Anna stared at her. “But according to the abbot, there is no man for me. Do you know different?”
“No, child, but consider this—to whose benefit is it, if you remain here at Murat, doing your work? The abbey—mayhap the glory of God, I don’t know…” She crossed herself. “I didn’t mean that as it sounded.” She sighed. “But there’s no advantage to you living out your life hidden away here, worked like a slave. You’ve so much more to give, child—I want to see you happy, and I don’t believe you’re happy here. Not anymore.”
Anna took the towel from her hair and wrapped it around her body, then stepped out of the water. “I’ve not been unhappy here—not until recently. Since Swen arrived, I feel like I’ve awakened from a deep sleep. I see so many things I didn’t notice before, feel emotions I’ve either forgotten—or never knew existed. My work doesn’t satisfy me the way it once did, although I believe that the scenes I’ve created lately are better—more real—than anything I’ve done before.” She settled on the stool before the fire and began to draw a comb through her hair. “I don’t know what to call this change that’s come over me—” She broke off and noticed Bess’ smile.
“Don’t you recognize it?” Bess asked softly. “It’s called love.”
Anna paused, transfixed at the notion. Bess came and took the comb from her. “You’ve grown to love Swen Siwardson, lass. Come what may, your life will never be the same.”
Swen and William eyed each other cautiously after the women disappeared from view, until finally William said, “Sit down, you young fool.” Not waiting to see Swen do as he’d ordered, William went to the’ hearth and dished up two bowls of porridge and thumped them down on the table.
“I’ve yet to break my fast, thanks to the pair of you,” he grumbled as he sat down and pushed a bowl toward Swen. “The guard at the gate grew concerned when you didn’t return, especially once the storm came. He dragged me from my bed in the wee hours of the night.”
Swen spooned honey into his bowl and took a bite. ’Twas hot and sweet and much appreciated after the night he’d had.
Neither of them spoke until they’d finished. William moved his bowl aside and poured ale for both of them from the pitcher his wife had left on the table.
Swen waited, not knowing what to expect. When he considered William’s mood once he realized something had gone on between Swen and Anna, Swen counted himself fortunate to be still in one piece.
He certainly hadn’t expected to join the man at table and eat with him.
“Now then, lad.” William hitched his chair back from the table and stretched out his legs. “Would you care to tell me what went on last night?” His eyes measuring, he kept his gaze fixed upon Swen’s face. “Or should I assume the abbey’s treasure has become tarnished, and send for the abbot at once to save the both of you from your sin?” He snorted. “Of course, there’s no telling what might happen if Father Michael decides his guards should take it into their heads to see you pay for that crime.” He shook his head. “He’s a man of God, it’s true, but Anna’s worth far more to St. Stephen’s than a Norseman, no matter who his friends are. And the abbey’s got powerful friends as well. I’d not care to be standing in your boots under those circumstances.”
Swen took a drink of his ale. “You’ve asked so many questions. Where should I start?” he mused. He settled back in his chair and stared into his ale. “I took Anna outside last night for an adventure. The weather turned nasty, we sought shelter in a cavern in the rocks.” He glanced up at William. “I gave her my tunic because her clothes were wet.” He set his cup down and leaned forward. “Did I kiss her? You know I did—and that I’d like to do more than that.”
William bristled. “Here now, Si—”
“I wish I might make her my wife,” Swen told him. “I cannot imagine any greater joy than to wed Anna. Not that I’m worthy of her.” He pushed away the ale. “But you and I both know that will never happen. The abbot will never set her free.”
“Nay, lad, I doubt he will,” William agreed. “Much as I wish he would.”
Swen looked up from his contemplation of the polished surface of the table at that. “You do?”
William appeared serious. “Anna’s the daughter Bess and I never had. The abbot had the right of it when he took me to task, for we love the lass like she’s our own.” He pushed his chair back and stood, roaming to the hearth to build up the fire. “Do you think we want to see her fade away here, hidden from the rest of the world? She should have a chance at happiness and a life of her own, instead of slaving for the abbey and the damned king,” he said in disgust.
“I’ve told Anna how I feel about her—but I also made it clear I will not break my promise to the abbot.”
“I imagine that must have been an interesting exchange,” William said, his tone dry as dust.
“We both managed to survive it.”
Someone pounded on the door. Swen welcomed the interruption, for their conversation carried them over the same ground he’d covered too often of late, reasons and promises, wants and wishes, echoing over and over in his mind.
He saw no satisfactory end to the course, only sorrow and loneliness.
William crossed the room and tugged the door open to James. “A messenger’s here from the abbot,” he said. “Should I bring him here?”
“Where else would you take him?” William snarled, then sighed and shook his head in an apology of sorts. “Aye, show him in.”
Swen recognized the man James brought in as one of the guards who had accompanied the abbot on his visit. Interesting that William offered the man neither drink nor a seat.
“You’ve a message for me?” William asked, hand outstretched.
The guard handed over a sealed square of parchment. “Father Abbot told me to await your answer.” He turned to go, then paused. “I’ve brought men with me to guard Mistress Anna’s latest commission, but her workshop is closed up tight, and I saw no sign of her. Do you know where I might find her?”
