The Shielded Heart

by Sharon Schulze

  By the time they arrived at the Dragon’s keep, the ache in Anna’s hand had grown so bad, ’twas all she could do to sit across Swen’s lap and prop herself upright against his chest. To distract herself, she worried about what her reception would be. “What if they don’t understand me?” she asked Swen. “My Welsh is very limited, and I don’t speak it well.”

  His face had settled into stern lines, as though he, too, worried now that the keep was within their sight. She knew he did, though she didn’t know how to ease his mind. But he glanced down at her and gave her a smile of reassurance. “They speak French, Anna.” He stroked his hand over her hair. “’Twill be fine, you’ll see.”

  As they rode up the winding road to the keep, the gate swung open. “Siwardson—well met!” a voice sounded from the battlements.

  Swen waved in answer, then rode through into the bailey.

  He felt Anna’s shoulders tense against his chest. She wore a look of anxiety, as well as pain, on her face as she gazed about her.

  “It’s overwhelming,” she murmured. “Very different from St. Stephen’s, and nothing at all like Murat.”

  A young lad came to take Vidar’s reins from Swen. “Welcome home, milord,” he said, smiling. “Someone’s gone to tell Lord Ian you’ve returned.”

  “Thank you,” Swen said, returning his smile.

  Home? Could he still be welcome here after all? Or had word of his abrupt departure simply not filtered down to the servants?

  Nay—servants always seemed to know everything that happened, in kennel or keep.

  And the lad seemed cheerful, a good omen for Lily’s and the babe’s improved health, he hoped.

  But his main concern for now was Anna.

  She clung to him with her uninjured hand when he swung his leg over Vidar’s wide back and prepared to jump down.

  “Siwardson,” someone shouted from behind them.

  Swen tensed at the voice, but remained seated sideways in the saddle, Anna draped over his lap. “’Tis Lord Ian,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait—he can lift you down.” She looked over his shoulder and saw a tall, dark-haired man moving toward them across the bailey with a firm, swift stride.

  He came round Vidar and halted in front of them.

  “Milord.” Swen nodded in greeting. “Mistress Anna—”

  Before Swen could finish, Lord Ian reached toward her. “Here, demoiselle,” he interrupted. “Let me help you.”

  “Careful of her hand,” Swen warned as he eased her into Lord Ian’s hold, then jumped down.

  “Can you stand?” Lord Ian asked.

  “Aye, milord, ‘tis my hand I’ve hurt, not my feet.” Though her legs felt boneless, she’d rather enter Gwal Draig under her own power than be carried in like an invalid.

  He lowered her to her feet, one hand under her elbow for support.

  Support she needed when her legs collapsed under her.

  Swen caught her as she fell and swung her back into his arms. Embarrassed, Anna rested against his chest and let her hair slip forward to hide her face.

  She remained in that position until he carried her swiftly through the bailey and into the keep, listening as they exchanged civilities, Swen’s manner hesitant, Lord Ian’s voice sounding stern.

  The one thing that gladdened her heart—and Swen’s to judge by the way his pulse increased—was that Lady Lily and her son had survived, and continued to improve.

  Swen had just begun to explain about the attack when they passed up a steep staircase and through a stone-flagged corridor. He paused when they entered a sunny chamber. Anna swung her hair aside and looked about her.

  A woman whose hair glowed the color of flame sat surrounded by pillows in a large chair near the fireplace, legs propped on a cushioned stool, hands clenched on the chair’s arms. “Swen!” she cried. She shifted in the chair and swung her legs to the floor. “Dear God—is she all right? Ian, please help me,” she called as she slowly rose to her feet.

  “We need your help, Lily,” Swen said urgently. “I’ll explain it all later, but Anna’s hand is badly injured.” He carried Anna to a chair on the other side of the fire and gently settled her into it.

  Lord Ian closed the door and hurried across the room to his wife. “Have a care, sweeting.” He slipped his arm about her waist and helped her to Anna’s side. “Get the stool, Siwardson,” he ordered, then eased Lady Lily to sit upon it as soon as Swen pulled it over.

