Читать книгу The Shielded Heart - Sharon Schulze - Страница 12

By the time the sun began its slow climb into the sky, they’d tended the wounded, bundled the dead onto the pack animals and set off upon the last leg of the journey to the village of Murat.

Anna pulled her cloak high about her chin against the morning chill and fought to remain upright in the saddle. She hadn’t slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, a confusing melange of images and feelings whirled through her brain.

And no matter how she tried, she could not regain her usual clearheadedness.

Her gaze strayed once again to the broad back of Swen Siwardson as he rode beside William at the head of their motley party. Mayhap she should blame him for her lack of sleep, for she’d felt his presence outside the thin walls of her tent all night.

She had no words for the sensation he evoked. It reminded her of the warmth radiating from a fire, more intense when he was near, lessening with distance.

It was as if some invisible cord bound them together.

He drew her toward him with no effort that she could see, yet like the flames, he tempted her nearer, pulled her toward the heart of the fire.

Anna closed her eyes and sought to clear her mind. Her puzzling reaction to this newcomer in their midst was naught but an aberration. She’d never met his like before, ’twas nothing more than that.

For the remainder of their brief journey, she sought to focus her vision on the brightly garbed trees, to keep her mind fixed with grim determination upon the tasks awaiting her return to the workshop.

Yet it seemed, for the first time in her life, she’d encountered a distraction that made the lure of her craft pale in comparison.

Siwardson’s face appeared before her mind’s eye, his ice-blue gaze intense.

And try though she might, she could not erase the image from her brain.

They reached Murat much sooner than Swen had expected. By his estimation, they’d traveled little more than a league or two from where they’d made camp. But given last night’s attack, he understood why William had stopped. If they’d sought to finish their journey by moonlight, they’d have made an even easier target.

Though Anna had ridden in silence behind him, every time her gaze lit upon him, he felt it as clearly as if she’d reached out and trailed her fingertips along his spine. He’d swear her eyes’ caress had the weight and substance of a physical touch.

He shifted in the saddle. If she did not cease her no-doubt unwitting assault soon, he suspected he’d embarrass them both with his body’s enthusiastic reaction when he dismounted.

Swen looked about as they rode out of the trees. The village stood in the midst of a wide clearing, surrounded by a crude wooden palisade. The expanse between the wall and the forest was filled with tilled fields, most already harvested from the look of them, with a few rough-hewn animal pens along either side of the gate into the village.

As soon as William led them into the open, the workers toiling in the fields abandoned their tasks and began to hurry toward them, shouting greetings as they made their way across the uneven ground. But their cries of welcome turned to wails of alarm once the injured guards and the packhorses with their grievous burden came fully into view.

A woman, skirts kilted to her knees, ran ahead of the others. “Ned?” she called, her voice aquiver. Eyes frantic, she scanned the cluster of horses as they drew near.

“Damnation,” William muttered. Grim-faced, he halted his mount and leapt from the saddle into her path.

“Where’s my Ned?” she demanded, though she gave William no chance to reply. Despite his attempts to hold her back, she squirmed past him. Her gaze lit upon a worn pair of boots sticking out from beneath the blanket-wrapped body atop one of the packhorses. “William, ‘tis not…”

William turned to her. “I’m sorry, Mistress Trudy.”

“Nay!” Sobbing, she clasped the guard’s feet to her chest with one hand and tugged at the blanket with the other.

“Here now, you don’t want to do that.” William grabbed for her, but she pulled free of his hold. Wrapping her arms about the body, she laid her face against the horse’s coarse coat and began to wail.

Anna gathered up the trailing hem of her cloak and pushed it aside. “Trudy, nay,” she cried as she grasped the high pommel of her saddle to dismount.

Swen slid from his mount to help Anna down, but before he could reach her, her feet became entangled in her skirts and she began to slip sideways.

Heart pounding wildly, he lunged for her, capturing her against his chest as she fell. She rested in his hold for a moment, a warm and welcome burden, then squirmed free in a flurry of fabric.

“Have a care, mistress.” Reluctant to let her go, he steadied her on her feet.

“Thank you, milord,” Anna murmured, then hurried to the grieving woman, eased her away from the body and bent to enfold her in her arms. She peered over Mistress Trudy’s shoulder and met Swen’s gaze, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Swen turned away from their grief, for there was naught he could do to ease it.

He could, however, do his best to see that no more of her people came to harm.

