“I’m not sorry,” she told him, her tone as soft as her touch.
He turned to face her, catching her still-upraised hand in his and lowering it to her side. “No, Anna,” he said gently. He gave a rueful smile. “You may not mean anything by it, but my body doesn’t see it that way.”
“Will you still be my friend?” she asked, her eyes moist.
“So much as I’m able.”
Anna looked past him, smoothing her hands over her skirts, then focused on his face. “What does that mean?”
He gave her the only answer he could. “I don’t know.”
“I feel like a prisoner here, Bess.” Anna finished storing away her tools and wiped her hands on a soft cloth before joining Bess at the worktable. The other woman had laid out bread and cheese for her dinner, since Anna had been too involved in finishing an enameled book cover to join them for the meal.
“I know, lass.” Bess poured mead for both of them, then settled on a stool to keep Anna company while she ate. “We all do. There’s naught we can do about it. But William and Swen have decided ‘tis the only way to keep us all safe. Until they learn where the threat to you comes from, we might as well get used to it”
Anna pulled up a bench and sat down, wishing she had her chair here so she could slump back in it and relax. Her back ached worse than a sore tooth, her shoulders throbbing, her lower back a mass of fire. As for her head…It had been pounding for a week, at least, as she struggled to recapture the details of the vision she sought to display. This latest commission had been her most difficult to date—because of the fine detail it contained, but also because she seemed to have lost her ability to concentrate upon her work to exclusion of all else.
She’d not thought of herself as a happy person, but she must have been happy in relation to how she felt now. In the month since they’d been attacked outside the village—the month since Swen had withdrawn from her—she’d been miserable.
He still visited her workshop, talked with her, joked with her—but he never touched her, and never permitted her close enough to touch him. On the rare occasion she managed to be near him, or if she accidentally brushed against him in the most innocent way, he froze her with a stern look she hadn’t realized until recently that he was capable of.
If only he knew how his plan to keep them apart had failed!
Spending time with Swen could provide temptation enough to lure the most reluctant maiden into sin, she thought. It certainly had that effect on her, a flush rising to her cheeks.
And she had to admit, she couldn’t call herself reluctant.
Swallowing the bread suddenly resting like a lump in her throat, Anna glanced over at Bess to see if she’d noticed the blush—or her air of distraction.
Apparently not, for Bess continued to chatter, relating all the village gossip Anna had missed since she immured herself in her workshop this past week or more to finish the panel. ’Twas no wonder she felt like a prisoner; she hadn’t set foot outside in all that time.
The past few days, she hadn’t even looked out a window.
’Twas cold outside, she knew that much from the way Bess had been bundled up when she arrived. Anna scarce noticed the cold when she was working, for the forge kept the shop quite warm.
Finally she set aside her plate, mounded with crumbled bread and cheese, and stood. Bess paused and sent her a questioning look.
“I beg your pardon, Bess, but I cannot concentrate—my mind is as tired as my body.” She stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, wincing as new twinges made themselves felt.
“Come to my house, and I’ll prepare a hot bath for you,” Bess offered. “We’ll send the men up to my solar—after they haul the water, of course—and set the tub right in front of the fire.” She hopped off the stool and began to gather together the dishes onto a tray. “’Twill ease your aches, make you feel much better.”
The idea had appeal, but Anna didn’t want to upset the order of Bess’ household.
Nor did she want to sit naked in a tub of water before a roaring fire with Swen in the next room. Fantasies enough came to her in her cold and lonely bed; the images her mind might conjure up in so seductive a setting would be even harder to bear.
Especially with her mind too weary to push such thoughts away.
“I thank you for the offer, but no,” she said. “’Tis too much trouble for you, and I’m too tired to enjoy it.”
She turned aside Bess’ repeated offer and ushered her out the door. Despite the fact that her work was finished—this project, at any rate—she couldn’t settle. She wandered around the workshop, banking the fire for the night, straightening the already neat shelves of supplies—anything to postpone making the trek to her bed.
