De Leon lunged across the table for her, grabbing her by the front of her cloak, the knife he’d worn at his belt suddenly at her throat.
“I should have known your surrender was naught but a ruse,” he said in an even voice. “No matter—I’ve enough men here to quash any rebellion.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Anna threw her weight backward, hoping that she could at least upset his balance before he could do any damage with the knife. They tumbled together onto the tabletop, de Leon snarling like an angry cat. Disoriented by the fall, she glanced over her shoulder just as Bess swung an iron pot and smashed him in the head.
He fell onto Anna, the heavy feel of his body hinting that Bess might have struck a killing blow. “Anna, hurry,” Bess urged, shoving de Leon aside with scant regard for his condition.
But as Anna struggled to her feet, Bess bent and felt for a pulse. Straightening, she crossed herself. “Good riddance,” she muttered. She crossed herself again. “God rest his soul.”
Anna picked up the dagger and tucked it in her belt, then grabbed Bess by the hand and tugged her down the stairs. They paused at the bottom to peer around the corner for the guards. Evidently they hadn’t worried about their master’s safety, however, for the room stood empty.
“Come on,” she whispered. “Swen—and a large force—are outside the village, fighting to get in. Mayhap there’s some way we can help them.”
The women crept out of the house and moved along the street, keeping to the shadowy corners and moving from hiding place to hiding place until they reached Anna’s workshop. One man stood before the door, a short sword at the ready, though he looked prepared to bolt at any moment.
“Do you think there’s a guard inside?” Anna asked Bess as she sought to form a plan.
“There hasn’t been one so far,” she whispered back. “Of course, they might have changed their habits—’tis two days since they let me see William.”
“I know a way in.” Anna motioned for Bess to follow her around the building. She stopped in front of the one-story shed where she and Swen had gazed at the stars, then stared at Bess’ petite form in dismay. “I need a way to get up there,” she said, pointing to the thatched roof. “Or mayhap you should go.”
“I think not,” Bess said tartly. She nodded toward the shed. “There’s a ladder in there. I think that might be safer for both of us, don’t you?”
Struggling to make no noise, they dragged out the ladder and hefted it into place against the edge of the roof.
“I’ll keep an eye out,” Bess whispered, moving to hide in the shadows where the two buildings met.
Anna hitched her skirts and tucked them into her belt, checked that the dagger hadn’t shifted and scrambled up. She drew the dagger and slipped it through a crack in the wall to raise the latch. Working swiftly, she pushed the trapdoor open and slipped inside.
She found no one in her bedchamber. Taking the dagger in a firm grip in her left hand—not the best way, but her right hand was still useless—she crept down the ladder, nearly stabbing William when he caught her at the bottom.
“By Christ’s bones, lass—you trying to get yourself killed?” he whispered.
Holding the knife out of the way, she pressed a quick kiss on his cheek. “I’m trying to save you.”
“What’s happening, child?” he asked, his voice still pitched low.
“That noise you hear is Swen, FitzClifford and a large troop of fighters attacking the village.” She glanced about in the muted light coming through the shutters and found a number of the villagers huddled near the door. Trudy looked up suddenly and caught sight of her; Anna motioned her to silence. “Come on—there’s only one guard outside.” She handed him the knife. “There’s enough of us that we ought to be able to overpower him.”
“De Leon’ll take you to the king if he catches you.”
“De Leon is dead,” Anna said with satisfaction. “Your wife killed him.”
“Mother of God!” He chuckled softly. “I always knew she was dangerous.”
The muted clamor of fighting that Anna had heard since the call to arms came to an end. Afraid to hope that Swen had prevailed, she crept cautiously to the door and peered through the crack next to the latch. She saw the guard surrender his weapons to Swen, and let out a glad cry.
“Swen is outside,” she told the others.
“Stand aside, mistress,” Trudy said. As soon as she moved, a group of villagers shoved hard at the door, splintering the frame and sending them crashing into the street.
Swen looked up at Anna, standing in the doorway in a cloud of dust. “Guess you didn’t need me after all,” he said, a grin brightening his face.
In three strides he took her in his arms and held her tight. “I love you, my heart,” he said, lifting her off her feet and giving her a smacking kiss on the mouth.
The exhilaration of battle still thrumming through his veins, he wrapped his arm about her shoulders and turned to survey the group of people clustered outside the workshop. “Are those your parents?” he asked, pointing to a man and a woman standing off to the side—the only people there he didn’t recognize.
Anna, her eyes full of longing, caught hold of his hand and led him to them. She stared, silent and still, for a moment before the hopefulness and anticipation faded from her face. “I don’t know them,” she told him, her voice flat. “They look nothing like my parents.”
