The Shielded Heart

by Sharon Schulze

  Clutching his bleeding chest, the man managed to sit up, then lolled back against the tree and let the sword fall from his hand. “I yield, milord,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  Blood-streaked spittle ran from the corner of his mouth to match the growing stain on the front of his tunic, and his face shone pale in the sunlight. Nodding his acceptance, Swen picked up the sword and handed it to William. “I doubt he’s long for this world,” William said. “We can but hope that he’ll live long enough to tell us something useful.”

  “Is Anna all right?” Swen asked William.

  “Aye—no thanks to you.” He glowered at Swen. “By Christ’s eyeballs, lad, what were you thinkin’ of, to bring her out here? I thought you had more sense than that,” he added with disgust.

  Shouts and the clash of steel sounded from farther within the forest. Leaving their captive where he sat, Swen and William ran through the trees, swords at the ready, dodging branches and thick underbrush as they sought the rest of the guards.

  The sound of hoofbeats greeted them as they came upon their men. Several clutched injuries, while the others, fists raised in anger, shouted into the trees after the retreating horsemen.

  William slashed at a nearby bush with his sword. “Damnation! I suppose they all got away?” he asked a man who’d been cut across the arm.

  “Aye, captain. We chased the two o’ them here. Three or four others were waitin’ for ‘em with the horses. Soon’s we got here, they set about with their swords to keep us away, then jumped in the saddle and rode off. We wounded a couple o’ them, but not enough to keep ‘em here.”

  Swen shook his head. “You did well to catch up to them,” he said, though he knew ‘twould take better work than this if they were to ever get out of this coil. But they’d tried their best, he knew. It wasn’t their fault that most of them weren’t fighters, but farmers and craftsmen.

  “I’ll look around, see if I can find anything here,” he told William.

  “And I’ll see what we can learn from the one who’s left. If he’s still alive,” William added dryly. “Though the way our luck’s been running, I don’t hold out much hope for that.”

  Unfortunately William had been right about their luck. Swen returned to Murat empty-handed, to be greeted by the news that their captive had died while they gave chase to the others. The day’s fighting had yielded them absolutely nothing—except the knowledge that someone still wanted Anna.

  He and William retreated to the gatehouse as soon as he got back to discuss the situation at length, but they couldn’t arrive at any other reason for there to be armed men lurking about in the forest near the village. There were no other settlements anywhere close by, and no other reason to be watching them. The only thing of value in Murat was Anna.

  Though why they hadn’t tried to take her while she was with Swen made no sense, unless the men he’d fought were simply part of a larger group who’d waited in the woods for an opportunity to attack the town. It didn’t appear the group had been large enough for that, but anything was possible, Swen supposed.

  And that might explain why the men Swen fought didn’t know who’d hired them—they’d been hired by someone else who’d pulled together the group.

  One thing Swen knew for certain, however—they’d keep the gates closed, and Anna inside, from now on. William would arrange to double the guards in the forest as well, for their sentry this morning had been completely unaware of the men hidden so near the village.

  “‘Tis enough for now, lad. We’ve set our plans in motion, and now there’s naught to do but wait—and train our troops some more.” William heaved himself off the bench with a sigh. “I’m a mite too old to be running through the forest like Robin o’ the Wood,” he added with a laugh. “Bess tells me so after every skirmish. She gets tired of listening to my joints creak, I suspect”

  Swen laughed; he could well imagine Bess taking her husband to task, her harangue wrapped in loving words and soft comfort. William was a fortunate man, to have a woman care for him so.

  “You don’t fight like an old man,” he said, and meant it. “I’d sooner do battle with you than against you.”

  William grinned. “Good. Then you won’t mind coming home with me now. I could use an ally. Bess dragged Anna off with her as soon as she staggered through the gates. By now one of them’ll need rescuing from the other, I’ll wager.” He fixed his gaze upon Swen. “Or one of us will, for allowing Anna outside the gates in the first place.”

  Considering the temper Anna had been in last night—and this morning, before their encounter in the woods—Swen had little doubt who the attacker would be.

  But he had to face her sooner or later; it might as well be now. “I look forward to it,” he told William.

  And he did. The thought of Anna—in any mood—sent a firestorm of anticipation to heat his blood.

  He met William’s measuring gaze; Swen knew that somehow, the other man understood exactly what he meant.

  Anna picked up the cleaver and brought it down on a turnip, splitting it in two and sending the halves bouncing across the table. “Have a care, Anna,” Bess admonished. She added the turnips she’d chopped to the pot of meat simmering on the hearth. “You needn’t kill it—carving it up will do.” Taking a bucket from a peg near the door, she said, “I’m going to the well for more water. Be certain you wash everything before you put it in the pot.”

  Did Bess really believe she’d finish before she returned? Perhaps she did; Bess was always full of hope, good cheer and high expectations that Anna could do whatever she set her mind to.

  Her mother had been like that, she remembered, one of the few details of her life before Murat that she could still call to mind.

  She chopped the turnip into bits with far greater intensity than the task required. She’d do well to avoid that road to the past. Too many emotions clouded her mind already; worry for Swen and the others, her very mixed feelings about her conversation with Swen last night, to say nothing of their “talk”—not that much talking had gone on—this morning.

