Anna’s eyelids felt weighted suddenly.
Swen, of course, noticed. “Rest, my heart. I’ll watch over you till you’re well.”
Comforted, she clung more tightly to his hand and slept.
In a matter of days Anna felt better, but for the continued pain around the cut on her hand. If she kept her right arm in a sling, she could manage most activities once Lily stopped dosing her for the fever. But unused to leisure, she began to chafe at the restrictions she faced because of the injury.
’Twas embarrassing to require help to dress, to bathe, to braid her hair, but she could perform none of these tasks one-handed. Especially since she wasn’t left-handed, she thought as she tested the bounds of her limitations. Her attempts to manage on her own caused her pain, however, and a growing sense of frustration.
How would she get by if she couldn’t use her hand once it healed?
She had other worries aplenty to distract her from her ills. Lord Ian sent messengers to Lord Rannulf at his Marcher keep of l’Eau Clair, and to Lord Nicholas Talbot, another Norman who happened to be his brother by marriage, at his holding of Ashby in England, asking both men for their aid in dealing with Anna’s troubles with the king.
Swen had sent a message as well, to Father Michael. He asked the abbot of St. Stephen’s to release him from his vow, and for permission to marry Anna.
Until he heard from the abbot, Swen told her, they would wait to wed.
What they would do if the abbot refused his permission, or if he tried to hold Swen to his vow, Anna refused to contemplate.
And what would they do if King John continued to seek her? She would not place her newfound friends in danger by her presence.
Mayhap she should just run away, leave Swen and the promise of a new life behind. At least then those she cared about would be spared.
When she struggled with her guilt, only the thought of Swen’s painful attempts to protect those he loved kept her from fleeing the instant Swen’s back was turned. She could understand so clearly now how difficult Swen—a natural protector—found it to stand by and await the vagaries of fate.
But she could also recognize the guilt he’d suffered—and the pain his leaving must have caused for those he cared about.
’Twas difficult, but Anna vowed she’d do what she could to shape her fate, and learn to accept—and live with—what she couldn’t change.
While Anna recuperated, Lord Ian kept Swen busy with numerous tasks, leaving Anna in Lily’s company. She spent long hours in Lily’s solar with Lily and her son, Dai. The boy was small, with a thatch of fiery hair like his mother’s, and the temperament of his father, the Dragon. “Stubborn,” Lily muttered. “Naught but a babe, and already he fights to have his way.” She cuddled the child to her breast and shook her head. “Just like his father. I, of course, have the temper of an angel.”
Her smile, however, was anything but angelic.
While Anna struggled to avoid using her hand as it healed, Lily redoubled her efforts to convince Ian she should have full run of her household once more. She hadn’t lost the ability to walk, but she had suffered a terrible fall down the steep stairs leading into the keep, which had not only started her labor, but broke her leg and bruised her hip as well. Only recently had she begun to venture beyond her bedchamber and solar.
Though Anna’s hand still pained her, her mobility hadn’t been affected, so she tried to help Lily when she could. The women were of an age, and had become fast friends as they convalesced together. Anna acted as Lily’s emissary, carrying her orders about the keep, and as her eyes by going where Lily still could not and reporting back to the lady of the manor.
Anna found herself learning all manner of things—how to manage a household and deal with servants, details of politics and power she’d never had reason to consider before, and the joy of companionship.
It surprised her how fascinating she found this new way of life. She missed her workshop, ’twas true, and the joy of transforming metal and glass into objects of beauty. She also missed the people of Murat, especially William—who had journeyed back to the village with Swen’s message for the abbot as soon as he delivered the prisoners to Gwal Draig—and of course Bess.
But with her hand useless to her for the moment, she’d not have been able to do anything more in her workshop than supervise her assistants with their less skilled efforts, anyway.
Still, she found herself intrigued by all the color and life in the world, even during the depth of winter. She had Swen to thank for her newly opened eyes, and for the wealth of detail he continued to bring into her life every day.