  Her touch gentle, she eased Anna’s arm down onto her lap, then picked up her hand, her lips tightening as she examined its filthy wrapping. Cradling the injured hand in her own, she glanced at Anna, then Swen, her gaze curious, her eyes kind. “You must be exhausted—I know the headlong pace Swen sets, and I’m sure ’twas even more so in these circumstances. Wine, I think,” she said over her shoulder to her husband. “A basin of warm water, and my basket of simples, please.”

  Lord Ian nodded, went to the door and gave orders to a woman outside the chamber in a firm voice.

  “Lady Lily, you need not do this,” Anna murmured while they waited. “I know you’ve not been well, and this is a gruesome chore.”

  “Nonsense. If Swen could take care of it, I’m certain he’d already have done so,” she said, glancing up at him.

  “You’re very kind, milady.” Anna felt tears dampen her eyes, and a sense of relief fill her heart. These people were much too good-hearted to send Swen packing. Perhaps he’d regain his place here, among friends.

  And perhaps there’d be a place for her as well.

  “Call me Lily, please. I’ve not been ‘milady’ for very long—it still makes me uncomfortable.”

  Anna nodded. “I’d be honored to, Lily.”

  “Would you like some of my cushions?” Lily offered, picking apart the knotted bandages. Anna tried not to jump, but the slightest movement sent bolts of fire shooting through her hand and up her arm.

  At Lily’s nod, Swen gently nestled Anna’s arm on several cushions. “Ian packed me in here like a herring ready for salting,” Lily added with an arch look at her husband. “I’m glad to see they’re good for something.”

  A maidservant bustled into the room carrying a basin, followed by two others bearing a ewer and cups, and a large basket. After setting down the basket where Lily could reach it, they placed a small table next to the chair and set the wine and basin on it, drew a tall stand of candles closer at their mistress’ quiet command, then left.

  Anna slumped back in the chair, ready to collapse again, though she’d fight with all her strength not to give in to it.

  Lily filled a cup with wine, then stirred in a powder she took from the basket. “’Twill ease the ache,” she said, holding the cup to Anna’s lips. “And make you sleep, perhaps.”

  Anna drank the bitter mixture, watching with detached curiosity as Lily unwrapped her hand. Her touch gentle, she paused when she reached the last layer of bandage, stuck to Anna’s hand with a coating of dry blood. She considered the wound for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder. “Ian, while I’m doing this, why don’t you take Swen to the hall, see him fed?”

  Swen folded his arms and remained rooted next to Anna’s chair. “I’ll stay,” he said, his tone not inviting argument. He dropped to his knees and took her uninjured hand in his. “Will you mind?”

  Anna shook her head, then glanced down so he wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She feared what Lily might discover when she examined the injury.

  And it would hurt—far worse than it did already, she had no doubt.

  She leaned close to him. “Stay, please. I need you.”

  “Swen, will you tell us what happened, then?” Lily asked quietly.

  “We were on our way here when we were set upon during the night,” Swen told them. He remained kneeling beside Anna’s chair, his fingers twined with hers. “Since Anna’s hand needed more tending than I could provide, we rode on ahead of the others.”

  Lily nodded. “You were right to bring her here.”

&nb
sp; Anna’s breath hissed through her lips when Lily cut the bandage, leaving the last bits stuck to the wound in place, then balancing the basin on her lap and placing Anna’s hand in the water.

  “Rannulf told us that Swen had agreed to stay and protect you. He is very good at that,” she said, glancing up at Swen for a moment. “We had hoped the threat to you might be resolved quickly, so that Swen might return to us, if he wished. But it’s worse, I take it?”

  Anna had to look away from Lily’s concerned expression before she dissolved into tears completely. “Yes. We know now who was behind the attacks—’tis the reason Swen brought me here. I needed to get beyond King John’s reach.”

  “King John!” Lily exclaimed. She glanced at her husband. “Do you think Rannulf could learn anything about this?”

  “We already know why he’s after her,” Swen said. “He is determined to haul Mistress Anna off to his lair. He’s worse than Prince Llywelyn when it comes to plots and plans,” he added bitterly.

