The Shielded Heart

“There’s no time, lass.” He pulled out of her grasp and, seizing her elbow, tugged her away from the tent.

Swen cast a swift glance about the clearing where William’s men engaged their attackers. He intended to join them in their fight.

“No, William,” Anna said, her sharp whisper attracting Swen’s attention. She jerked away from William and snatched up the rock Swen had used as a hammer. “We must stay with him. Can’t you see he’s unarmed?”

“’Tis my duty to protect you, mistress.” William grabbed for her, but she scampered away, toward Swen.

Did she believe she could protect him with naught but a stone?

Did she believe he needed protection?

Swen shook his head. She’d think differently of Swen Siwardson after this skirmish, he vowed.

“Go with William, milady.” He drew the dagger from its sheath at his waist, then slipped another from his boot. “I need no more than this.” He paused only to see William take hold of her again, then grinning, he leapt into the fray.

Chapter Two (#ulink_4a223634-2a72-5011-9ef0-a77d881b2839)

“Is he mad?” Anna struggled against William’s grip on her upper arm, but she knew he’d not permit her to escape him again. “We must help him. He’ll be killed!”

“Let him go, lass.” William gentled his hold. “There’s naught you can do but keep out of his way and let him fight. Now give me your word you’ll stay out of sight. I cannot do my work if I have to worry that you’re roamin’ about.”

“You have it.” She tightened her grip on the rock and moved back into the shadows on the fringe of the forest. William gave her a stern glare of warning before he raced off into the fray.

She’d not hold William back, but she could not lurk here in the shadows when she might be of assistance to someone. She crept around the clearing, watching as her guards beat back the invaders with a surprising skill. She’d never seen them in action. Indeed, she often wondered why Father Michael bothered to employ a troop to guard her at all, for they’d never before encountered any threat that she was aware of.

She stopped on the opposite side of the clearing from her tent, taking care to remain deep in the shadows. She clutched the stone tight in her fist and wondered if she should seek some other, better weapon. The sounds of battle and the sight spread out before her bore little resemblance to the tales of war she’d heard as a child. There were no noble warriors pitted against each other in formal combat here. The reality she saw before her was noisy, dirty, full of blood and pain; a struggle for life, a fight against death she’d had no idea existed.

And these men fought for what? For her? To protect her from some unknown enemy? Or was this a chance attack by a pack of knaves bent upon robbery and murder?

The lives of eight—nay, nine—men, in return for her safety? Her heart paused, then thundered in her chest. Nay, she would not have it! No matter her vow to William, she could not allow so uneven an exchange.

Her gaze fixed on the chaos before her, Anna gathered up her skirts and tucked her hem into her belt to keep it out of the way. Then, hefting the rock in her hand, she eased toward the fray.

Where could she help? Her men were armed with swords and knives, shields and armor. Swen Siwardson, however, had naught but two knives to aid him.

’Twas a simple decision to seek him out and help, if she could.

She had no trouble finding Siwardson in the swirling mass of weapons and men. He towered over the others, the firelight glinting off. his flaxen hair. He’d tossed aside his fur-trimmed cloak, and fought garbed in a short woolen tunic and leggings. They’d afford him scant protection, compared to his mail-clad opponents.

Praise God, he appeared unharmed.

Anna stopped and stared. He was grinning!

Surely he must be mad.

She crept closer. Siwardson fought with the grace of a dancer, darting about, both blades flashing, urging on his attacker with a laughing taunt even as he moved in to slash his face. He stabbed the smaller knife into the man’s forearm below the short sleeve of his mail tunic. While the man cried out in pain, Siwardson pulled his knife free, stepped closer, and disarmed him. Working quickly, he pinned his foe to the ground, bound his hands with a piece of rope from his belt and dragged him toward the brush alongside the clearing.

She peered past him into the shadows. There were several men, all bound, on the ground near the bushes. Siwardson must be a skilled warrior, indeed, to have overcome so many with such meager weapons.

But now, at least, Siwardson could arm himself properly. His opponent’s sword lay on the ground. He picked it up and moved it aside.