James hadn’t told him where Anna might be found, then, though he knew the answer plain enough. Swen rubbed his chin. The people of Murat obviously didn’t share their business with outsiders. He felt a burst of pleasure glow inside him at the realization that they’d seemed to trust him soon after he’d joined the village.
“She’s here.” William broke open the letter. “I’ll tell her you’re looking for her. If you and your men go back to the gatehouse, I’ll send someone with food and drink for you while you await her pleasure.”
The guard accepted William’s imperious manner as though he expected nothing else. Swen admired William’s ability to put the rough soldier in his place, for he’d thought the abbot’s guards a surprisingly coarse and fearsome lot to accompany a man of God.
William waited until the door closed firmly behind the messenger before unfolding the parchment, carrying it closer to the candles on the table, holding it at arm’s length and squinting to read it.
“Pah! That clerk of Father Michael’s—if he wrote any smaller—” He thrust the letter at Swen. “Here—I cannot tell what it says,” he said with disgust. “You can read French, I hope.”
“A little.” Swen smoothed the parchment out on the table, lips moving as he sought to make out the words. “Not enough, it seems. Here.” He held the letter up in front of William. “What does that mean?” he asked, pointing to a string of letters he didn’t recognize.
William pushed Swen’s hand holding the paper farther away and squinted at it again. “By Christ’s bones, Siwardson, I don’t believe it.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, his face losing some of its usual ruddy tint. “I never would have believed…The abbot had the right of it.”
“What does it say?” he demanded, peering down at the letter in confusion.
“It says we’ve got more trouble than we can possibly handle, lad.” He snatched the missive from Swen’s grasp and flung it on the table. “Father Michael discovered—says he’s got proof—of who is tr
ying to steal Anna away.”
Tired of William’s stalling, Swen stared at the letter and tried once again to decipher the clerk’s cramped and spindly writing.
The moment the words made sense to him, he wanted to race up to the solar, grab Anna and run as far as he could to hide her away.
“What’ll we do, lad?” William slumped into his chair and clutched his head in his hands.
“I don’t know.” Swen stared at the letter, his mind awhirl with plots and plans. “How can we possibly outwit the king of England?”
Chapter Twenty
Swen grabbed the parchment off the table and headed for the stairs. “Anna!” Taking the treads two at a time, he almost knocked Mistress de Coucy off her feet at the top. He caught her about the waist and set her down carefully beside him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, hand pressed against her chest as she caught her breath. “I heard William shouting, and now you…”
“Is she dressed?” He thumped his fist against the door frame. “Anna,” he called. “Cover yourself with something, for I’m coming in.”
Since she was still clad in only a towel, Anna scrambled into a blanket and wrapped it around her just as the rattle of curtain rings heralded Swen’s abrupt entrance into the room. When she attempted to walk, her feet became entangled in the heavy wool, and she stumbled. “What’s going on?” she asked, tugging at the coarse fabric as she tried to right herself.
Swen caught her and steadied her, bending to jerk the blanket from around her feet, then thrust the letter at her as soon as he straightened. “You read, don’t you?”
She took the parchment and turned it toward the light from the lantern hanging near the shuttered window. By the time she’d finished reading it, her heart lay so heavy in her breast, ’twas a miracle she didn’t sink through the floor. Knees shaking, she sank down on a bench, the parchment crumpled in her hand.
“You know what it says.” From the look on his face, he must have understood some part of the astonishing message.
“Only that the abbot says ‘tis King John who’s tried to steal you away.” He raked his hand through his already disordered hair, his expression of disbelief a perfect match for what she felt. “William couldn’t see it well enough to read it, and I don’t read French enough to tell any more than that.”
“He says his spies have learned ‘tis King John who hired the men who attacked us. They have proof of it, whatever that means. The king has been asking Father Michael to send me to court for some time, evidently, but the abbot has continued to refuse. Indeed, he says—dear God.” She looked the letter over more closely, fear for the gentle abbot curdling her stomach. “I cannot believe Father Michael wrote such thoughts down where they might come back to haunt him.”
She forced her hands to stop trembling and glanced at the letter again, then looked up and met Swen’s worried gaze. “Along with the rest of it, Father Michael calls the king a ravisher of innocents and the devil incarnate.” Eyes closed at the enormity of the abbot’s concern for her, Anna added, “When the abbot turned him down the last time, the king must have decided to get me himself.”
“By hiring someone to do it for him.”
She looked up at him and laughed bitterly. “Of course. You cannot expect a king to come take me captive himself. Although from what the abbot says, His Majesty has taken it into his head to take me as his leman—while I continue to supply him with lovely art to grace his chapel, of course. It seems he finds the idea of his whore creating altar furnishings for the Church a particularly appealing contrast.”
Swen came and knelt beside her, taking her shaking hands in his and holding them snug within his own. “I won’t allow that to happen, my heart. Never,” he vowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She rested her cheek against their joined hands for a moment. “I’m surprised Father Michael didn’t tell him of the terms of your gift. Mayhap that would stop him,” he said, though he didn’t sound hopeful.