They both appeared ready to bolt, though with the number of armed men milling about, they stayed where they were. “William,” he called. “You’d best lock these two up for now.” William joined them, shaking Swen’s hand and giving him a hearty slap on the back. “Anna says they’re not her parents.”
The woman’s face took on a spiteful expression. “’Course we’re not—they’ve been dead these ten years or more,” she said with a snarl. “The king—or mayhap ’twas the bishop, I don’t know for certain—locked ‘em away when they wouldn’t stop tryin’ to get their children back. De Leon just used us to get you here,” she said to Anna. “He should have known ’twas all for naught, the fool.”
William grabbed her by the arms and motioned for a guard to take the man. “Be right back,” he told them before leading away the pair.
“I’m sorry, love,” he murmured once the couple had gone. “I know you’d hoped ’twas them.”
Anna swiped at her eyes, then straightened her shoulders. “’Tis all right. They’ve been dead to me for a long time.”
Swen glanced at the villagers standing in clusters in the street, chattering of their ordeal among themselves, and with the men Swen fought with. Looking past them, he saw FitzClifford and the others coming down the street. “She’s all right,” he called. “It seems most everyone is.”
“So I see,” Lord Ian replied with a smile. “I told you your wife would do just fine,” he added.
Bess bustled around to the front of the building in time to hear his comment. “Wife?” she shrieked. “You’ve wed?” she asked more quietly.
Swen nodded. “A few days ago. We’d only one night of wedded bliss before James arrived to drag us back here.”
Anna, her face flushed pink, elbowed him in the ribs. “I think we should go inside,” she suggested. “’Tis freezing out here—much too cold to stand about.”
Bess headed for Anna’s workshop. “Even though there’s no door here, ‘tis still a mite better than my house for the moment.” She paused in the doorway and glanced back over her shoulder. “There’s a dead man in my solar,” she added. “You’ll understand why I don’t want to go back there for now.”
Swen hoisted Anna into his arms and carried her into her workshop. “Take a good look around, my love, and decide what you wish to keep. We’ll all be leaving Murat on the morrow, and we won’t be back.”
Anna nestled into Swen’s arms, savoring the comfort of her familiar bed and surroundings. Her gaze was drawn once more to the beautifully carved box—Swen’s surprise, his wedding gift to h
er—where it rested on the table beside the bed. Those many nights he’d labored in her workshop, she’d never suspected he’d labored, yet again, for her. Every time she looked at the box, touched the smooth wood, she’d remember the nights they’d spent together in her workshop in Murat.
A precious gift, indeed, now that they must leave the village.
“The entire village is to be abandoned, then?” she asked, toying with the curls on Swen’s chest and trying to ignore the weight that had settled within her own.
“Aye. It only makes sense to move everyone beyond the king’s reach. Most will come to Gwal Draig with us, I think. Bess and William have already agreed.” He bit back a chuckle as he recalled how Bess had threatened, “You just try to keep me away from the lass!”
He picked up the end of Anna’s hair and tickled her under the chin with it. “Besides, Father Michael had already decided to desert Murat once he realized you would no longer be working here. But he said you’re free to take any of your tools and materials with you, if you wish, for you’ve more than earned them with your service over the years.”
She nuzzled her cheek against Swen’s shoulder. “Is it worth the bother to move my tools, do you think?” she asked. She had to clear her throat before she continued. “I may not ever be able to use them again.”
“’Tis a labor I’ll gladly undertake, Anna. I know you’ll have need of it all again some day—some day soon, I have no doubt.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I don’t need to dream it to know you’ll create objects of great beauty again, my love…And some of them might even be enamels.”
“What do you mean—” She laid her hand over his heart and felt its pace increase. “A child?”
“If we go on as we’ve begun, my heart, and if ‘tis God’s will, we’ll be blessed with many children.” He laughed. “I certainly intend to give His will all the help I can.”
Anna pinched him, then gave a muffled shriek as he pinned her to the mattress with his body. “God helps those who help themselves,” he whispered in her ear. His laughter mingling with Anna’s, he made her his once more.
Anna dreamed that night, a vision of God’s work, His love, transformed through her vision into beauty. Her hand, scarred but whole, gave a final polish to the enameled cloak clasp, a gift for her husband, then set the piece aside to rub her stomach and calm the overactive babe nestled within. She glanced at the clasp again, chuckling at the fanciful image of a heart atop a shield split in two.
So many gifts…
Still asleep, Anna clasped her wounded hand over her husband’s heart and smiled.
* * * * *
eISBN: 978-14592-6144-0
THE SHIELDED HEART
Copyright © 1998 by Sharon M. Schulze
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The Shielded Heart Page 24