She’d only lie there, wide awake, and think of Swen.
She hardly dreamed anymore, and her visions, so plentiful in the past, had been few and far between. What was the sense of protecting her gift, she wondered, when it seemed to be disappearing on its own?
Could the mere thought of giving up her innocence to Swen be as damaging as committing the sin in truth?
Nay, she refused to believe ’twas so. If people were punished for every random thought of sin that passed through their heads, God would have struck most everyone dead by now, she thought, chuckling.
She’d pondered the idea often since Swen had told her of it, but she couldn’t decide if she believed ’twas true. What had made the bishop believe such a thing? She remembered almost nothing of the time when her parents brought her to Murat, or of the time before, but she doubted she’d arrived at the abbey with her gift and the directions for preserving it. The image of herself at age ten, standing before the doors of St. Stephen’s with a rolled parchment of instructions tied round her neck, made her laugh harder.
Why, then, did she feel the warmth of tears rolling down her cheeks?
A sharp rapping at the door startled her, though she was grateful for the interruption of her disquieting thoughts. “A moment,” she called, pausing to wipe away her tears before answering the door.
Swen stood there, framed by a backdrop of moonlight shimmering on freshly fallen snow. “Quick, let me in,” he said, stamping the snow from his boots and urging her inside. “It’s cold outside.” He pulled the door closed and strode into the room.
“Bess said you’ve finished with the book cover.” He flung back the edges of his fur-trimmed cloak and removed his gloves. “I came to see how you were.”
“You saw me yesterday.”
“Yes, though I’m surprised you knew I was there. You were busy with your work.”
How could she not notice him, as long as she had breath in her body?
“I hope I’m not so rude as to ignore you,” she said tartly. “In fact, I spoke to you, I know I did.”
“I am honored you remembered,” he said. “Though I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. Your work is important, and so beautiful that I’m amazed you deign to notice us mere mortals.” He softened the words with a smile. “May I see it, now that it’s finished?”
“Of course. Give me your cloak first. ‘Tis too warm for it in here, especially for you.” She took the heavy garment and tossed it over a stool, noting that, as usual, he wore a short-sleeved tunic. “It must be very cold where you come from, for you to go about half-dressed in this weather.”
He followed her as she took up a lamp and crossed to the back of the room where she kept the iron-bound storage chest. “It’s very much like it is here now—cold and snowy—but colder for more months of the year. The air is brisk, and the sky a bright blue.”
Anna suppressed a shiver at the thought of even more cold—no wonder Swen seemed unaffected by the winter chill—and removed a key from the ring at her waist. She unlocked the chest, then drew out the book cover plaque and unwrapped it. “Here,” she said, placing it in Swen’s hands.
He moved closer to the light and held up the gilded copper plate, tilting it this way and that so the light sp
arkled on the raised surfaces of the colored glass cabochons. “’Tis lovely, Anna,” he said, his voice low, almost awestruck. He traced his finger lightly over the image of Mary gazing down at her son, then glanced from the plaque to Anna’s face. “I can see her love for the babe—’tis amazing. You saw this in your mind?” She nodded. “The abbot is right. It is truly a gift.”
He handed the plaque to her, then helped her to wrap it in its leather covering. “Father Michael is sending someone for it tomorrow,” she said. She locked it in the chest. “Though they may be delayed by the weather. I hadn’t realized it had snowed.”
She followed Swen as he carried the lamp back to the workbench. “The snow is why I’m here. Now that your project is finished, I’ve come to help you celebrate.”
“Celebrate what? ‘Tis naught but a job completed,” she said. “Now that I’ve finished with this work, I’ll begin something new on the morrow.”
“Tomorrow, aye,” Swen said. “But for the moment we’re both free, and the snow is beautiful in the moonlight. Come outside and share the night with me.”
“Go outside now—in the dark?” And the cold, she thought. But since she didn’t believe that argument would carry any weight with Swen, she didn’t bother to mention it.