He took up Anna’s reins along with his own and led the horses to William’s side. “’Tis not my place to tell you your business,” he said to the older man, scanning the thick trees surrounding the fields. “But I think ‘twould best serve your mistress to move her and the others inside the village without delay.”

William nodded. “Aye, milord, you’ve the right of it, I trow.” He rubbed his gloved hand over his mouth, his gaze sharp as he, too, eyed the dark menace of the forest. “Do you feel it, then—eyes watchin’ us?”

“Aye. Sharp as a dagger’s point against my back,” he added, fighting the urge to twitch his shoulders and erase the sensation.

“Come on, all o’ you,” William ordered. He climbed back into the saddle. “’Tis past time, most like, to get within the walls.”

Swen led the horses to where the women stood, Anna still helping to support Mistress Trudy with an arm about her shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss, mistress,” he told Trudy. “Your Ned fought brave and true.”

With a sniff and a swipe of her sleeve over her eyes, she stepped away from Anna and straightened her gown. “I thank you, milord,” she said, her voice faint but firm. “Ned always did his duty.”

“Here, ladies, I’ll help you up,” Swen said, standing next to Anna’s mount and cupping his hands.

Anna stepped back. “You first, Trudy.”

“Nay, mistress, you go on.” Though her lips trembled and her eyes remained glazed with tears, she squared her shoulders and took the packhorse’s lead rein from the guard who held it. “I’ll walk wi’ Ned.”

“I understand,” Anna murmured. She laid her hand on Trudy’s shoulder for a moment, then allowed Swen to help her into the saddle. He handed her the reins and, mounting, followed the others into Murat.

William ordered the gates closed and guarded, then marshaled his men outside the stable to give them their orders. Swen dismounted and gazed about him with curiosity. In the months since he’d arrived in Wales he’d yet to see inside the walls of a town, having stayed within castle walls for the most part.

Murat appeared much like most other villages he’d seen, both in his native Norway and on his journey through Scotland and England on the way to Prince Llywelyn’s court in Wales—a series of cotters’ huts along a main street, several barns and large buildings and an assortment of crude sheds ranged along the palisade wall. The cluster of well-made stone and timber buildings at the far end of the wide street caught his eye, though, as did the cloud of smoke rising into the sky from a large stone chimney in their midst.

It looked far neater and more organized than any smithy he’d ever seen.

The sudden clatter of hammer against metal coming from behind the stable told him where the blacksmith plied his craft.

Mayhap ’twas no smithy after all. Swen turned away with a shrug. No matter, Murat was small; whatever the strange buildings’ purpose, he’d learn it soon enough.

He looked about for Anna, but she’d disappeared into the group of villagers as soon as she’d dismounted. She hadn’t returned.

Though why should she? This was her home; she’d no reason to linger outside the stable with him. After watching him lay about with knives and fists the night before, wearing a half-wit’s grin on his face, no doubt, she could hardly be blamed for wanting to be quit of him.

Still, he wished for her presence, even as he knew ’twas better that he spend no more time with her. Now that he remembered she’d been in his dreams—although the dreams themselves were naught but a blur in the back of his mind hinting of danger—he’d be best served to make his farewells and leave Murat.

Leave before the dreams he’d already had became clearer in his thoughts.

Or before he dreamed of her again.

But he feared the plan even now taking shape within his foolish mind would keep him firmly rooted here.

Because for the first time in his life, the desire to stay was stronger than his fear of what might happen if he didn’t go.

William came striding toward him, a welcome distraction from his pondering. “What? No one’s taken your mount for you?”

Swen looked down at the reins, still held tight in his hand, and shook his head.

“Here, milord, Owen’ll take him.” A young boy stood just inside the stable doorway despite William motioning him forward, his eyes wide as he stared at Swen.

“Come along now, lad,” William said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “They’re big, I grant you, but neither the man nor his beast will do you harm.”

Still Owen hesitated within the stable.

William shook his head. “Beg pardon, milord. We’re far from the world here, and most of the folk hereabouts live simple lives. The boy thinks you’re a giant or some such creature, most like.” He reached over and took the reins from Swen. “Owen, this brave knight saved Mistress Anna from as fierce a pack o’ brigands as it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. We could not have beaten them without his help. Will you reward his courage with a show of cowardice?”

Swen wondered he did not hear the gulp of air Owen took—for courage, no doubt—before the boy moved out of the doorway. Owen took three steps into the open, planted his feet square in the dust and held out his hand as though he expected to lose it. His eyes, if anything, appeared wider than before as he stared at Swen, but his gaze and stance did not falter.