But each night she lay in her bed and hesitated before drifting off to sleep. Would her visions come to her tonight? she wondered. Or would she relive, over and over, the horror she’d felt when she gazed upon her injured hand, suffer once again the druginduced dreams she’d had after Lily stitched her up? In those nightmares Anna had lost her fingers, or her hand—or been forced to go through life with her right hand hanging limp and useless by her side.
Each night she prayed that her dreams would be naught but the unremarkable meanderings of an overtired mind.
Or the richly detailed fantasies of a life with Swen.
These last made up for the lack of visions. Images of hope, of a life where she and Swen were together and happy—and free to do as they wished, she thought with a smile—Anna found that she valued these dreams more than any vision of her art that she’d ever had.
“Anna.” Lily’s voice broke through Anna’s musings. “Whatever are you thinking about?”
Still smiling, Anna looked up.
Lily giggled. “You must have been thinking of Swen, to judge from the look on your face.”
Hoping Lily didn’t realize exactly what she’d been thinking—of Swen and the night they’d spent in the cavern, some of that night, at any rate—Anna felt a blush rise to her cheeks.
But sharp-eyed Lily noticed. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she teased. “Aye, he’s a man to make a woman dream, Anna. Of happiness and joy…And of pleasure.” She reached for Anna’s left hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’ve found each other. Swen is as dear to me as a brother. He deserves a woman as wonderful as you. You’ll be man and wife soon, you’ll see.”
“Thank you, Lily,” Anna murmured, touched by Lily’s words—and hopeful that they’d prove prophetic. She wanted to be the woman in Swen’s life—and this waiting for word from the abbot tried her patience.
Lily rose slowly to her feet and crossed the chamber to a coffer in front of the window. “Come here, Anna. I’ve something to show you.”
Anna joined her, dragging over a stool so Lily could sit down, for she could see how her friend struggled to bend over the large chest.
Lily lifted the lid, releasing the scent of lavender and roses to perfume the air, then shifted aside a pile of fabric and pulled out a finely woven piece of dark amber wool. She draped the fabric over her lap and unfolded it to reveal a brighter swatch of shimmering gold silk resting inside.
Anna couldn’t resist touching the beautiful material. “’Tis so soft,” she marveled. “And the colors are lovely.”
Lily caught the end of Anna’s braid in her hand and tugged Anna closer. “Here, come sit beside me.”
Anna tossed a cushion on the floor and sat next to Lily, surprised when Lily captured her hair again and untied the leather strip that tied off her braid, unplaiting it and spreading the unbound curls over the cloth covering her knees. “’Tis perfect,” she said, smiling.
Anna couldn’t help but appreciate the way her hair and the fabric complemented each other. The colors reminded her of the copper and gilt of her enamels, especially when contrasted against the deep green of Lily’s bliaut and the glowing fire of her hair. “Perfect for what?”
“Your wedding dress, of course.” Lily smoothed her hand over the silk. “All this talk of gifts…” Lily shook her head. “You are gift aplenty for Swen, Anna. I intend to p
resent his gift to him in the most beautiful wrappings I can contrive.”
“Lily—’tis too much,” Anna said, though she couldn’t resist touching the material again. “I brought clothes from Murat. If we are fortunate enough to marry, what I wear won’t matter.”
Lily gave a delicate snort. “I see I’ve much to teach you of romance,” she said tartly. “The day you marry should be special.” She looked off in the distance for a moment, her smile wistful. “Though you’re right that clothes don’t make it so, I want to give you a beautiful day you’ll never forget.”
“I’m sure you made a beautiful bride.” Indeed, Lily and Lord Ian made a handsome couple, their love for each other a tangible thing.
Lily grinned and reached deep into the chest, then pulled out a linen-wrapped bundle. She set aside the amber material and opened the linen to reveal a bliaut, the fabric tattered in places. “This was my wedding dress,” she said, touching the gown with a gentle hand.
Anna glanced from the stained dress to Lily’s face. “What happened to it?”
