him at every turn.

  If he stayed, he had the feeling he’d become very familiar with that sensation.

  He tried again. “What matters is that you understand how grave the situation is. Father Michael has an idea who might be behind the attack. He believes you’re in danger—of abduction, at the very least. Someone wants you badly, Anna. Who knows what lengths they’ll go to in order to get you?”

  “That is between them and me,” she told him. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. “I’ll ask no one to risk their life for mine, not ever again.”

  “Then what will you do? Stay within the walls of Murat for the rest of your life?”

  “I don’t care if I never leave Murat again, if that will keep those I care about safe,” she vowed.

  He shook his head. “’Tis not the way to defend yourself, and you know it.” He moved to stand beside her, reached out and traced his finger along the tearstain, then cupped her cheek in his hand. “The wall surrounding Murat wouldn’t keep out a woodcutter determined to get in! For the love of God, Anna, this village was built for you, but I doubt the abbot—either abbot—ever believed they’d find you in this situation. Father Michael even considered moving you into St. Stephen’s itself.”

  She gave a weak chuckle. “That idea couldn’t have lasted long in his brain. Every time he bids me come to the abbey, he cannot wait to shoo me away as fast as he can, lest I tempt the monks—not that I’ve seen many, I think
he locks them up when I’m there—to forswear their vows.”

  He couldn’t help but smile at that, but he refused to be distracted. “That should tell you how serious he thinks the threat is. Someone who wants you for your talents—” he couldn’t bear to use the word “gifts” “—is just waiting for the opportunity to bring you within their grasp. You must at least allow us to do what we can to protect you, Anna. The choice is not yours,” he reminded her. “The abbot has the final say, and he’s made his decision. You might as well accept it with good grace. I’m not leaving—none of us are—and we will keep you safe.”

  He couldn’t bear to see the pain in her eyes, but he knew he could do naught to ease it. If he wasn’t careful to maintain his distance from her—emotionally and physically—his words and actions could bring her yet more sorrow.

  He wanted more, far more than he’d ever be allowed to have. He could protect her, his brain reminded him. Anna would be alive and safe. With the stakes so high, it was a risk he had to take.

  But where was the harm in asking for what little she might be willing to give? Why should they be enemies, if they could come to some understanding?

  He knelt beside her and framed her face with his hands. “I will be your guardian, Anna, with or without your consent. This I swear to you. But only you can give me what I truly want.”

  He saw caution in her eyes, yet he thought perhaps a trace of yearning as well. She swallowed, wet her lips, reduced him to a pile of smoldering ashes before she finally spoke. “What is that, Swen?”

  “Be my friend.”

  Chapter Nine

  Anna looked into Swen’s eyes, uncertain how to respond. Be his friend? What did friendship entail?

  And a friendship between a man and a woman? She’d certainly never heard of that; she hadn’t considered such a situation possible.

  When she remembered the way she’d felt when he held her—the way she felt right now—she decided she’d best discover just what he would expect of a “friend” before she gave him an answer.