Her stomach clenched tighter, till she thought she’d be sick. “He says the king didn’t seem concerned about the truth of that—that he thought there would be ways around that prohibition that would add spice to the relationship.” Though she didn’t understand what that might mean precisely, still she had to swallow past the lump of fear filling her throat. “If King John should capture me, I’d kill him myself before I let him…” Holding back her tears, she leaned her forehead against the strength of Swen’s shoulder and fought to keep from breaking down completely. “There is nothing we can do,” she whispered into the soft wool of his tunic. “We cannot fight the power of the king.”
His hand came up to hold her head to him, his fingers twining through her hair. “I won’t let him take you, Anna,” he murmured. His fingers tightened. “And I believe I know what we can do to stop him.”
No thoughts of fear could overcome Swen’s sense of determination. He’d remove Anna from her king’s reach and keep her safe; ’twas all that mattered to him. Those things he’d feared before could not trouble him now, not compared to the enormity of this.
To put their plan into action immediately could be the key to its success. He and William called in the abbot’s guards to assist them; though William didn’t care for their rough ways, he couldn’t fault their loyalty to Father Michael and the abbey. Among them, they sketched out their scheme and implemented it swiftly.
In a matter of hours William, Anna and Swen—along with several of the abbot’s men—set off for Lord Ian’s keep of Gwal Draig.
Anna wore William’s clothes and rode astride, her hair tucked beneath a hat, the hood of her cloak pulled down around her face to disguise its soft curves. The group of guards sent to retrieve Anna’s commission from Murat had now increased by a number of William’s troops, including one man dressed in Anna’s bliaut and cloak and riding pillion behind another. Though neither deception was apt to fool anyone at close range, they hoped ‘twould do the job at a distance—at least for long enough that Anna might make it into Wales before the deceit was exposed.
They’d packed little, planning to make their way through the rough terrain of the Marches as quickly as possible. If they could just get Anna to Gwal Draig…Once there, Swen knew that Lord Ian would do whatever necessary to keep her from King John’s grasp.
However, whether he’d permit Swen through his gates might prove another matter altogether.
He’d deal with that later if he must; given the circumstances of his leaving, ’twas no more than he expected. He’d do almost anything, he realized, in the hope that the Dragon would allow him back into his household.
But even if Lord Ian barred him from the place, Swen knew he’d not refuse to give Anna his protection.
He could think of no safer place for her to go.
And if taking her there forced him to face his past, his fears, ’twas a price Swen vowed to pay.
Anna shifted in the saddle once more, unable to find a position that didn’t scrape her already chafed thighs, or cause her aching body to twinge with exhaustion. Within a very short time on the trail, she had reason to be thankful for Bess’ posset and the hot bath she’d had before they left; without them, she’d have pitched headlong from the saddle in no time at all the first day.
Swen kept up a punishing pace—she understood the necessity of it, but living the reality proved almost beyond her. Never much of a rider in the first place, and mounted on a fast but fractious beast that recoiled from her at first sight, by the end of the first day, Anna felt so battered that she could do naught but allow Swen to carry her to her blanket, where she promptly slept like the dead till morning.
The rough terrain and the need to travel quickly allowed scant opportunity for talk, but too much time for thought. Anna mulled and mused over her situation, reviewed in her mind the events of the past couple months—since Swen Siwardson had come into her life.
So many changes had occurred, most of them within herself. Swen had opened her eyes to the world around her—and to the pe
rson slumbering within her. She’d hidden too much away for so long—her memories of her family and her life before Murat, her rampant curiosity and her capacity to feel had all been pushed deep inside her as she focused everything she was on her art.
Once set free, these aspects of herself—the parts that made her Anna—could never be buried away again.
No matter what happened between her and Swen, she owed him her gratitude for helping her to rediscover herself.
By the time they’d traveled for four days, she’d begun to grow accustomed to the silence and the punishing pace they’d maintained. That night, for the first time, Anna stayed awake after she’d eaten, and joined the men by the fire, sitting a little away from them on her pile of blankets.
The abbot’s guards kept to themselves, whether from a desire to do so, or because William had ordered them to stay away from her, she couldn’t say. He and Swen sat nearby, their conversation too quiet for her to hear.
Anna contented herself with staring at the dancing flames of the small fire. She was grateful for its warmth after another day spent plodding through snow, buffeted by the icy winds whipping through the hills. The first few days, she’d been hurt by Swen’s apparent indifference to her presence, before reason prevailed and she realized that his willingness to endure this difficult journey—as well as to return to a place she knew he wished to avoid—spoke volumes about his dedication to protecting her, at the very least.
Once they reached the safety of Gwal Draig, she hoped to determine if that dedication extended to other aspects of their relationship.
She’d do her best to ensure they did. With plenty of time to think as they traveled, Anna had wended her way through the confusing maze of emotions, memories and choices cluttering her mind. She reached several decisions, and thought she knew how she’d go about making them reality.
The Shielded Heart Page 18