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Anna drew aside the blanket and folded it before she placed it at Pawl’s feet. She kept her gaze fixed upon his blood-spattered body, though she wanted nothing more than to look away, to run away, as far and as fast as she could.
Her stomach heaved. In her mind’s eye she’d seen sights as bad as Pawl’s corpse…visions far worse, if truth be told. But they were nothing more than pictures in her mind. Fingers shaking, she reached out and touched the closed eyes, the pale, flaccid face. ’Twas Pawl, and yet not. In her visions, she’d never smelled the scent of death that clung to the men, never felt the sorrow and pain that clenched like a fist round her heart as she straightened Pawl’s limbs.
She’d never looked upon the face of someone she knew in her visions, someone who had given his life that she might live.
Never had the scenes in her mind made her feel.
She would not cry, for her tears would change nothing. Instead, as always, she’d do what she must. She looked across the workbench and met Trudy’s sympathetic gaze. “I cannot let his family see him like this. They should remember him as he was…At least let me lay him out with what decency I can. He gave his life for me. ‘Tis the least I can give him in return.”
Trudy nodded. “Aye, mistress, your help would be a blessing to them, I’ve no doubt.”
Anna started as the sound of footsteps along the stone-lined path came through the open door. Trudy met her questioning look with a shrug and went on with her work. With a swipe of her sleeve over her eyes Anna blotted away her tears, then moved to stand in the entry. Whoever was coming, she’d send them on their way. She neither wanted nor needed an audience to watch her perform this task.
Anna’s heart sank as the visitors came around the curved path and into view. Trudy’s youngest daughter, Ella, hurried along the walk, with Bess and William in tow.
And Swen Siwardson right behind them.
She forced herself to calm, though she felt herself teeter on the edge of losing her usual placid composure. For now ’twas almost more than she could bear to carry out her obligation to Pawl and his family. She hadn’t the means within her to contend with Bess’ concern, nor with Siwardson’s presence.
She fumbled behind her until she grasped the leather strap used to latch the door and, giving it a tug, stepped outside her workshop and closed the door behind her.
Bess let go of Ella’s hand and rushed to envelop Anna in her arms. “What are you about, Anna?” Before Anna could think of an answer, Bess released her and stood looking up at her face. “William told me of the attack. Were you harmed and didn’t tell him? When Ella said to come right away, I knew that there was something wrong. What is it, child?”
Her shrewd gaze nearly destroyed Anna’s resolve. Sympathy was the last thing she needed at the moment, else she’d dissolve into a puddle of tears.
“I’m fine, Bess,” she snapped, then reached out a hand in apology when she saw the hurt in Bess’ face and realized how she’d sounded. “Forgive me. It’s been a difficult time…”
Bess’ expression softened. “There’s no need,” she said. “I should not have attacked you so soon as I saw you.” She patted Anna’s arm. “Trudy sent Ella to fetch me, said you were about to do something that would harm you?” Eyebrows raised in question, Bess waited.
Harm her? While Anna wondered what she meant, Bess headed for the closed door. “You’ve no need to go in there,” Anna said as she moved past Bess to block the door with her body—too late to stop Ella, who squirmed past her and, opening the door a crack, slipped through and shut the door behind her in a trice. But Anna stood her ground. “I was just about to prepare Pawl’s body for burial.”
William and Swen had stayed several paces away from the women while they talked, but at Anna’s words, William moved toward them. “Lass, you’ve a kind heart. His mother will appreciate your help, won’t she, Bess?” Grasping his wife by the arm, he moved her back a few steps.
Grateful for his intervention, Anna gave him a weak smile, wondering all the while how she might make everyone leave. The longer she waited, the more she dreaded what she must do. She sent William a pleading look and hoped he would understand what she wanted.
Bess tugged against William’s hold, but he did not release her. “There’s no need for Anna to—” She broke off when William shook his head.
“She’ll manage fine on her own. ‘Sides, Trudy’ll help her. She’s in there, isn’t she?” he asked with a glance toward the workshop.
“Yes, she’s preparing Ned’s body.”
He turned to Siwardson. “They could use some help with lugging and lifting, I imagine. Would you stay and lend your strength to their task?”
What was William thinking? “There’s no need,” Anna said. “We can take care of it on our own.”
“Of course I’ll help you any way I can, Mistress Anna,” Siwardson said, though he looked as surprised by William’s request as Anna felt.