Swen reclaimed the reins from William, led the huge black stallion toward the boy and placed the reins in Owen’s outstretched hand. “Here, lad—see you care for Vidar well,” he said, speaking the accented words slowly so Owen would be sure to understand him. “Don’t let his size frighten you. He’s sweet-natured.” He nudged the horse with his shoulder. “Aren’t you, old fellow?” Swen stepped back. “He especially likes it if you scratch right here;” He pointed to the area just below Vidar’s ears. “Rub him down well, and you’ll gain a new friend.”

Owen stroked Vidar’s velvety muzzle. “Aye, milord. I’ll take good care o’ him.”

Swen nodded and turned to William. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course. I figured to bring you along to my home. My wife’ll see you fed. We can talk then.” He led the way toward the odd cluster of buildings at the end of the street.

They passed through an open door in the palisade side of the largest building into a tidy hall. A sturdy trestle table and benches marched down the center of the room, and a beautifully carved wooden rack held several shelves of plates and drinking vessels—and pride of place—against the far wall. Fresh rushes and herbs crunched underfoot, releasing a crisp scent to mix with the homey smells of bread and cooked meat. Swen drew in a deep breath and released it with a bittersweet sigh.

The sights, the scents surrounding him…this place smelled of home.

A small, slim woman dressed in a vivid blue gown and linen apron bent over the hearth at the far end of the room, stirring something in an iron pot. Her headrail had slipped to the side, revealing a pleasant face surrounded by a nimbus of fiery curls touched with streaks of gray.

William laid a hand on Swen’s shoulder and motioned him to silence, then somehow managed to cross the rush-strewn floor without raising so much as a rustle. He paused behind the woman and nodded toward the door. Swen closed it.

She looked over her shoulder as the door shut with a thump. “William!” she cried. Metal clanged as she dropped the spoon into the pot and spun into William’s arms. “Welcome home, husband.”

“Bess!” William stooped to buss her on each cheek. He captured her lips for but a moment before he sighed and eased his hands from her trim waist. He reached up and brushed his fingers over her disheveled curls. “I’ve brought us a guest, m’love.”

She stepped back, reached up to straighten her coif, then looked across the chamber at Swen. Her eyes were the same bright blue as her dress. “Good day to you, sir,” she said as she bobbed a curtsy. “Welcome to our home.”

“This is Swen Siwardson, a knight of Lord Ian ap Dafydd’s household,” William said. “Siwardson, Mistress Bess de Coucy, my wife.”

“‘Tis a pleasure to meet you, mistress,” Swen said. When he bowed to her, her eyes widened and a flush mounted her cheeks. Apparently courtly manners had not yet reached Murat. He stifled a smile. He shouldn’t be surprised, for they were new to him as well, among the many pleasant and useful things he’d learned since he left Bergen.

But did those pleasures compensate for the sense of loss he felt whenever memories of home intruded on his mind?

“Come, sit and be welcome, milord,” Mistress de Coucy said, interrupting his maudlin thoughts. He consigned them to the devil, where they no doubt belonged, and sat down on the bench she drew away from the table. She returned to the fireplace, crumbled some fragrant leaves into the pot and, taking up the spoon, gave it a stir. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

William fetched a pitcher from the hearth and three mugs from the shelves of plates. “Mead, milord?” He poured a generous measure into a mug and handed it to his wife, taking the opportunity to kiss her cheek again. He then filled the other mugs and set one on the table in front of Swen before settling onto the bench across from him.

Swen accepted the cup with a nod of thanks. “Your health, mistress.” He raised the cup in salute.

“Aye, Bess,” William added as he did the same.

Swen drank deeply of the spiced brew and considered how best to broach the idea nagging at his brain.

William drained his mug and thumped it onto the table. “By the rood, I’ve been craving a taste of Bess’ brew since last night! My Bess makes the best mead I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his pride in his wife’s talent obvious.

Mistress de Coucy wiped her hands on her apron and joined William on his bench. “He always says that, milord.” She nudged her husband in the ribs with her elbow. “And I always say ‘tis because he’s ne’er been anywhere else to drink any other that he thinks so,” she added with a smile.

Swen took another drink. “Nay, he’s the right of it, mistress. ‘Tis fine mead.” He grinned. “And I’ve traveled far and wide enough to know.”

