The Shielded Heart

Bess’ solar was at the top of the house, a long, narrow chamber fitted under the eaves, with shuttered windows, now opened wide, at either end of the room. Seated in simple chairs at opposite sides of the trestle table in the center were Father Michael and Swen.

Anna hesitated in the doorway, grabbing at William’s sleeve to keep him from entering the room. “Why is Siwardson here?” she whispered. “He has no business with us, nor with the abbot.”

“Actually, lass, he does, a proposition that could affect us all. Be a good lass, now, and come along.” Since she still held his sleeve in her hand, William tugged her right into the room with him.

Swen stood and offered her his chair. Anna glared at him, but could see no way to refuse it without appearing churlish. She nodded her thanks, sat down and settled her skirts about her. With her hands folded on the table, Anna waited for someone to explain what this was about.

William pulled a bench up to the table for Swen, then went around the table to sit opposite him. “Shall we get started then, Your Eminence?”

“Of course.” Father Michael toyed with the goblet in front of him on the table, but he did not pick it up to drink. Anna stared at him, impatient to learn what he had to say.

And why Swen Siwardson had to be present to hear it.

Swen watched as the abbot squirmed beneath Anna’s expectant look. He couldn’t decide if the elderly cleric was afraid of her, or if a woman’s presence made him uncomfortable. Despite Father Michael’s calling, he was still a man, after all.

Lord knew, Anna made him uncomfortable, Swen thought, stifling a chuckle.

But more likely ’twas the way Anna stared at Father Michael, as though waiting for some word from God Himself, that played havoc with the man’s composure. That was more than anyone should have to bear.

The abbot was not at all like Swen had expected, after hearing Anna’s tale of how she’d come to be in the abbey’s possession. Although she’d told him that it was the previous abbot who’d accepted her—as their chattel, from the sound of it—he’d assumed Father Michael must be of a similar disposition, most likely a worldly, venal man.