“Thank you, lad.” William led Bess back toward the path. “Come back to the hall when you’re through, and we’ll get you settled in.”
Bess appeared reluctant to go, until her husband leaned down and murmured something in her ear, then straightened and said, “They could use your help tending to the injured, I imagine.”
“Aye,” Bess agreed. After one last piercing look at Anna, she smiled, said goodbye and allowed William to lead her away.
Anna stood in front of the door as though rooted there, uncertain what she should do next. How could William and Bess go off and leave her with Siwardson? ’Twas most unlike their usual protectiveness. Not that they’d ever had many guests at Murat to protect her from…
But then again, she’d not ever so much as seen a man like Swen Siwardson. He was young, strong and handsome, ’twas true—certainly more so than the monks of St. Stephen’s or the men of Murat—but she could see that he also possessed a sense of joy in life completely foreign to her experience.
She found the combination overwhelming.
Siwardson waited with quiet patience while she mulled over the situation, then winked at her when he caught her staring at him. Such a tide of heat washed over her, ’twas a wonder she didn’t melt all the way down to the soles of her boots from it!
“Demoiselle, you need not fear to invite me within,” he said, the even tenor of his voice serving to ease away her embarrassment. “I’m perfectly harmless, I assure you.” While she wasn’t sure she believed that statement, she couldn’t resist the smile that accompanied it. “If you’d prefer that I leave, I shall, with William none the wiser.”
“Nay, milord, ‘tis not necessary.” He’d only be here for a day or so at most; surely she could remain immune to his charm for that long. She should look upon his time at Murat as an adventure.
And enjoy it while she could, her mind taunted.
But she had no business thinking such thoughts, especially given the present circumstances. Anna smoothed her hands down the skirt of her gown to still their faint trembling and reminded herself of what lay ahead. ’Twas enough to calm her disordered brain—for the moment, at least. “’Tis kind of you to agree to William’s request, though I cannot understand why he would ask a guest to help with such a gruesome venture.” She reached for the latch and opened the door. “I’m sure that both Trudy and I will appreciate your assistance.”
Ella scampered past as Swen followed Anna into the building. He gazed about him with curiosity. ’Twas a large chamber, nearly the size of the main hall in his parents’ home, dominated by a huge forgelike hearth at one end. Shelves, tables and strange tools were ranged about the room, and a number of lanterns hung from the rafters at close intervals, especially over the massive table in the center of the room.
What was this place?
Anna led him to the table. Trudy stood beside it, bent over a body—her husband’s, he assumed, while the corpse of the other guard lay uncovered on the far side of the table. A bloodstained blanket sat neatly folded at the body’s feet.
Trudy set aside a wet cloth and looked up. “Lord Siwardson is here to help us,” Anna told her. “Is there anything you’d like him to do?” She picked up a kettle from the bench near the door and crossed the room to the hearth.
The other woman straightened, curtsied and gave a nod of acknowledgment. “’Tis good of ye to offer, milord.”
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
“Nothin’ for the moment, milord.” She reached out and smoothed Ned’s hair back from his battered face. “Though once I’m done wi’ the washin’, I’ll need some help raising him up to put him in this.” She picked up a large piece of linen and wiped the tears from her eyes on the edge of it. “But the mistress could use your help, most like,” she added with a nod toward Anna. Giving him a wan smile, she turned once again to her task.
Anna stood near a bench lined with casks across from the hearth, ladling water into the kettle. “I’ll take that for you,” he offered when she made to lift the pot. Though she looked surprised by the suggestion, she moved aside and let him take it to the hearth and place it over the coals.
Drawing up two tall stools, she motioned for him to take one. He pulled the two seats closer together and sat down. Anna glanced back at Trudy, still standing beside her husband. “I think we should allow her some privacy,” she said, her voice pitched low. “When I offered to help her earlier, she said she’d prefer to do it herself.” Gathering her skirts together, she hopped up onto the stool. “I thought to wait until she’s finished before I take care of Pawl.”
“It must be difficult for her, losing her husband,” Swen said. “It’s never easy when our loved ones are gone.” A vast understatement; some losses were pains that never healed.
He heard his words again in his mind, thought back over his behavior around Anna and nearly jumped off the stool to storm about the room. By the saints, when had he begun mouthing platitudes?