  Or the conversation she and Bess had when they first went to Bess’ house.

  Breathless with exertion and fear, Anna could scarcely speak when she reached the village, but she managed to tell them that she’d left Swen under attack—she assumed, since she’d obeyed him and hadn’t looked back—from some unknown threat. She’d no sooner caught her breath than Bess came and brought her back to her house. Overwrought, she’d thought to unburden herself to Bess, though once she tried, she found she couldn’t tell the older woman about her growing relationship with Swen, nor the things they’d said and done.

  She did, however, ask Bess for the truth of what Swen had told her—of Father Michael’s contention that her gift was tied to her purity.

  Anna hacked at a pile of carrots with a vengeance when she thought of Bess’ reply. “Aye, love, ‘tis true—or so the bishop told Father Michael. Though how could they know for certain, I’d like to know? Many’s the time I’ve told William…” She clamped her lips tight and refused to heed Anna’s questioning look. “’Tis best you believe what the abbot says, child. Your life is in their keeping, after all. They want what’s best for you,” she added, glancing down at their joined hands. “Besides, you shouldn’t be thinking of—”

  Uncomfortable, Anna lowered her gaze to the polished tabletop and pulled her hand from Bess’ grasp.

  “Nay, look at me,” Bess commanded, her voice gentle. “’Tis Swen who’s made you wonder about such things. He’s a fine young man. A pleasure to look at as well—I may be old, Anna, but I’m not blind,” she admonished in response to Anna’s startled gasp. “And I’ve seen how he looks at you, when he thinks no one will notice. His feelings for you are decent and true, I’d swear.” She reached out and took both of Anna’s hands, holding them snug within her much smaller ones. “But mayhap ‘tis a risk you shouldn’t consider, love—and not only because it would be a sin to lie with a man who’s not yo
ur husband. Would you give up your whole world, Anna, on the chance the bishop is wrong?”

  Anna swiped at the tears slipping down her cheeks. So much for Bess’ contention that kitchen work would help Anna keep her mind off her troubles!

  As soon as Anna had staggered through the gates and given the alarm, Bess hauled her off to help with her chores. “For you’ll do nothing but worry if you stay by yourself in your workshop,” she’d said. “This will be better for both of us. We’ll keep each other company until the men return.”

  After they’d talked, she’d given Anna an apron and two knives, and set her to work readying vegetables for the stew pot. Glancing down at the meager pile of odd-shaped chopped turnips and carrots on the table—her contribution to the stew—she couldn’t help but wonder how someone skilled enough with chisel and graver to carve metal into art could only contrive to massacre a simple piece of food.

  She’d realized lately that she couldn’t cook, couldn’t spin or sew, and knew nothing about managing a household. On occasion she’d attempted to help Bess with one thing or another, but since she generally ended up ruining whatever she’d been doing, she’d finally accepted defeat and tried to stay out of Bess’ way when she was busy.

  Though last night, as she lay sleepless in her bed, she’d wondered if that could change. If she had someone to take care of besides herself…

  She shook her head and pushed the strange thoughts away. Her life was fine as it stood. It would have to be, for it would never change.

  And given her lack of domestic ability, ’twas likely a good thing she’d ended up in her present situation. Both hands gripped tight about the handle, she slammed the cleaver onto another turnip, watching in disbelief as it bounced, still uncut, off the far side of the table and across the floor.

  She slapped the knife down on the cutting board in disgust. Anyone who had to depend upon her for food would surely starve.

  The turnip rolled toward the door as it opened. William and Swen walked in, both pausing to watch it tumble past and halt against the doorsill.

  Her heart picked up its rhythm at the sight of Swen, apparently unharmed, thanks be to God. It was all she could do not to run to him and leap into his arms.

  This was madness, she told herself, swiftly lowering her gaze before he caught her devouring him with her eyes.

  Smiling, Swen picked up the turnip and held it out to her. “Lose something?” he asked, his smile fading fast when she picked up the cleaver and raised it high to attack another hapless vegetable.

  “Put it right there,” she said, pointing to the cutting board with the knife.

  He waited until she’d beheaded a carrot to do as she’d directed, dropping the turnip in front of her with a thud and stepping back quickly, before she raised the blade again.

  Anna fought back a smile of her own at the expression on Swen’s face. Had he looked so uncertain of his reception before he came through the door and discovered her laying about with a knife with wild abandon? “Is something wrong, milord?” she couldn’t resist asking.

  “Not at all.” His hand snaked down to the scabbard at his waist, then rose and sent the dagger flying through the air to land quivering, tip buried deep, among the carrots and turnips right in front of her.

  She dropped the cleaver to the table and clapped her hand over her thumping heart.

  Swen gave a brief bow. “I always respect anyone with a knife in their hand.”

  William stepped around Swen and closed the door. “You two through playing?” he asked dryly.

  Swen leaned over the table, flipped his dagger loose and, resting his free hand on the table, slipped it back into its scabbard, his gaze holding Anna’s captive all the while. “I’ve never been more serious,” he murmured, continuing to lean toward her over the table.