“Stop teasing with my wife, you young pup,” William grumbled. “Else I’ll be forced to boot you from my door ere you chance to taste her cooking.”

“William, behave,” his wife scolded with a shake of her head. “You’ll give him a strange idea of our hospitality.” She took up the pitcher and refilled their cups. “Don’t you worry, milord, he doesn’t mean a word of it.”

William gave the hem of her coif a playful tug, but his face wore a somber expression. “Aye, you’ve the right of it, wife. Even a taste of your cooking’s not enough to repay him for all he’s done. Siwardson, here, deserves far more reward than we can be giving him.”

“What do you mean, William?”

“Anyone would have done the same,” Swen protested, and meant it.

“I take leave to doubt that,” the older man said, his voice laden with disbelief. “Why should a chance-met stranger risk his life for the lot of us? ‘Tisn’t as if our decency and honor—assuming we have any—is branded upon us for all to see. You knew nothing of us, milord, and that’s God’s truth. We could have been the enemy, like the rabble that attacked us.”

His wife grasped his arm. “You were attacked? By the Virgin, William, is everyone all right? What of Anna?” She rose and made to step over the bench.

He drew her back down and shook his head. “We lost two, Ned and Pawl, and two more are wounded.” His voice, his expression, his bearing all spoke of his sorrow at the loss. “But Anna’s safe.” He slipped his arm about her shoulders and tugged her closer. “Would I be sitting here, swilling mead, if aught had happened to the child? As it is, I wouldn’t be here now if I could be of any help to those who were hurt.”

Mistress de Coucy made the sign of the Cross and pressed the hem of her apron against her tear-filled eyes. “Why were you attacked? No one’s ever threatened you on the road from the abbey before.”

“That’s true, but the abbot doesn’t set us to guard the lass for no reason, Bess. They came for Anna. One of them said so to Anna, right before she whacked him upside the head and sent him running off with his tail between his legs. And it would have gone far worse for us all without Siwardson’s aid.”

Swen had sat there in silence, watching and listening to the de Coucys. He hoped to gain some insight into the situation at Murat and how Anna fit into the lives of the people there. Despite William’s description of her value to the abbey, Swen didn’t understand at all. She was a person—a woman—and not a nun or a ward of the Church, from the sound of it. How could she belong to an abbey, like land, or riches, or livestock?

And how had they gained possession of her?

But whatever the circumstances, he could see that both William and his wife valued Anna, and he’d lay odds it had nothing to do with her worth to the abbey. Their love and concern for her shone from their eyes, sounded in their voices, when they spoke of her. He’d seen firsthand William’s gruff affection for his “lass.”

Mistress de Coucy stood. “Husband, you cannot expect me to stay here and see to your comfort—nor yours, begging your pardon, milord—when we’ve injured people to tend to.” She climbed over the bench. “And I’ll not believe Anna is fine until I see her for myself.” She strode to the hearth and wrapped the tail of her apron around the handle of the pot. “Our dinner will keep until we’re through.”

William leapt to his feet. “Here, Bess, let me get that. I’ve told you before, ‘tis too heavy—”

“And many a time I’ve told you, there’s no need. I’m no dainty flower to be coddled.” She lifted the pot from the hook over the flames and set it down away from the fire. Moving with the ease of long practice, she gave the pot a final stir, covered it and banked the coals. “Though I appreciate the offer.”

“So you always say,” William muttered.

She untied her apron and hung it on a peg near the mantel. “Come, love,” she said, moving to his side and giving his cheek a pat. “We’ll be giving Lord Siwardson a bad opinion of us both if we don’t cease our squabbling.”

Swen opened the door, startling a young girl in the process of reaching for the latch. The child gasped, but stood her ground.

“Where’s Bess?” she asked, clutching her side.

“Here, child.” Mistress de Coucy nudged Swen aside.

“Come right away,” she said. “Else I don’t know what’ll happen. We can’t make Mistress Anna stop. And she’ll take sick if she don’t, Mam says.”

“What is she doing, Ella?” Mistress de Coucy took the girl by the hand. “Come along. You can tell me as we walk,” she added as they set off.

“You’d best come too, William,” she called over her shoulder. “No telling what she’s about. I may need you to talk sense into her.”

Swen wondered if he should wait there, or tag along. He wanted to go—

William must have noticed his hesitation. “You too, lad. Even if she won’t listen to me, whatever this latest crisis is—” his sour expression provided a perfect complement to his dry tone “—I’ve no doubt she’ll do anything you ask of her.”