Lily chuckled. “What didn’t? Rain, outlaws, sleeping on the floor of a tumbledown hut, falling down a mountainside, outlaws—” She shifted the material to reveal a rusty stain down the front of it. “I killed a man,” she whispered, her expression as sober as her voice.
Anna reached for Lily’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”
She’d badger Swen for this tale of the Dragon and his lady, she decided, for ’twas clear to her that he’d told her next to nothing on the journey to Gwal Draig. She’d ask Lily about it as well, but later—when the shadows had faded from her emerald eyes.
“I’m glad ’twas him and not me,” Lily said, sighing. “Ian and I didn’t have a beautiful wedding ceremony, nor a celebration after. Though I wouldn’t change a thing,” she added. “But I’d like to give you and Swen a day worth remembering, surrounded by friends who share your joy. Will you let me?”
Overwhelmed, Anna could only nod. “I would be honored,” she said. “If we’re allowed to marry, that is. All your efforts could be for naught.”
Lily released Anna’s hand and touched her cheek. “Will you give up Swen so easily?”
“Nay!” Anna cried. “Being with Swen is worth any effort.” She reached up to swipe away angry tears. “’Tis just that I’m afraid to hope.”
“Hope is all well and good, but sometimes you have to give it a bit of help. Don’t worry, Anna, you’ll wed Swen one way or another.” She wrapped her wedding dress in its linen shroud and laid it tenderly in the coffer. “Swen—and you—” she smiled “—have powerful friends. We’ll just have to make certain that the obstacles to your marriage disappear.”
Though drawn in by Lily’s confidence, Anna could only pray her friend was right.
Swen settled in at Gwal Draig so easily, it scarcely felt as if he’d left. Ian kept him busy with duties around the estate, and he spent his free time with Anna.
As he rode Vidar through the forest outside Gwal Draig, his thoughts turned yet again to the limbo of waiting he’d settled into. Waiting to hear from Father Michael, from his parents, from Talbot and FitzClifford…
This inactivity was enough to drive him mad, and it had been scarce more than a week. He hadn’t the patience to wait for messages to arrive at their destinations, nor for the responses to come home to roost.
He needed to resolve something—anything—in his life. Now that he and Anna had come to decisions about what they wanted, ’twas hard to play this waiting game. He had no patience to endure the delay in making Anna his own. The rest they would solve as they encountered it, but he wanted to give Anna the security of knowing, in the eyes of God and man, that she could depend upon him anything—for protection, for comfort, for love.
And gain for himself the knowledge that no one could take her away from him.
He’d wondered if the return to Gwal Draig would mean the return of his dreams. He hadn’t been in Murat long—slightly more than two months—the only dreams he’d had involved Anna. Since he’d dreamed of her before he left Gwal Draig, and those dreams of her since they’d met could just as easily have been dreams of what he hoped for…He laughed. Most of his dreams of Anna could just as well be called fantasies, the hopes of a man who’d found the woman he wanted and had yet to have.
Though he saw her every day, took pleasure in her company, he tried to maintain some distance between them. Though her hand seemed to be on the mend, the slightest jarring of it hurt her—’twas clear to see, despite her protestations to the contrary. He hardly dared to take her in his arms lest he hurt her.
Vidar must have picked up on his frustration, for the stallion tugged at the bit, eager to be off and running. Swen gave Vidar his head and let him fly, the exhilaration of racing headlong going far toward clearing the cobwebs from his mind.
He sped out of the trees onto the road to Gwal Draig and nearly rode headlong into the path of a large group of riders. He pulled up, then grinned when he caught sight of the men leading the party, their armor gleaming dully in the cold winter sun.
He nudged Vidar into motion again, relief and anticipation gladdening his heart. Finally, for good or ill, the waiting had come to an end.
Swen drew Vidar to a halt and bowed from the saddle. “FitzClifford, Talbot—” He nodded to them, barely taking note of their greetings before he turned to the third man. “Father Michael. I’m glad you’ve come.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Footsteps pounded on the stone-flagged stairs, accompanied by a young lad shouting, “Milady! Milady, come as fast as you can, Lord Ian says. We’ve guests aplenty at the gates.”
