The Shielded Heart

by Sharon Schulze

  She felt a shudder rack his body, then he wrapped his arms around her and clutched her to him, burying his face in her hair. She brought her arms up and held him, until finally he eased his grip and sat back, his arms still loosely clasped about her as though he needed to touch her.

  “You were right—there’s more. When I was a boy—eight years old—I had a dream about my younger brother Erik. I couldn’t understand what it meant, although I dreamed it several times. I didn’t realize Erik was in danger, for I saw him with a man from our village—a warrior, someone trusted and admired. I had no reason to suspect what he might do.” He drew in a deep breath and tightened his hold on her. “When Erik disappeared, everyone searched for him, including the man I saw in my dreams. They’d been playing—or so I thought, for I was too young to realize—” He paused, rested his head on her shoulder for a moment. “I didn’t understand that this man liked young boys…in a sexual way. He took Erik and kept him hidden away. Even as he helped search for him, he knew where he was all along. It must have added spice to the situation, I suppose,” he added bitterly. “After a few days, when I kept seeing the image of Erik with this man, my father followed him. He killed Erik before my father could stop him. My father killed him for what he had done.”

  Anna drew Swen close, holding his shaking body in silence as she sought to absorb what he’d said. The story was tragic and horrible, but it had happened long ago. Surely Swen should have come to terms with it before now.

  “Do your parents blame you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Sitting back, she grasped his shoulders and gave him a shake. “How can that be?”

  “I’ve tried not to get too close to my family since then. I think my parents do blame me, for they made it easy for me to keep a distance between us. They’re more comfortable with my brother Lars. His only gift is his skill with wood,” he said, the simple words holding a wealth of meaning. “They always took care of me, and I’m still welcome in their home, but—” He shrugged. “We’ve avoided each other, for the most part. I don’t think they know what to make of me. It’s never been the same since Erik died.”

  Anna didn’t know what to say, although a number of comments came to mind if she ever met Swen’s parents.

  ’Twas fortunate that was unlikely to happen, for she doubted they’d care to be taken to task for abandoning their young son to wallow in his unfounded guilt.

  Swen seemed to slump with weariness beneath her hands. It had been a night filled with emotions—and exertions, she thought. They’d been through too much tonight to think clearly.

  Smoothing her hands down his arms, Anna said, “We should rest now.” Though she wanted to go on holding him, she’d told him she would not, so she let her hands fall to her lap and leaned back against the wall, breaking all contact between them.

  ’Twas hard; all she wanted to give him now was comfort, but she didn’t trust herself to stop at that.

  “Good night,” Swen murmured, sounding as lonely as she felt.

  “Rest well,” she replied. Her movements stiff, Anna pushed the cloak toward him. Then, huddling into his tunic, she turned on her side and faced the wall. She burrowed her nose in the soft fabric. Reassured somehow by his scent in the fabric, and his presence by her side, she slept.

  Swen lay awake the remainder of the long night, taking what comfort he could from keeping watch over his lady. She was his, he knew, even if they never shared more of life than this. He had felt the bond between them when they touched, much as he could sense Anna beside him, feel her movements as she slept, as clearly as if he could see her. This strange awareness between them…And she felt something for him, too. Whether ’twas love for him, or merely desire, he did not know.

  But remembering her gentle touch, her soothing words, the passion that rose between them at the slightest provocation—he rather thought the feelings she had for him might be love.

  He couldn’t decide if he should be glad if that was so, or if he should dread it. He could see no way out of this coil that would allow them a life together—or at least, a life free of sacrifice and pain. In the white-hot fire of passion, Anna could be his—she’d admitted as much to him—yet if the price of present joy was future sorrow, the loss of the gift that defined her life, Swen refused to pay that toll.

  ’Twas not so much the fear that Anna might blame him that drove him, but the fear that she’d blame herself.

  He had sensed a growing tension of late, not only between him and Anna, but permeating the very air of Murat. Something was about to happen; whether ’twas for good or ill, he could not say.

