Читать книгу The Shielded Heart - Sharon Schulze - Страница 13

Anna stared down at the familiar width of her workbench. The large wooden table dominated the expanse of her workshop, just as the task that now covered it filled her heart. Tears spilled from her eyes as she reached down and adjusted the woolen blankets shrouding the battle-marred bodies of the dead guards.

Trudy placed two winding sheets alongside them. “Ye need not do this, mistress. Nay, you should not even be here. We’re here to serve you, not t’other way ‘round. Especially with such work as this. Father Abbot would ne’er approve.” She took a deep breath and wiped away her own tears, moved to the forge and hefted an iron kettle from the coals. “Ned’s my man, mistress,” she said as she poured the water into a shallow basin and carried it to the workbench. “’Tis a hard task, sorrowful. But it must be done. ‘Tis my place to ready him for burial.”

Anna dropped the cloth she’d held clutched in her hand into the basin and met the woman’s steady gaze. Trudy wanted to do this last task for her husband, she could see it in her eyes. ’Twas not her place to deprive her of these last moments with her husband to satisfy her own sense of guilt.

She reached out and gave Trudy’s work-worn hands a squeeze. “Aye, you’re right. But are you certain there’s nothing 1 can do to help you?”

“Ye’re a good lass, Mistress Anna. I thank you for offerin’,” Trudy said, sniffling again. “But ‘twould be best if ye just leave me to it.”

Anna walked around the table, paused to steady her racing heart, then forced herself to raise the edge of the blanket and look at the other guard’s face. “What of Pawl? He has no wife to ready him for his final journey. Shall I bring his mother here, guide her crippled hands as she prepares her only son for the grave? Or should I stand beside his orphaned daughters—little more than babes—and watch as they wash his life’s blood from his body?”

Anna drew aside the blanket and folded it before she placed it at Pawl’s feet. She kept her gaze fixed upon his blood-spattered body, though she wanted nothing more than to look away, to run away, as far and as fast as she could.

Her stomach heaved. In her mind’s eye she’d seen sights as bad as Pawl’s corpse…visions far worse, if truth be told. But they were nothing more than pictures in her mind. Fingers shaking, she reached out and touched the closed eyes, the pale, flaccid face. ’Twas Pawl, and yet not. In her visions, she’d never smelled the scent of death that clung to the men, never felt the sorrow and pain that clenched like a fist round her heart as she straightened Pawl’s limbs.

She’d never looked upon the face of someone she knew in her visions, someone who had given his life that she might live.

Never had the scenes in her mind made her feel.

She would not cry, for her tears would change nothing. Instead, as always, she’d do what she must. She looked across the workbench and met Trudy’s sympathetic gaze. “I cannot let his family see him like this. They should remember him as he was…At least let me lay him out with what decency I can. He gave his life for me. ‘Tis the least I can give him in return.”

Trudy nodded. “Aye, mistress, your help would be a blessing to them, I’ve no doubt.”

Anna started as the sound of footsteps along the stone-lined path came through the open door. Trudy met her questioning look with a shrug and went on with her work. With a swipe of her sleeve over her eyes Anna blotted away her tears, then moved to stand in the entry. Whoever was coming, she’d send them on their way. She neither wanted nor needed an audience to watch her perform this task.

Anna’s heart sank as the visitors came around the curved path and into view. Trudy’s youngest daughter, Ella, hurried along the walk, with Bess and William in tow.

And Swen Siwardson right behind them.

She forced herself to calm, though she felt herself teeter on the edge of losing her usual placid composure. For now ’twas almost more than she could bear to carry out her obligation to Pawl and his family. She hadn’t the means within her to contend with Bess’ concern, nor with Siwardson’s presence.

She fumbled behind her until she grasped the leather strap used to latch the door and, giving it a tug, stepped outside her workshop and closed the door behind her.

Bess let go of Ella’s hand and rushed to envelop Anna in her arms. “What are you about, Anna?” Before Anna could think of an answer, Bess released her and stood looking up at her face. “William told me of the attack. Were you harmed and didn’t tell him? When Ella said to come right away, I knew that there was something wrong. What is it, child?”

Her shrewd gaze nearly destroyed Anna’s resolve. Sympathy was the last thing she needed at the moment, else she’d dissolve into a puddle of tears.

“I’m fine, Bess,” she snapped, then reached out a hand in apology when she saw the hurt in Bess’ face and realized how she’d sounded. “Forgive me. It’s been a difficult time…”

Bess’ expression softened. “There’s no need,” she said. “I should not have attacked you so soon as I saw you.” She patted Anna’s arm. “Trudy sent Ella to fetch me, said you were about to do something that would harm you?” Eyebrows raised in question, Bess waited.