  Lord Ian nodded. “And unlike the prince, John hasn’t the saving grace of being a decent man.”

  Anna heard their words as if from a distance as glowing warmth flooded her body. She looked down at the hand in the basin, dimly aware that it still hurt, though the throbbing pain had dulled to a tolerable level.

  Until Lily lifted it from the water and slipped off the rest of the bandage.

  Anna took one look at the palm of her hand, fought back a groan of horror and slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  By dusk William had arrived with the guards and their prisoners, Swen had met with Lily and Ian to make his peace with them, and Anna’s hand had been stitched and treated. It had become so badly swollen that Lily feared she might lose it.

  Once Anna awakened from her swoon—after Lily had stitched it up, fortunately—Lily dosed her with more herbs, applied poultices to her hand and left Swen to watch over Anna and pray for her safe recovery.

  He sat by Anna’s bed now as she tossed and turned in a fitful drugged sleep, ready to do whatever he could—little though it might be—to ease her pain. As the last rays of the sun shone through the shutters, he relived again and again the moment when she thrust her hand into the path of the knife.

  Though the image hurt each time he remembered it, he reminded himself yet again that it had been Anna’s choice to make. He’d have done the same for her in a heartbeat, with no thought but that of saving her from harm.

  How could he belittle her sacrifice by assuming responsibility for it?

  He’d had plenty of time to ponder his life of late, and he’d made some decisions—decisions that were long overdue. His growing love for Anna had forced him to view his world from a different perspective.

  Much of what he’d seen had astounded him.

  He’d been so blind! The distance between his parents and himself was at least as much his responsibility as theirs. All his life he’d felt such guilt and helplessness because of his “curse”—in truth, ’twas because he was different. He didn’t want to know people’s pasts, their futures, their lives…But instead of learning to live with his unusual ability, as Anna had, he’d wallowed in self-pity and run like the child he’d remained inside.

  He intended to try to mend the breach with his parents, to become part of his family once more. He’d struggled all afternoon to draft a letter to them; as soon as it was finished, he sent it off to Bergen with a messenger.

  Before he changed his mind.

  Part of his other decision—plan—would have to wait for Anna to awaken, but he’d taken steps to implement it. He’d asked Lord Ian if he could return to Gwal Draig and rejoin his household.

  He’d been astounded to learn that Lord Ian hadn’t believed he’d left for good. But despite his faith in Swen, Swen felt he owed both Lily and Ian an explanation for his abrupt departure, and explain he had. He’d found the task easier than he’d imagined. Though he’d always been closer to Lily than to Lord Ian, their conversation today had broken down the barriers between them. He valued the friendship and support Lily and Ian had pledged to him.

  And knew it would extend to Anna as well.

  That had been a relief, but not really a surprise. Still, it gladdened him to know that they’d help him keep Anna safe.

  Especially now that he intended to ask her to be his bride.

  She stirred yet again in her sleep, and once more he stood beside the bed, slipped his hand into her disordered curls to move them aside and touched her forehead. Lily had warned him that she could become fevered; he had orders to call for her at once if that should happen.

  But this time when he checked on her, burrowing his fingers into the soft silk of her hair, Anna gazed back at him, her face still pale but her eyes clear.

  Perhaps she was already on the mend, he thought, sending a silent prayer of thanks.

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Have you been here long?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep. She stretched, arching her neck and snuggling into his hand.

  He sat beside her on the bed, his weight sinking the soft feather mattress and rolling her toward him. She winced at the movement, so he shifted her away slightly and helped her to sit up against the mound of pillows.

  “Ever since I brought you in here before midday.” His touch tentative, he examined her hand where it lay on the coverlet, most hidden beneath a poultice of bitter-smelling herbs held in place with strips of linen. No red streaks marred her wrist—a good sign—and the swelling at her fingertips and wrist seemed, to his inexperienced eyes, to have gone down. “You don’t remember?”

  She slumped back against the pillows and closed her eyes. “No. Only that I’ve had horrible dreams.”

