She stared at their joined hands for a moment, then looked up to meet his gaze. “I am Anna de Limoges, chief artisan for the Abbey of St. Stephen of Murat.”
Though he heard her speak, the words scarce made an impression upon him, for he was drawn once again to her face—unknown to him, yet as familiar as his own heartbeat. Swen feasted his senses as he sought to remember where he’d seen her before.
’Twas no hardship, for she appeared lovely in the flickering firelight. She was tall for a woman, largeboned and buxom, yet slim enough to entice him to span her waist with his hands. She carried herself with a bold grace, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. Her unbound hair, streaked blond from pale to dark, swept back from her face and fell in a mass of wild curls to her hips. Her lashes and brows were dark, a fitting frame for her light amber eyes.
He saw dreams there, an otherworldly vision not quite focused on the here and now. Her eyes captured him, drew him into a place he’d never been.
Swen shook his head and forced himself to look away. Nay, he knew he’d never met her, for if he had, there was no way he could ever have forgotten her.
Peering past her, Swen saw William stoop to toss an armful of branches next to the fire. He then approached them with a strong, determined stride at odds with his bulk and grizzled appearance. “Mistress Anna,” William said, his voice as sharp as his gaze. “Is he bother’n you?”
She snatched her hand free, just as Swen released it. “Nay, William.” She took a step back and nearly bumped into the guard.
William reached out and steadied her. “Have a care, mistress.” She glanced over her shoulder when he spoke, and met his scowl with an inquisitive expression.
She shook out her skirts, then turned to Swen and gifted him with a demure smile. “While ‘tis a pleasure to meet you, milord, I’m sure you must be hungry and tired from your journey. I thank you for putting up my tent. ‘Tis far more than we should ask of a guest,” she added with a pointed glance toward William. The guard grunted in response. “Please, rest, take your ease by the fire. We’ll ask no more of you now than the pleasure of your company.”
“To arms!” a voice cried from across the clearing, accompanied by the unmistakable clash of steel.
Swen’s heartbeat quickened at the sound, and he looked up. Men ran from the forest, swords and cudgels at the ready, firelight glinting off their hauberks and helms. He reached for his sword and came up empty-handed just as William sent him an apologetic shrug.
Anna grabbed William by his free arm as he drew his own blade. “His sword, William, where did you put it?”
“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
“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 r
eceiving 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.
When a hand grabbed her ankle, she kicked out with her other foot and struck metal, hard, with her soft leather boot. The jolt shot up her leg, but she ignored her throbbing toes and drew back to do it again.
Her captor held on until her foot connected—this time with something with more give to it. His face, perhaps?
He released her abruptly, then crashed through the bushes as he hurried away.
Anna sat back with a thump onto the hard ground. She’d be a mass of bruises on the morrow, she had no doubt. Already she ached from head to toe.
Siwardson raced toward her, William hard on his heels. “What’s wrong? Mistress, what do you here?” he demanded.
She leaned against a tree, her head lolling wearily against the trunk until her hair caught in the bark and pulled on her bruised scalp. She sat up straight. “There was a man…You need not go after him. He ran so fast, he’s long gone.”
“Someone bring a light,” William called.
“And send two men into the forest,” Siwardson added. “Mistress Anna’s been attacked.”
William and Siwardson debated sending anyone after her assailant, finally deciding it would be useless in the dark.
Siwardson hunkered down beside her. “What happened? Why are you out here, away from the camp?”
William took the torch a guard handed him and joined them. “Are you all right, lass?” He leaned closer, the torch illuminating the concern on their faces.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, smoothing her hair back and wincing when her fingers brushed against the lump on the side of her head. William scowled, but Anna avoided his questioning look. “How did we fare? Are there many hurt?”
“Two of ours dead, and another two wounded bad enough that they might not last the night, God rest their souls,” William told her, his voice grim as he crossed himself. “But I think we got the better o’ that mercenary scum, thanks to Siwardson here.”