Harm her? While Anna wondered what she meant, Bess headed for the closed door. “You’ve no need to go in there,” Anna said as she moved past Bess to block the door with her body—too late to stop Ella, who squirmed past her and, opening the door a crack, slipped through and shut the door behind her in a trice. But Anna stood her ground. “I was just about to prepare Pawl’s body for burial.”

William and Swen had stayed several paces away from the women while they talked, but at Anna’s words, William moved toward them. “Lass, you’ve a kind heart. His mother will appreciate your help, won’t she, Bess?” Grasping his wife by the arm, he moved her back a few steps.

Grateful for his intervention, Anna gave him a weak smile, wondering all the while how she might make everyone leave. The longer she waited, the more she dreaded what she must do. She sent William a pleading look and hoped he would understand what she wanted.

Bess tugged against William’s hold, but he did not release her. “There’s no need for Anna to—” She broke off when William shook his head.

“She’ll manage fine on her own. ‘Sides, Trudy’ll help her. She’s in there, isn’t she?” he asked with a glance toward the workshop.

“Yes, she’s preparing Ned’s body.”

He turned to Siwardson. “They could use some help with lugging and lifting, I imagine. Would you stay and lend your strength to their task?”

What was William thinking? “There’s no need,” Anna said. “We can take care of it on our own.”

“Of course I’ll help you any way I can, Mistress Anna,” Siwardson said, though he looked as surprised by William’s request as Anna felt.

“Thank you, lad.” William led Bess back toward the path. “Come back to the hall when you’re through, and we’ll get you settled in.”

Bess appeared reluctant to go, until her husband leaned down and murmured something in her ear, then straightened and said, “They could use your help tending to the injured, I imagine.”

“Aye,” Bess agreed. After one last piercing look at Anna, she smiled, said goodbye and allowed William to lead her away.

Anna stood in front of the door as though rooted there, uncertain what she should do next. How could William and Bess go off and leave her with Siwardson? ’Twas most unlike their usual protectiveness. Not that they’d ever had many guests at Murat to protect her from…

But then again, she’d not ever so much as seen a man like Swen Siwardson. He was young, strong and handsome, ’twas true—certainly more so than the monks of St. Stephen’s or the men of Murat—but she could see that he also possessed a sense of joy in life completely foreign to her experience.

She found the combination overwhelming.

Siwardson waited with quiet patience while she mulled over the situation, then winked at her when he caught her staring at him. Such a tide of heat washed over her, ’twas a wonder she didn’t melt all the way down to the soles of her boots from it!

“Demoiselle, you need not fear to invite me within,” he said, the even tenor of his voice serving to ease away her embarrassment. “I’m perfectly harmless, I assure you.” While she wasn’t sure she believed that statement, she couldn’t resist the smile that accompanied it. “If you’d prefer that I leave, I shall, with William none the wiser.”

“Nay, milord, ‘tis not necessary.” He’d only be here for a day or so at most; surely she could remain immune to his charm for that long. She should look upon his time at Murat as an adventure.

And enjoy it while she could, her mind taunted.

But she had no business thinking such thoughts, especially given the present circumstances. Anna smoothed her hands down the skirt of her gown to still their faint trembling and reminded herself of what lay ahead. ’Twas enough to calm her disordered brain—for the moment, at least. “’Tis kind of you to agree to William’s request, though I cannot understand why he would ask a guest to help with such a gruesome venture.” She reached for the latch and opened the door. “I’m sure that both Trudy and I will appreciate your assistance.”

Ella scampered past as Swen followed Anna into the building. He gazed about him with curiosity. ’Twas a large chamber, nearly the size of the main hall in his parents’ home, dominated by a huge forgelike hearth at one end. Shelves, tables and strange tools were ranged about the room, and a number of lanterns hung from the rafters at close intervals, especially over the massive table in the center of the room.

What was this place?

Anna led him to the table. Trudy stood beside it, bent over a body—her husband’s, he assumed, while the corpse of the other guard lay uncovered on the far side of the table. A bloodstained blanket sat neatly folded at the body’s feet.

Trudy set aside a wet cloth and looked up. “Lord Siwardson is here to help us,” Anna told her. “Is there anything you’d like him to do?” She picked up a kettle from the bench near the door and crossed the room to the hearth.

The other woman straightened, curtsied and gave a nod of acknowledgment. “’Tis good of ye to offer, milord.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“Nothin’ for the moment, milord.” She reached out and smoothed Ned’s hair back from his battered face. “Though once I’m done wi’ the washin’, I’ll need some help raising him up to put him in this.” She picked up a large piece of linen and wiped the tears from her eyes on the edge of it. “But the mistress could use your help, most like,” she added with a nod toward Anna. Giving him a wan smile, she turned once again to her task.