  All he could do now was remain vigilant, not let Anna out of his sight and keep a sharp blade close at hand.

  Swen folded his arms across his chest. Come enemies, come dreams, he’d protect her with his life.

  Even from himself, if necessary.

  Shortly after dawn lent a faint light to the wintry landscape, Swen and Anna made their way back to Murat. The snow had stopped, though the sky remained gray and filled with clouds, and it had grown bright enough to see their way home. ’Twas likely but a brief respite from the storm that had overtaken them; they dared not wait for better conditions, lest they remain trapped there longer.

  His cloak—somewhat tattered after being strung up as a door—wrapped tight over his bare torso, Swen carried Anna through the silence of the snow-filled forest, intent upon returning her to the safety of Murat as quickly as possible. ’Twas the fastest way, the easiest on her as well. ‘Twould be torture for her to trudge through the new layer of snow atop the old.

  She didn’t speak, didn’t move—she simply clung to him, her amber eyes intent upon his face.

  When they reached the fields surrounding Murat, a shout went up from the village wall, and the door beside the gate swung open. As Swen drew near the palisade, he spied William’s burly form filling the door frame, the expression on his face unreadable.

  “Are you both all right?” he asked urgently, coming toward them, arms outstretched to take Anna.

  Swen nodded. “We found a place to shelter for the night.” Though reluctant to let go of Anna, he knew they’d get inside faster if he did, so he eased her into William’s waiting arms.

  He glanced up at the sound of a woman crying to see Anna bury her face in William’s shoulder, her body shaking. William met his gaze over the top of Anna’s head, his expression a clear signal to ignore her outburst.

  “Come along, lad. Bess has a pot of porridge on the hearth and water ready for hot baths. ‘Tis up to you which you have first.”

  Swen dreaded entering William’s house, not ready to face Mistress de Coucy’s well-intentioned kindness.

  Nor the questions that were bound to arise if the de Coucys caught sight of Swen’s and Anna’s state of dress.

  But Mistress de Coucy surprised him with an understanding look and an undemanding invitation to remove his cloak and take his ease while she saw to Anna.

  He left his cloak on, leaned back against the wall near the hearth with his arms folded across his chest and waited.

  William lowered Anna to a bench by the fire, then took a seat at the table. Anna straightened at once, ignoring the tears drying upon her cheeks, and fumbled with the clasp at the throat of her cloak. Swen fought the urge to leap toward her and stop her; ‘twould only postpone the inevitable, and make them both appear guilty as well.

  More guilty than they truly were, at any rate.

  Anna’s cloak slipped off her shoulders and dropped to the floor, revealing Swen’s tunic. The neckline draped loosely about her smaller neck and shoulders to reveal one strap of her shift.

  Swen felt a hot tide of color rise to his cheeks at the other details revealed, now that the hood of Anna’s cloak no longer covered her head and shadowed her face. Her hair curled in a wild cloud about her face, and her cheeks and throat bore bright pink streaks that could only have come from his whiskers.

  He straightened, arms hanging relaxed a
t his sides, and met Anna’s gaze. Except for the shadows in her eyes, she wore the look of a woman who’d been well loved.

  Mistress de Coucy, chattering away while pouring out warm ale, looked up at Anna and dropped the mug to the table. “Anna? What is this?”

  William rose to his feet and stared across the table at Swen, who met his challenging look despite the heat he still felt coloring his cheeks. “I’d say ‘tis pretty obvious, Bess,” he said, his voice dry.

  Moving with slow deliberation, he came around the table and stopped in front of Swen. “I know you for an honorable man, Siwardson. And I’ve trusted that you’d never harm my lass.” His gaze fixed on Swen’s face, hands clenched into fists at his sides, he growled out, “So tell me I’ve not been mistaken in you, lad, else I’ll—”

  “William!” Anna cried. Her movements stiff, she stood, crossed the room and laid her hand on William’s arm. She tugged on it until he turned to look at her. “Why are you doing this? I’m wearing Swen’s tunic because I fell in the snow and my gown was wet. He was only being kind. He gave me this—” she held out the fabric “—so I wouldn’t freeze.”