  “Lily gave you a posset to help you sleep,” he said. “Mayhap it caused them.”

  “No, I doubt that’s the reason.” Hand trembling, she adjusted the bandage and tugged at the knot to loosen it. “’Tis what I saw when Lily uncovered my hand. The cuts are so deep…I need to look again, make certain—”

  Swen placed his hand over hers and, twining their fingers together, moved it away. “Let it be. You must keep the poultice on it, to help draw out the poisons.” He smiled and brought her left hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “You may trust Lily to do all she can to mend it. Your hand will heal well, I promise you.”

  She gave a rusty laugh, her eyes wary. “No matter the healer’s skill, some hurts cannot be helped. Don’t make promises you cannot keep.”

  Wishing to distract her from her worry, and impatient to share his thoughts with her, he leaned toward Anna, his gaze intent as he watched her eyes. “What of vows, my heart? Would you trust me to fulfill those vows I would make to you?”

  She shifted against the pillows, the movement releasing her sweet scent from her hair to tempt him further. “What promises would you make to me, Swen?”

  Again he brought her hand to his lips, his gaze holding hers so she might judge his sincerity. “I, Swen Siwardson, swear to you, Anna de Limoges, that I shall love you all my days.” He opened her hand and pressed a kiss in her palm, then laid her hand flat against his chest. “With all my heart.”

  She did not pull away, or look away—or tell him not to speak of such things. Swen felt hope surge through him, making his pulse pound faster beneath her hand.

  “If ‘tis your wish, I shall petition the abbot, ask him to free me from my promise to him.”

  Her fingers cupped over his heart, Anna smiled.

  She held his gaze, her amber eyes soft and warm. “There are promises I would make to you as well,” she whispered. “I had plenty of time to ponder many things on the journey here. To decide for myself what is right for me, and what is not.” She glanced down at her bandaged hand, then looked up at him. “No longer will I live my life according to other people’s expectations, nor to fulfill promises made for me before I had a choice of my own.”

  “What do you choose, Anna?” he asked, his voice low, year
ning.

  “I choose you, Swen Siwardson. I choose to link my fate with yours, if that is your wish, to create a new life for us both.” Her hand turned beneath his, carried his larger hand to her lips. “A life together.”

  He hated to ask, but he had to know if she’d simply given up hope that she’d ever be able to do her work again. “What of your gift? There’s a strong chance your hand will heal well. You’d have to start over, away from the abbey, but you’d have no trouble finding a patron to support your art.”

  “If my gift comes from God, then ‘tis in His keeping, to give or take away as He decides. ‘Tis not my choice to make, nor that of the Church. Men of God are not God Himself—how can 1 trust whether what they decide is in my best interest, or their own?” She sighed. “I cannot. But I trust myself—I trust you, Swen. You have never tried to take from me, not even when I offered myself to you without reservation. You have always respected me, and my gift.”

  “Anna.” He brushed a kiss on her brow. He had no words for the feelings flooding his body, but his heart pounded hard, full of love and gladness.

  Anna gazed at Swen’s dear face, the lines of laughter in the corners of his eyes, the contrast of his pale blue eyes to his tanned skin—his smooth-shaven skin, she noted—the hint of a dimple in his cheek…

  And the love in his gaze as he leaned toward her.

  “I love you, my heart,” he whispered in her ear. “Will you join your life with mine, be my love, be my bride?”

  “Yes, my love,” she promised. “With all my heart.”

  He cupped her face in his hands. “I will wait however long you wish to make you mine,” he told her. The corners of his mouth curved up in a smile. “But I hope you won’t make me wait long.”

  “After the night we spent in the cavern, you cannot believe I would,” she teased.

  She raised her arms to embrace him and banged her hand on his arm. She crumpled back on the pillows, the throbbing of her hand sickening.

  Grasping her by her shoulders, Swen lowered her against the pillows. “I think we’ll have to wait after all.” He twined his fingers with her left hand; she squeezed till the spasms of pain eased. “But with you as the prize, my love, I can wait however long I must to make you mine.”