Anna stood near a bench lined with casks across from the hearth, ladling water into the kettle. “I’ll take that for you,” he offered when she made to lift the pot. Though she looked surprised by the suggestion, she moved aside and let him take it to the hearth and place it over the coals.

Drawing up two tall stools, she motioned for him to take one. He pulled the two seats closer together and sat down. Anna glanced back at Trudy, still standing beside her husband. “I think we should allow her some privacy,” she said, her voice pitched low. “When I offered to help her earlier, she said she’d prefer to do it herself.” Gathering her skirts together, she hopped up onto the stool. “I thought to wait until she’s finished before I take care of Pawl.”

“It must be difficult for her, losing her husband,” Swen said. “It’s never easy when our loved ones are gone.” A vast understatement; some losses were pains that never healed.

He heard his words again in his mind, thought back over his behavior around Anna and nearly jumped off the stool to storm about the room. By the saints, when had he begun mouthing platitudes?

God’s truth, he didn’t know what to say to Anna; ever since he’d recognized her last night, his mind seemed to go blank with confusion whenever she was near.

He raked his fingers through his hair and fought a surge of self-disgust. He hadn’t had this much trouble around a woman since he was a beardless youth.

If ever.

Anna glanced at Trudy, then turned her attention back to him, her gaze thoughtful. “Yes, I can see that it’s difficult.”

A strange response. Perhaps she hadn’t lost anyone close to her. If that was so, she was more fortunate than most.

She closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them, he’d have sworn ’twas pain that darkened them to a deep, honeyed amber.

Perhaps he was wrong.

“‘Tis probably foolish to warm the water when he cannot feel it, but I’ll do it anyway,” she said, her voice wavering a bit. She slid off the stool and took up a poker to stir the fire, staring at the cloud of sparks that rose into the air. “I thought to spare his mother and daughters more sorrow, though it seems little enough, under the circumstances.”

“It’s good of you to do it,” he said, and meant it. “Most ladies would not exert themselves so much for one in their employ. They’d have their servants take care of such a task.”

“Ladies and servants?” She laughed, though he heard no humor in the sound. The poker clattered against the hearth stones as she cast it aside and whirled to face him, her gaze questioning. “Why should I have servants?”

Why, indeed? “But aren’t you mistress here?”

Her brief burst of laughter sounded genuine this time, before she cut it off by clapping her hand over her mouth. She glanced over at Trudy with a look of guilt on her face. Trudy never even looked up. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m not laughing at you, milord, truly. But I can see that William told you nothing of our lives here in Murat.”

“Nay, he had no chance to do so before Ella came to fetch us.” He rose to stand near her, drawn by the sparkle of humor that brightened her eyes. “But you have guards to protect you, William and the others obviously hold you in high regard. Indeed, last night William said—”

“He said I was of value to the abbey. I’m sure ‘tis true. Father Michael, the abbot, prizes me highly.” She reached over and took his hand, sending that mysterious jolt of energy surging through him, and led him to an enormous steel-banded chest against the wall. He felt the loss of her touch like a pain when she released him to fumble with the ring of keys tied round her belt. “Let me show you the source of my worth to the Abbey of St. Stephen of Murat.”

The key turned smoothly in the lock; Anna raised the lid and reached inside.

The cross Anna drew forth in both hands gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open door—as tall as his forearm was long, the polished gold embedded with all the jeweled colors of the rainbow. It must have weighed as much as the kettle she’d filled, yet she held it with an ease that mocked his earlier attempt to help her.

She looked it over for a moment, then cradled it in her arms like a child and met his gaze. “It’s meant for the altar of King John’s private chapel,” she said with simple pride.

But what had that to do with anything?

“I believe ‘tis my finest work yet,” she continued. “The engraving is more detailed than any I’ve done before, and the colors—” She smiled. “The colors are as deep and true as any found in God’s creation, though Father Michael would caution that I shouldn’t be so arrogant as to say so.”

Swen thought that the cross, while an object of great beauty, could not compare to her loveliness. “You said you’d explain, Anna,” he urged.

“I’m as much a servant as anyone else here at Murat, milord. This cross is my creation, brought forth from within my mind, created by my hands for the glory of God and the abbey.” Her fingers moved in an unconscious caress over the designs etched in gold. “This village exists so that I might do my work. Murat and all its people—especially me—and my work, belong to the abbey, to do with as God wills.”