  “Appears that’s not all he did to keep you warm,” William muttered.

  Anna looked at him quizzically. She didn’t know, Swen realized—how could she know that she wore the proof of his caresses blazoned like a banner over her skin for all to see?

  He reached for her hand, turned her to face him and traced a fingertip over the streaks marring her cheek. “My whiskers marked you, my heart,” he said quietly. “Here—” he followed the trail over her jaw and onto her throat “—and here,” he added, smoothing his finger over her cheekbone.

  Her eyes filled with tears, ripping at his heart. He tugged her closer and enfolded her in his arms. “I didn’t break my vow to the abbot,” he said. “I swear to you, William. I would not harm her—” Anna sobbed against his chest; he held her tight and bent to murmur in her ear, soothing words in his native tongue. Though it eased his heart to say them, he was glad she couldn’t understand the promises he’d made, promises he’d likely never have the chance to keep.

  Mistress de Coucy came to them. “Let me take her up to my solar,” she suggested. “I’ve a warm bath and a fire there—fresh clothes—” He’d have sworn he saw a twinkle of humor in her eyes when she said the words. “And I’ll make a posset to ease her aches.”

  Swen slowly drew away from Anna. “Go with Bess,” he told her. “She’ll take care of you.”

  Anna looked from him to William, her expression troubled. “Perhaps I should stay, explain—”

  “It’s not necessary,” he said. “Go with Bess now. I’ll talk with you once we’ve both rested.”

  She nodded, then turned and slowly followed Mistress de Coucy from the room.

  Once he heard the women’s footsteps on the stairs, he again met William’s measuring gaze. “Well?” William asked, his voice and stance challenging.

  Swen drew in a deep breath and girded himself for the ordeal ahead. “I believe, William, that we have things to discuss.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Anna refused Bess’ offer to help her undress, not willing to risk revealing any other marks of passion she might be wearing upon her body. Bess left her alone to bathe, promising to bring her a posset and some food when she was through.

  A swift glance at herself once she’d regretfully slipped Swen’s tunic over her head assured her that she appeared untouched.

  At any rate, the worst aches she suffered would not show on her body, though she did hurt from head to toe. She bore them buried deep, nestled around her heart.

  If only she knew what to do!

  What did she owe the Church? she wondered as she eased into the steaming tub of water. They’d provided a place for her to practice her art all these years, had given her a home.

  And look at all she’d given them in return, a nagging voice in her head reminded her. She took no payment for what she did, other than a place to live, and from what Lord Rannulf had told her, it sounded as though the abbey sold her works.

  It seemed to her as though St. Stephen’s had gotten the better part of the bargain, she thought wryly.

  What did she owe her family?

  Though she hadn’t revealed the details to Swen, she knew she’d been given to the Church in penance for her parents’ sin. Her father had been a monk in Limoges, a skilled enameler, though not nearly as skilled as his daughter had become. But he’d fallen in love with the daughter of a wealthy burgher; they’d caused a scandal of monumental proportions when they ran off together to be wed.

  Anna stirred her fingers through the dried herbs floating on the water, crushing some in her hand to release their scent. Her parents could never return to Limoges. Her earliest memories, what few she recalled, were of their family—her parents, her and her younger brother—wandering from town to town throughout England, her father practicing his art…Her fingers clenched tight on the smooth wooden edge of the tub as she remembered more. In her child’s innocence she spoke of the images she saw in her head, and they had had to leave. Too many misunderstandings, too much fear…

  Her parents had feared for her, that some might see her gift as a curse, a sign of the devil’s work. Anna stared, unseeing, into the past as memories filled her mind. Her parents talking at night, after she was abed. Perhaps they’d caused this, they worried, by what they’d done. Her father had left the Church, broken his vows—and by rights, he could not wed when he’d already pledged his life to his order. They’d brought their children into the world covered with the weight of their sins, and they feared that Anna, with her unusual abilities, would pay the price for them.