“I’m glad I could help.” Siwardson reached out and gently stroked near the bump on her temple. “Will you tell us now what happened, milady? Who did this to you?”
She had to gather her thoughts before she could answer; though she’d felt some pain at his touch, it was overlaid with a trace of that same tingling awareness she’d noticed before he rode into their camp.
She didn’t understand it, but ’twas a pleasant sensation. It flowed over her again as she met his gaze, distracting her from her aches, their surroundings…
’Twas too tempting to sink into that feeling, so she looked away.
“The lump is my own fault. I backed into a tree.” She looked down at her disheveled bliaut and focused her attention on smoothing out the fabric. “Then a man grabbed me and dragged me down into the bushes.”
“By God, ’twas a ruse to take you.” William slammed his hand against the trunk of a tree. “Are you unharmed, lass?” He handed the torch to Siwardson and stomped away. “The abbot’ll have my ba—” he coughed “—my head for this, and with good reason.” He paced back and forth, muttering to himself, then halted before her, staring at the ground, his ruddy face a deeper red than usual. “He didn’t touch you, did he, lass? I mean—”
“Nay, William,” she cut in, taking pity on his plight. Her own cheeks felt hot. This was not a conversation she’d wish to have under normal circumstances, but now, with Swen Siwardson at her side, watching her with the avid stare of a hawk…
This bone-deep embarrassment was yet another, unusual sensation he’d caused.
“I am…” she began, her voice weak. Find your backbone, Anna, she admonished herself. She forced herself to meet Siwardson’s gaze. “He did not touch me, other than to drag me to the ground and hold me captive.” Siwardson’s eyes darkened. “He treated me roughly, so no doubt I’ve bruises aplenty, but I’ll survive.”
“William, perhaps he simply saw this as a chance to take a woman,” Siwardson said. “We were otherwise engaged. If he’d been watching the camp before the attack, he could have seen Mistress Anna. She is beautiful. What man would not want her for his own?” he asked with a rueful smile. Anna’s pulse beat faster at his words, at the admiration in his eyes. “While his fellows fought wit
h us, he decided he’d rather wrestle with a woman. ‘Tis a far more pleasant pastime.”
William shook his head. “Nay, ‘tis too easy an explanation. What I want to know is why they attacked us. We’re far from any keep, easy prey, I guess. But these lands belong to the Church. Robbers don’t usually bother us out here. There’s naught but wilderness between the abbey and the village. Look you, our road is traveled so seldom, it’s little more than a track through the forest. Keeps the rabble away, suits us fine.” He paused, hitched up his braes. “I can only think of one reason for an armed troop to be out here.” He looked at Anna. “We’ve never been attacked before, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We’re guarding the abbey’s most priceless treasure, after all.”
“What treasure is that?” Siwardson asked.
William hesitated, then with a shrug, he nodded toward Anna. “Her.”
Chapter Three
Swen stared at William. “What do you mean?” he asked. A tide of heat washed over his face as he considered how his words might be taken. “I beg your pardon, lady. I did not mean that you have no value, of course. ‘Tis only that he spoke of you as though you…” He’d best stop, he realized, for anything he said would make things worse. “I don’t understand, but ‘tis none of my affair.”
Mistress Anna—nay, she was naught but Anna in his mind—stared down at her fingers, twisted tight together in her lap. She looked pale, as though she’d been ill, or would be soon. He was a rag-mannered lout to press them for answers that were no business of his. They’d been attacked, perhaps because of her presence here. Some of her men, men she probably knew well, had been killed in her service. Most likely she wished him and his curiosity long gone.
His absence was an easy enough gift to give her, though in truth, he’d rather remain with her. She and his reaction to her presented a puzzle he ached to solve. But ‘twould be churlish to press her out of a selfish desire to satisfy his curiosity.
Or to savor the pleasure of her company.
He stood and held out a hand to her. “May I escort you to your tent, milady?”
The Shielded Heart Page 2