God’s truth, he didn’t know what to say to Anna; ever since he’d recognized her last night, his mind seemed to go blank with confusion whenever she was near.
He raked his fingers through his hair and fought a surge of self-disgust. He hadn’t had this much trouble around a woman since he was a beardless youth.
If ever.
Anna glanced at Trudy, then turned her attention back to him, her gaze thoughtful. “Yes, I can see that it’s difficult.”
A strange response. Perhaps she hadn’t lost anyone close to her. If that was so, she was more fortunate than most.
She closed her eyes for a moment; when she opened them, he’d have sworn ’twas pain that darkened them to a deep, honeyed amber.
Perhaps he was wrong.
“‘Tis probably foolish to warm the water when he cannot feel it, but I’ll do it anyway,” she said, her voice wavering a bit. She slid off the stool and took up a poker to stir the fire, staring at the cloud of sparks that rose into the air. “I thought to spare his mother and daughters more sorrow, though it seems little enough, under the circumstances.”
“It’s good of you to do it,” he said, and meant it. “Most ladies would not exert themselves so much for one in their employ. They’d have their servants take care of such a task.”
“Ladies and servants?” She laughed, though he heard no humor in the sound. The poker clattered against the hearth stones as she cast it aside and whirled to face him, her gaze questioning. “Why should I have servants?”
Why, indeed? “But aren’t you mistress here?”
Her brief burst of laughter sounded genuine this time, before she cut it off by clapping her hand over her mouth. She glanced over at Trudy with a look of guilt on her face. Trudy never even looked up. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m not laughing at you, milord, truly. But I can see that William told you nothing of our lives here in Murat.”
“Nay, he had no chance to do so before Ella came to fetch us.” He rose to stand near her, drawn by the sparkle of humor that brightened her eyes. “But you have guards to protect you, William and the others obviously hold you in high regard. Indeed, last night William said—”
“He said I was of value to the abbey. I’m sure ‘tis true. Father Michael, the abbot, prizes me highly.” She reached over and took his hand, sending that mysterious jolt of energy surging through him, and led him to an enormous steel-banded chest against the wall. He felt the loss of her touch like a pain when she released him to fumble with the ring of keys tied round her belt. “Let me show you the source of my worth to the Abbey of St. Stephen of Murat.”
The key turned smoothly in the lock; Anna raised the lid and reached inside.
The cross Anna drew forth in both hands gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the open door—as tall as his forearm was long, the polished gold embedded with all the jeweled colors of the rainbow. It must have weighed as much as the kettle she’d filled, yet she held it with an ease that mocked his earlier attempt to help her.
She looked it over for a moment, then cradled it in her arms like a child and met his gaze. “It’s meant for the altar of King John’s private chapel,” she said with simple pride.
But what had that to do with anything?
“I believe ‘tis my finest work yet,” she continued. “The engraving is more detailed than any I’ve done before, and the colors—” She smiled. “The colors are as deep and true as any found in God’s creation, though Father Michael would caution that I shouldn’t be so arrogant as to say so.”
Swen thought that the cross, while an object of great beauty, could not compare to her loveliness. “You said you’d explain, Anna,” he urged.
“I’m as much a servant as anyone else here at Murat, milord. This cross is my creation, brought forth from within my mind, created by my hands for the glory of God and the abbey.” Her fingers moved in an unconscious caress over the designs etched in gold. “This village exists so that I might do my work. Murat and all its people—especially me—and my work, belong to the abbey, to do with as God wills.”
Chapter Six (#ulink_8b15eaa0-3107-5740-bd5f-68d8ef7190f2)
Swen’s mind reeled at Anna’s words. Didn’t she realize how strange her situation sounded?
Perhaps not, for all he’d heard in her voice was acceptance and pride, no sorrow or pain. Yet she spoke of her life as though her craft and skill were her sole reason for being.
“What of your family? You must miss them.”
Her eyelids lowered to shield her eyes. “I’ve been here a long time,” she said. “I scarce think of them now.” She cradled the cross closer. “The work is more important than one person’s feelings.”
He heard a world of loneliness in Anna’s voice and words, though he didn’t believe she was aware of it. He bit back the questions he wanted to ask. ’Twas not for him to challenge her way of life, especially considering the state of his own.
And if she defined herself by her craft, he found it no hardship to praise her through it. “Your work is beautiful,” he said. His touch gentle, he reached out and stroked the cross. Though not so lovely as you. The smooth metal glowed with warmth, but it felt cold against his skin, lifeless. ’Twas an object, nothing more.
