The Shielded Heart

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.”

Chapter Six (#ulink_8b15eaa0-3107-5740-bd5f-68d8ef7190f2)

Swen’s mind reeled at Anna’s words. Didn’t she realize how strange her situation sounded?

Perhaps not, for all he’d heard in her voice was acceptance and pride, no sorrow or pain. Yet she spoke of her life as though her craft and skill were her sole reason for being.

“What of your family? You must miss them.”

Her eyelids lowered to shield her eyes. “I’ve been here a long time,” she said. “I scarce think of them now.” She cradled the cross closer. “The work is more important than one person’s feelings.”

He heard a world of loneliness in Anna’s voice and words, though he didn’t believe she was aware of it. He bit back the questions he wanted to ask. ’Twas not for him to challenge her way of life, especially considering the state of his own.

And if she defined herself by her craft, he found it no hardship to praise her through it. “Your work is beautiful,” he said. His touch gentle, he reached out and stroked the cross. Though not so lovely as you. The smooth metal glowed with warmth, but it felt cold against his skin, lifeless. ’Twas an object, nothing more.

Yet if he raised his hand to Anna’s face, he’d feel the warmth and life pulsing beneath her skin; if he threaded his fingers through the mixed gold of her hair, he knew the springy curls would twine about his fingers with a touch that felt alive.

Swen moved his hand away from the cross with more haste than grace, lest he give in to temptation and follow his wayward thought’s lead.

An act likely to shock this innocent young woman into shunning his very presence.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Trudy struggling to move Ned’s body. “’Tis time for me to earn my keep,” he said, thankful for an excuse to put some distance between them. “I’ll help her while you lock that away.”

Anna felt a surprising sense of loss as she watched Siwardson go to Trudy’s aid. She’d enjoyed showing him her work.

The way he’d looked at her she found even more than enjoyable. She had no words, no comparison, for the feelings and thoughts he sent coursing through her body with a single glance of his pale blue eyes.

When she’d taken his hand…She closed her eyes to savor the memory of that sensation. The touch of Swen Siwardson’s palm against hers had made her heart soar, like the feeling she got when she looked upon one of her finished pieces and saw her vision translated into being.

She opened her eyes, her gaze drawn to Siwardson once more. He dealt with Trudy with a gentleness and patience she didn’t expect from so large and vigorous a man. He seemed thoughtful and kind—attributes that, when combined with his looks and smile, she found all too appealing.

Anna sighed and turned away from the scene. Though she would always mourn Pawl’s death, the thought of preparing his body for the grave did not seem so frightening to her now. She’d do what she must, then get on with her work.

She laid the cross back into its nest of wrappings in the chest, trailed her fingers over the fine details etched along its length. Perhaps the attack had been God’s way to jolt her—nay, everyone at Murat—out of the quiet complacency of the way they lived. She’d always felt her work was the focus of all her yearnings, the satisfaction of her every desire. No harm could come to her, to any of them, while they carried out their duties. There was safety and solace in doing the work the abbot set before them.

She knew better than to believe that now. The outside world had violated the sanctity of their lives. The security they had known had disappeared because someone wanted the gift she carried within her.

They would not have it, she vowed. If the attack had been a warning, she’d understood the message. She would hold her gift close, prize it more highly, protect it however she must.

As for Swen Siwardson, she’d avoid him when she could, and pray he left Murat soon.

For she feared he possessed the power to destroy the entire fabric of her life.

After Swen and Trudy finished wrapping Ned’s body in a winding sheet, Trudy patted Swen on the arm, murmured her thanks through her tears and left. Since Anna lingered by the chest, he dumped out the water Trudy had used, then refilled the basin from the kettle on the hearth. He pulled a stool close to the workbench, and waited for Anna.

It seemed to him that she hesitated to join him. Finally, though, he heard the key click in the lock.

“You need not stay, milord,” she said as she joined him. “I’m fine now, and as I’m sure you could see, I’m quite strong enough to manage this on my own.” She gathered together her glorious hair and tied it back with a strip of leather. “I don’t know what William was thinking, asking you to help me with the heavy work.”

William’s intentions seemed clear to him, but if Anna didn’t recognize what he’d been up to, Swen didn’t intend to enlighten her.

Especially given her present mood; she looked capable of defending herself quite handily in word or deed, should the need arise.

Swen drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he found Anna in this mood even more appealing.

For his own safety, the situation called for discretion. “Perhaps William simply wanted me to help Trudy, and to ease your way through this difficult task. I doubt he intended any insult to you.”

Anna grimaced. “Why must you be so reasonable, milord? It makes it most difficult to work up a grudge against you,” she added with a rueful chuckle.

“I have no intention of angering you,” he said, fighting back a smile. “And you should not call me ‘milord’—I’m no nobleman. Swen will do, if you wish.”

She took up a cloth and dipped it into the basin. “Are you not? Your horse and trappings are very fine, and William seemed impressed to learn of your association with the dragon person you mentioned.”

Dragon person? Swen could not help but chuckle when he considered Lord Ian’s reaction to that description! It had seemed to him that Lord Ian ap Dafydd, Prince Llywelyn of Wales’ Dragon, was renowned far and wide for his fierceness as the prince’s enforcer. Certainly William knew of him.

Anna must live an even more sheltered life than he’d realized.