What was he doing? she wondered as he abandoned the weapon and rejoined the waning battle, his knives once again at the ready.

She knew little of a fighter’s ways, ’twas true, but she couldn’t help but believe that Swen Siwardson was a most unusual warrior.

It had grown quieter now, no battle cries, just the sounds of men—far fewer men, she noted with relief—engaged in serious combat. It appeared the tide had turned in her guards’ favor, for more of them remained on their feet than their assailants.

Her assistance wouldn’t be necessary after all. She eased her grip on the rock and stepped back into the shadows, prepared to wait as William had bidden her.

With luck, he would never realize she’d broken her vow. William in a temper was a sight to behold; she’d rather not be on the receiving end of one of his lectures. And William, unlike nearly everyone else who dwelled with them in the small village of Murat, had no qualms about taking her to task.

Intending to return to her tent, she eased farther into the fringe of the camp, her attention still fixed on the clearing. William, Siwardson and her other guards collected weapons and took the surviving invaders captive. They paused to bind serious wounds before they moved the men to the other side of the clearing.

She backed into a tree and smacked the side of her head against a low-hanging branch. The sharp pain jolted her attention away from the clearing—a wise decision in the shrouded darkness. Raising her hand to her temple, she found a tender lump still swelling. She’d best be more careful, lest she look as battle-scarred as the others.

When she felt the tug on her skirts, she thought she’d snagged them on another branch. Her senses swam when she bent to free herself, but the hand that grabbed hers and pulled her down cleared her head in a trice.

Anna tumbled to the ground off balance and landed, gasping, in a heap atop an armor-covered body. She drew in a deep breath, but a hard, foulsmelling hand cut off her attempt to scream.

“None of that, now, demoiselle,” he whispered in a deep, coarse voice. He shifted her about till she slid over his rough mail to sprawl alongside him, the weight of his arm across her middle pinning her to the uneven ground. “Don’t want you hurt. Got my orders. I’m to keep you safe—can’t even sample the wares,” he said with disgust. He pulled her tighter to him for a moment, and the hand against her mouth moved in a rough caress. “’Tis a pity, that—you’re a comely armful. But I need gold more’n I need a wench to tumble.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s God’s truth. And you’re worth naught to me if you’ve been harmed.”

Orders? What could anyone want with her—harmed or not?

She didn’t intend to go along with him to find out.

Despite his avowal that he would leave her alone, his touch made her stomach clench with fear. She had to get away from him, soon. She lay quiet and listened, hoping to hear William or Siwardson—any friendly voice—move closer to this side of the clearing.

But it sounded as though everyone was far away, busy with the aftermath of the attack. Why hadn’t they realized she was missing?

Because she’d been told to stay put, away from the battle, a traitorous little voice taunted.

It seemed she’d have to rescue herself.

Anna took stock of her surroundings. All the activity seemed centered too far away to be of any use, so there was no sense trying to make noise to attract attention. What else could she do?

The darkness enclosed them. Anna could see nothing of her captor’s face, couldn’t judge if she might be able to reason with him. She knew from the feel of him that he was tall and muscular, pressing heavily against her and holding her down with ease. He stank of onions, horses and old sweat, the stench so strong she wished he’d covered her nose instead of her mouth.

She drew a shallow breath and let it out slowly. ‘Twould be a miracle if her heaving stomach didn’t decide to erupt at any moment.

Anna tried to open her mouth to bite him, but his palm pressed too tightly over her lips. She squirmed beneath his hold instead.

“Enough!” he snarled. He slipped his leg over hers and eased his weight atop her, then lifted his arm from her waist.

A wave of loathing gave her the strength to jerk her right arm free. She’d managed to keep hold of the rock she’d carried; she swung with all her might at his head.

The rock connected with his helm with a resounding thump and he jerked back and released her. “Bitch!” he snarled, lunging for her.

“William!” she cried as loud as she could. She scrambled away from him on her hands and knees, tripping herself up on her trailing skirts.