Yet if he raised his hand to Anna’s face, he’d feel the warmth and life pulsing beneath her skin; if he threaded his fingers through the mixed gold of her hair, he knew the springy curls would twine about his fingers with a touch that felt alive.
Swen moved his hand away from the cross with more haste than grace, lest he give in to temptation and follow his wayward thought’s lead.
An act likely to shock this innocent young woman into shunning his very presence.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Trudy struggling to move Ned’s body. “’Tis time for me to earn my keep,” he said, thankful for an excuse to put some distance between them. “I’ll help her while you lock that away.”
Anna felt a surprising sense of loss as she watched Siwardson go to Trudy’s aid. She’d enjoyed showing him her work.
The way he’d looked at her she found even more than enjoyable. She had no words, no comparison, for the feelings and thoughts he sent coursing through her body with a single glance of his pale blue eyes.
When she’d taken his hand…She closed her eyes to savor the memory of that sensation. The touch of Swen Siwardson’s palm against hers had made her heart soar, like the feeling she got when she looked upon one of her finished pieces and saw her vision translated into being.
She opened her eyes, her gaze drawn to Siwardson once more. He dealt with Trudy with a gentleness and patience she didn’t expect from so large and vigorous a man. He seemed thoughtful and kind—attributes that, when combined with his looks and smile, she found all too appealing.
Anna sighed and turned away from the scene. Though she would always mourn Pawl’s death, the thought of preparing his body for the grave did not seem so frightening to her now. She’d do what she must, then get on with her work.
She laid the cross back into its nest of wrappings in the chest, trailed her fingers over the fine details etched along its length. Perhaps the attack had been God’s way to jolt her—nay, everyone at Murat—out of the quiet complacency of the way they lived. She’d always felt her work was the focus of all her yearnings, the satisfaction of her every desire. No harm could come to her, to any of them, while they carried out their duties. There was safety and solace in doing the work the abbot set before them.
She knew better than to believe that now. The outside world had violated the sanctity of their lives. The security they had known had disappeared because someone wanted the gift she carried within her.
They would not have it, she vowed. If the attack had been a warning, she’d understood the message. She would hold her gift close, prize it more highly, protect it however she must.
As for Swen Siwardson, she’d avoid him when she could, and pray he left Murat soon.
For she feared he possessed the power to destroy the entire fabric of her life.
After Swen and Trudy finished wrapping Ned’s body in a winding sheet, Trudy patted Swen on the arm, murmured her thanks through her tears and left. Since Anna lingered by the chest, he dumped out the water Trudy had used, then refilled the basin from the kettle on the hearth. He pulled a stool close to the workbench, and waited for Anna.
It seemed to him that she hesitated to join him. Finally, though, he heard the key click in the lock.
“You need not stay, milord,” she said as she joined him. “I’m fine now, and as I’m sure you could see, I’m quite strong enough to manage this on my own.” She gathered together her glorious hair and tied it back with a strip of leather. “I don’t know what William was thinking, asking you to help me with the heavy work.”
William’s intentions seemed clear to him, but if Anna didn’t recognize what he’d been up to, Swen didn’t intend to enlighten her.
Especially given her present mood; she looked capable of defending herself quite handily in word or deed, should the need arise.
Swen drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he found Anna in this mood even more appealing.
For his own safety, the situation called for discretion. “Perhaps William simply wanted me to help Trudy, and to ease your way through this difficult task. I doubt he intended any insult to you.”
Anna grimaced. “Why must you be so reasonable, milord? It makes it most difficult to work up a grudge against you,” she added with a rueful chuckle.
“I have no intention of angering you,” he said, fighting back a smile. “And you should not call me ‘milord’—I’m no nobleman. Swen will do, if you wish.”
She took up a cloth and dipped it into the basin. “Are you not? Your horse and trappings are very fine, and William seemed impressed to learn of your association with the dragon person you mentioned.”
Dragon person? Swen could not help but chuckle when he considered Lord Ian’s reaction to that description! It had seemed to him that Lord Ian ap Dafydd, Prince Llywelyn of Wales’ Dragon, was renowned far and wide for his fierceness as the prince’s enforcer. Certainly William knew of him.
Anna must live an even more sheltered life than he’d realized.