  Dear God, how could she have forgotten?

  They’d gone to the nearest Grandmontine abbey, St. Stephen’s, and spoken at length with the bishop and the man who had been abbot before Father Michael. They had determined that Anna’s gift was from God, not the devil, and that they would accept her from her parents as penance, and provide a place for her to work.

  She’d been so lonely after her parents left her there, but she’d learned to focus upon her work, to give the abbey everything that was demanded. Eventually William and Bess came to Murat, giving her the semblance of a family.

  Though deep inside, she’d been afraid to cross the distance she’d placed between them, afraid that they, too, would disappear from her life.

  For fifteen years she’d given her life to the abbey, to her work. She knew no other life.

  Was it too late for her to learn a different way to live?

  She scooped up water in her hands and splashed her face. She’d never before realized her value to the abbey.

  Someone rapped on the door frame. “Anna, may I come in?” Bess called.

  “Aye.” Anna slipped lower in the tub, till the water rose to her shoulders.

  Bess flung aside the curtain door and carried in a tray. “I’ve brought you food, m’love.” She set it down on the table, then brought Anna a steaming mug. “And a posset to heal your hurts—some of them, at least.”

  She accepted the cup and drank down the foultasting brew. It took her breath away. “Is the effectiveness of the cure related to the bitterness of the drink?” she asked, still gasping.

  Bess chuckled. “Could be. Much in life is like that—the more difficult the conflict, the sweeter the prize.”

  Anna frowned. “Then perhaps I might look forward to something good happening—eventually—for at the moment I cannot see any way to untangle the knot my life is woven into.”

  “Child, ‘tis ever thus when you think you’ve found the man to be your mate.” She fetched a bucket of water from the small hearth and, scooping some in a dipper, poured it over Anna’s hair. “Of course in your case, the situation’s a mite more complicated than usual.”

  Anna’s heartbeat picked up its pace. “Do you believe Swen is my mate?”

  Bess dipped her fingers into a small bowl of soft soap, then lathered it into
Anna’s hair in a soothing massage. “I think he cares for you—nay, more than that, ‘tis love I’ve seen in his eyes when he watches you. He’s a strong man, decent and honorable. He’d give you fine children,” she said with a laugh. “That he would, and he’d protect and cherish you all your days.” She took up the dipper and, tilting Anna’s head back against the edge of the tub, began to rinse away the soap. “You cannot ask for more than that.”

  “You can tell all that about him?”

  “I found my William. I know how to spot a good man,” she said, smiling.

  Anna accepted the towel Bess handed her and wrapped it about her hair. “I cannot stop thinking of what the abbot said. Swen refuses to break his promise to Father Michael—”

  “Indeed?” Bess arched a brow. “The man must have the patience of a saint.”

  “Bess!” She couldn’t contain her shock. “What do you mean?” she asked. Perhaps she hadn’t understood—

  “You didn’t get those marks on your face and neck from sitting about reciting the rosary,” Bess said tartly. “And the way he looked at you this morn—” She shook her head. “He cannot hide how he wants you, Anna. His eyes give him away.”

  “He did not take from me anything I didn’t want to give,” Anna said quietly.

  “I believe you.”

  “And I’m still a virgin,” she murmured, not quite able to believe she was discussing this, but needing to. She thought about Swen, and their time together in the cavern. “You’re right, Bess, he must be a saint…” Her face heated. “I tried my best to tempt him, yet he refused me.”

  Barely, she reminded herself.

  Bess didn’t look surprised by any of Anna’s revelations. “I told you, he’s a decent man. I couldn’t ask for better for you, lass.”