The Shielded Heart

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.”

Chapter Five (#ulink_3c14e398-084c-579b-9d77-d0325985b6b5)

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?”