  “William?” Bess called from outside.

  William opened the door. “What is it, wife?”

  “I’ve been to the well for water, and I need you to come help me carry the buckets,” she said. Something in Bess’ voice caught Anna’s attention; she looked past Swen and saw Bess take William by the hand and draw him through the doorway.

  She also saw her nod toward Swen and mouth the words “Talk to him” before she pulled the door closed.

  After what Bess had said to her earlier, Anna would never have expected for Bess to arrange for her to be alone with Swen.

  What should she do?

  Before she could decide, Swen rounded the end of the table and drew her into his arms. He brushed his nose against hers, swept his gaze over her face in an invisible caress. “I believe we have unfinished business, milady,” he murmured, lowering his lips to hers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He knew it was wrong, but Swen simply could not resist taking Anna in his arms when the opportunity presented itself.

  With some help from Mistress de Coucy, it seemed.

  Anna hesitated but a moment before returning his kiss. Her lips soft beneath his, her body warm and welcoming as it pressed against his…

  What more could a man ask when returning from battle than to be greeted thus?

  She swept her hands over his arms, his shoulders, and slowly withdrew her mouth from his. “You came to no harm?” she asked, her gaze concerned as it rested upon his face.

  He shook his head. “There were only three of them. I wounded one—who since died—and had engaged the other two in battle when William and the others arrived. The two I fought fled, so we gave chase. But they and a group of others escaped on horseback. Since we were on foot, we couldn’t catch them.”

  Taking his hands, Anna stepped back and looked him over carefully. “What is it?” he asked.

  “You fought three men, yet you took no hurt?” She seemed confused.

  “They weren’t very big,” he said in all seriousness.

  Anna laughed at that. “That would explain it.” She glanced down at his belt, then released one of his hands to touch the dagger there, her gaze sobering quickly. “You had no sword with you.”

  “Could that be because a certain impetuous lady—” he placed his hands about her slim waist “—with eyes like amber jewels and hair like the finest silk—” he raised his hand to her face, smoothed a fingertip over her brow, then stroked the full length of her glorious hair “—sent me tumbling to the ground at her feet and lured me from the safety of Murat, so bemusing my senses that I didn’t know—or care—whether I carried the full complement of weapons?” he teased.

  Anna leaned into his caress, her eyelids closing as he ran both hands through her curls, his fingers lingering over her ribs, her hips, learning with his touch what he’d already memorized with his eyes. “’Tis nothing to joke about,” she murmured. Opening her eyes, her gaze solemn, she cupped her hands about his face. “You might have been killed.”

  “And so might you,” he pointed out, voice intent. “Dear God, Anna.” He caught her hands in his, then drew them from his face, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “When I saw them standing in the forest watching us…I swear to you, my heart stopped beating in my breast until you’d run off. Even then, the thought that there might be someone waiting for you between the forest and the village—” he broke off and shook his head. “’Tis a chance we must not take again.”

  “One of many,” she agreed. She glanced away from him, catching her lower lip between her teeth. Swen squeezed her hands, offering what comfort he could, for he could see her distress in her face, in the tears pooling, unshed, in her eyes. “I spoke with Bess this morn, about—” She drew in a shuddering breath and met his searching gaze. “I asked her for the truth about what the abbot told you.” A tear began to roll down her cheek, until he stopped its progress with his lips.

  “Hush,” he whispered against her temple. “Don’t cry, my heart.”

  Anna took another deep breath. “She said—”

  He covered her lips with his fingers. “We need not speak of it.” He slipped his hand away, savoring the feel of her so
ftness beneath his battle-hardened fingertips before burying them in the equally soft wisps of hair surrounding her face. “Not ever again.” He drew in a deep breath of his own before he could continue. “I accepted Father Michael’s conditions when I agreed to stay, Anna. And while I have not taken your honor in truth, in my mind—” he closed his eyes briefly, then forced himself to meet her gaze, fixed so intently upon him “—in my mind I’ve made you mine already.”

  More tears ran from her eyes, streaming down her cheeks now, but she made no move to stop them. “What are you saying?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady.

  “We cannot go on as we’ve been these past few days—touching, kissing, teasing each other with our bodies, our words. ‘Tis my fault. I’ve known all along that there could be nothing more than that between us, yet I foolishly believed a few innocent caresses—”

  “We’ve done nothing wrong!” she cried.

  “‘Tis only a matter of time before we do, if we don’t cease tempting each other.” He held up a hand when she would have protested. “God’s truth, Anna. While I cannot know what’s in your heart, I’ll admit to you that you make me nigh mindless with longing with very little provocation.” His heart protesting his mind’s insistence, he added, “I’m much larger than you, stronger. What if I become so crazed with lust that I force you? I’ve never done such a thing, and I would never willingly harm you, but I want you so much—” He spun away from her. He hadn’t meant to say that to her, but then, he’d not planned to ever touch her in any manner except within the bonds of friendship, either. She needed to understand the risks they’d taken. “I’m sorry. ‘Tis myself I don’t trust, not you.”

  He felt her hand upon his back, smoothing over his tunic, soothing him. There was naught in the caress but comfort, but he felt more than comfort from it nonetheless.