“The moon is nearly full. You’ll be surprised at how bright it is.” He grinned. “You’ll understand once you see the moonlight shining on the snow. It will be fun, Anna. You’ve worked hard, now it’s time to romp in the snow, to play.”
“’Tis after curfew—we’ll wake the village if we’re not quiet.”
“Nay, we need not stay within the walls.” His eyes alight with pleasure, he added, “The timing could not be better. I’ve scouted the forest since the snow fell this morning. If anyone had been there, I’d be able to tell from their tracks. The only tracks out there besides mine and the guards’ are from game.”
Anna frowned. ’Twas hard to resist him, especially since she hadn’t seen this side of Swen in a while.
“I think you’re weakening,” he teased. “You may have a scowl on your face—” he leaned closer and peered at her from beneath lowered brows “—but there’s a smile in your eyes. We’ll be safe—you know I wouldn’t take you outside the palisade if I thought you were in any danger.”
Why not? She’d worked hard these past weeks. Though she wasn’t sure what they’d do out there, simply to spend time in Swen’s company would be reward enough.
“All right,” she said. “But if I should freeze, or founder in the snow, you must promise to carry me back.”
Swen grinned. “Done.” He stepped back and looked her over from head to toe. “You do have warmer clothes, I trust?”
As if she needed warmer clothes after the heat he’d kindled with his slow, measuring perusal!
“Of course. I’ll be back as quickly as I can,” she said. Her heart light, she raced up the stairs, trying to remember what she had that she could wear. She didn’t want to make him wait long…She didn’t want to wait.
She hadn’t believed she’d ever have a chance to embark on another adventure with Swen.
Anna opened her coffer of clothes and dug through the meager array.
Since the opportunity had arisen, she planned to make the most of it.
Chapter Sixteen
Swen whiled away the time waiting for Anna to dress by examining the top of the coffer he’d begun for her. He hadn’t come to work on it for nigh a week, instead leaving Anna to her own devices while she finished her commission, and he’d begun to wonder if making this gift for her was naught but a foolish whim on his part. His skill with knives lay in a different direction, he thought with a wry smile, but he’d been surprised at the pleasure he felt in creating something of beauty with his blade, rather than wreaking destruction with it.
As he unwound the fabric wrapped about the piece, the scent of fresh-cut wood rose to greet him like an old friend, bringing with it bittersweet memories of the workshop in his family home. He’d not travel that road, he reminded himself, fingers clutched tight about the oak as he swept the scenes deep into the past. And he’d not taint this time with Anna with things he could not change.
Swen cast aside the covering and carried the wood into the light. Despite his misgivings, the carvings etched across the top had turned out better than he’d expected. It had been years since he’d attempted anything of the sort, but he’d enjoyed the task—and the time spent with Anna. His brother Lars, a skilled woodworker, would have done a better job, he knew—but Swen was the better fighter.
Still, it would do.
He hoped Anna would hurry, for if he had to wait for long, he’d only start to question whether this was a good idea yet again. She had scarce left her workshop as she worked long and hard on her latest commission—with fine results, he must admit—and she seemed to grow more and more unhappy as the days passed. But the air smelled of snow, of freedom and fun, two commodities in short supply in Anna’s life.
He hoped this would bring her pleasure.
He’d tried to stay away from her as much as he could after their conversation at William’s house the day of the second attack, though he’d remained true to his word to be her friend.
But what a torment it had been, to be near her, to speak with her, to see his own longing reflected in her eyes…He felt as though he’d suffered—continued to suffer—the torments of the damned. It became more difficult whenever they were together to remember why they must remain apart.
Mayhap it had been that way for her as well. That might account for her unhappiness, and considering how his own attention tended to wander to Anna whenever he eased the restraints he placed upon himself, perhaps her air of distraction had something to do with him as well.
Her boots clattered on the stairs. He wrapped the carving in its shroud and set it aside.