Anna hurried to the open door and peered into the corridor. One of the stable lads leapt up the last step and, ducking around Anna, raced into Lily’s solar. “Lord Ian bids you come at once, milady, for your sister—and his—” he bobbed a swift bow as he paused to gasp for breath “—they are here.”
Dai clutched in her arms, Lily struggled to her feet, a smile brightening her face. “Thanks be to God! Anna, come with me—mayhap by the time they’ve found their way inside, I’ll have made it down the stairs.”
Anna looked at Lily and Dai, then glanced at her useless arm. “You cannot carry the babe downstairs yourself,” she cautioned as Lily headed for the door. “And I would not dare try to do it myself.” She halted the lad before he darted back out the door. “Fetch the young master’s nurse before you go back,” she ordered, softening the command with a smile.
“Aye, milady.” Still grinning, he dashed out and down the corridor, shouting for Nurse with unflagging enthusiasm.
As soon as she arrived, Anna and Lily made their slow way down the stairs, the woman behind them with the babe in her arms.
To Anna’s eyes, the hall appeared crammed with people—men and women stood talking before the fire, women sought to calm children and dogs who raced about the large room, and servants wove in and out, offering mead to the travel-weary group.
Two women caught sight of them as they left the stairwell and hurried across the room. ’Twas easy to see which was Lily’s sister, Lady Gillian, for she had the same tall, slim build and her hair shone bright—brighter yet than Lily’s—in the flickering torchlight of the hall.
The other woman, dark-haired and more slight of build, carried herself with the regal bearing of a queen, despite the swaddled child she held in her arms. Since she had the look of Lord Ian, Anna reasoned this had to be Lady Catrin, his sister.
When the women reached Lily’s side, faces wreathed in smiles, Lady Catrin gently placed the baby in Lily’s arms, then bussed her sister by marriage on the cheek. “It’s about time you rose from your pallet to greet us,” she scolded, her smile mitigating the words. “I feared ‘twould be too quiet here, so I brought Joanna to liven it up.”
Lily nudged aside the child’s blanket and gazed lovingly at the sleeping babe. “When she’s tired, there’s naught to keep her from her slumber,” she added with an am
used glance at the chaos surrounding them. “But once she wakes—”
Lily bent to kiss Lady Catrin on the cheek, then turned to her sister. “As you see, I’m much improved.” She stepped aside so that Nurse might enter the room. At her nod, the woman placed Dai in Lady Gillian’s waiting arms, curtsied and left.
Lady Gillian slipped her arm around Lily’s waist for a moment, then, eyes bright with unshed tears, bent to her nephew. “How you’ve grown already, little one,” she murmured. “Only see how his hair is like ours, Lily.” She touched the babe’s fiery curls and smiled. “No one can deny his l’Eau Clair heritage.”
Anna, overwhelmed by it all and uncertain what to do, attempted to slip by the chattering women. Lily halted her with a hand upon her arm. “Anna, I beg your pardon. In the joy of greeting my sisters, I didn’t intend to ignore you.” She took Anna by her good hand and drew her toward them. “Ladies, this is Swen’s betrothed, Anna de Limoges.”
Anna curtsied awkwardly, then glanced up at the sound of a familiar voice, her heart feeling as though it had come to a halt in her breast.
Father Michael stood with Lord Ian, Swen, Lord Rannulf and another man, all of them deeply involved in their conversation from the look of it. “Excuse me, ladies,” Anna murmured, then headed toward the men without a backward glance.
Swen followed Anna’s progress as she wove her way through the crowd, wincing for her when someone bumped her arm in its sling and her face tightened in pain. “Might we move this conversation elsewhere, where it’s quieter?” he asked Ian. “And Anna should be involved in it as well.”
Ian nodded, drew a servant aside and gave orders in a quiet voice, then turned to greet Anna. “Mistress, will you come with us?” he asked.
Swen reached for her hand. “Come with us, my love,” he whispered, giving her a reassuring smile and drawing her along with him as they followed Ian to a chamber off the end of the hall.
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