“Will this do?” she asked as she joined him.
Enveloped in a heavy wool cloak, a fur-lined hat on her head and thick leather gloves hiding her hands, she was nigh hidden beneath all the coverings. He didn’t doubt she’d be warm, though whether she’d be able to move could prove a problem if the snow had drifted deep.
It didn’t matter—he had no plan but to romp in the snow with Anna, to show her one of life’s simple pleasures. He tweaked the front of her hat and pulled it low over her brow. “The air is like ice. You’ll need to stay covered up,” he warned.
He reached for her, and she placed her hand in his with no hesitation. His heart leapt in his chest, whether from the thrill of touching her—even through the layers of their gloves—or simply from the fact that they were together, he didn’t know.
The reason didn’t matter. He could think of nowhere else he’d rather be than with her. “Come on.” Laughing, he pulled her toward the door and out into the sparkling night.
They walked down the main street of Murat, moving in silence past the darkened buildings huddled beneath the thick mantle of snow, Anna’s hand still cradled firmly in his own. At the gatehouse, Swen left her to speak with the guard, who nodded and opened a door in the wall for them to pass through, then barred it firmly behind them.
The fields surrounding the village looked softer under their glistening blanket, the rows and furrows a strange contrast of sparkle and shadow beneath the moon’s light. It glowed bright and round above the trees, lending a ghostly aura to everything it touched.
Once they passed through the cultivated land and drew near the trees, the ground evened out—and the snow drifted deeper. Anna trudged along beside him, her cloak and skirts gathered in her hands as she sought to keep them out of her way.
Swen stopped before they entered the forest. Anna let out a shriek and stumbled to a halt beside him. “My boot,” she gasped. Wobbling on one foot, she caught hold of his arm for a moment and steadied herself, then shoved the edge of her hat back out of her eyes and glanced behind her. “It’s stuck back there.”
He lunged to snatch up the boot and shook it free of snow.
<
br /> “Let me help you, demoiselle.” Kneeling before her, he held it up in one hand and reached to cup her foot in the other, his fingers lingering a moment before, forcing himself to ignore her indrawn breath, he reluctantly released her.
Eyes lowered, she wriggled her foot into the boot and straightened, then tilted back her head and gave him a haughty stare. “With you in that position, shouldn’t I give you my hand?” she asked, her laughter spoiling the effect even as she stuck out her hand imperiously. “Or perhaps I need a sword.” She glanced down at him, then shook her head. “You’re not wearing one—such a surprise.” She looked around, then bent to pick up a branch. Straightening, she tapped him on the shoulder with it. “Much better! Shall I knight you?” she asked.
He grabbed the end of the stick and tugged her toward him—and off her feet. “Swen!” she shrieked as she tumbled into the snow.
“Hush! You’ll wake the town,” he admonished. He flopped down next to her. “I couldn’t reach your hand, so I grabbed what I could,” he said, his contrite tone spoiled, no doubt, by the grin on his face.
Grimacing, she scooped a handful of snow from the neck of her cloak. She cast him a considering look, then as determination lit her eyes, shoved the icy stuff in his face. It crept down his neck and into his tunic, inspiring him to return the favor.
“No, you don’t.” She scrambled to her feet and tried to evade him, but lost her footing in the snow and slid into him. “Swen—”
He snaked his arm about her waist and pulled her to him, his other hand filled with snow and ready to attack. “Do you yield?” he whispered.
He wished he could call back the words as soon as they left his lips—though he meant them with all his heart—but ’twas too late. If he forgot himself so easily, he might as well take Anna back to the village.
Anna caught her breath—nay, forgot to breathe altogether—at the images Swen’s words evoked. But she knew he hadn’t meant what her eager heart wanted to hear, so she forced herself to continue with their game. Relaxing her body, she slumped in his arms, then slipped free. “Nay, I do not,” she taunted, backing up a few paces and bending to scoop up another handful of snow.
The Shielded Heart Page 14