The Shielded Heart

He shifted in the saddle. If she did not cease her no-doubt unwitting assault soon, he suspected he’d embarrass them both with his body’s enthusiastic reaction when he dismounted.

Swen looked about as they rode out of the trees. The village stood in the midst of a wide clearing, surrounded by a crude wooden palisade. The expanse between the wall and the forest was filled with tilled fields, most already harvested from the look of them, with a few rough-hewn animal pens along either side of the gate into the village.

As soon as William led them into the open, the workers toiling in the fields abandoned their tasks and began to hurry toward them, shouting greetings as they made their way across the uneven ground. But their cries of welcome turned to wails of alarm once the injured guards and the packhorses with their grievous burden came fully into view.

A woman, skirts kilted to her knees, ran ahead of the others. “Ned?” she called, her voice aquiver. Eyes frantic, she scanned the cluster of horses as they drew near.

“Damnation,” William muttered. Grim-faced, he halted his mount and leapt from the saddle into her path.

“Where’s my Ned?” she demanded, though she gave William no chance to reply. Despite his attempts to hold her back, she squirmed past him. Her gaze lit upon a worn pair of boots sticking out from beneath the blanket-wrapped body atop one of the packhorses. “William, ‘tis not…”

William turned to her. “I’m sorry, Mistress Trudy.”

“Nay!” Sobbing, she clasped the guard’s feet to her chest with one hand and tugged at the blanket with the other.

“Here now, you don’t want to do that.” William grabbed for her, but she pulled free of his hold. Wrapping her arms about the body, she laid her face against the horse’s coarse coat and began to wail.

Anna gathered up the trailing hem of her cloak and pushed it aside. “Trudy, nay,” she cried as she grasped the high pommel of her saddle to dismount.

Swen slid from his mount to help Anna down, but before he could reach her, her feet became entangled in her skirts and she began to slip sideways.

Heart pounding wildly, he lunged for her, capturing her against his chest as she fell. She rested in his hold for a moment, a warm and welcome burden, then squirmed free in a flurry of fabric.

“Have a care, mistress.” Reluctant to let her go, he steadied her on her feet.

“Thank you, milord,” Anna murmured, then hurried to the grieving woman, eased her away from the body and bent to enfold her in her arms. She peered over Mistress Trudy’s shoulder and met Swen’s gaze, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Swen turned away from their grief, for there was naught he could do to ease it.

He could, however, do his best to see that no more of her people came to harm.

He took up Anna’s reins along with his own and led the horses to William’s side. “’Tis not my place to tell you your business,” he said to the older man, scanning the thick trees surrounding the fields. “But I think ‘twould best serve your mistress to move her and the others inside the village without delay.”

William nodded. “Aye, milord, you’ve the right of it, I trow.” He rubbed his gloved hand over his mouth, his gaze sharp as he, too, eyed the dark menace of the forest. “Do you feel it, then—eyes watchin’ us?”

“Aye. Sharp as a dagger’s point against my back,” he added, fighting the urge to twitch his shoulders and erase the sensation.

“Come on, all o’ you,” William ordered. He climbed back into the saddle. “’Tis past time, most like, to get within the walls.”

Swen led the horses to where the women stood, Anna still helping to support Mistress Trudy with an arm about her shoulders. “I’m sorry for your loss, mistress,” he told Trudy. “Your Ned fought brave and true.”

With a sniff and a swipe of her sleeve over her eyes, she stepped away from Anna and straightened her gown. “I thank you, milord,” she said, her voice faint but firm. “Ned always did his duty.”

“Here, ladies, I’ll help you up,” Swen said, standing next to Anna’s mount and cupping his hands.

Anna stepped back. “You first, Trudy.”

“Nay, mistress, you go on.” Though her lips trembled and her eyes remained glazed with tears, she squared her shoulders and took the packhorse’s lead rein from the guard who held it. “I’ll walk wi’ Ned.”

“I understand,” Anna murmured. She laid her hand on Trudy’s shoulder for a moment, then allowed Swen to help her into the saddle. He handed her the reins and, mounting, followed the others into Murat.

William ordered the gates closed and guarded, then marshaled his men outside the stable to give them their orders. Swen dismounted and gazed about him with curiosity. In the months since he’d arrived in Wales he’d yet to see inside the walls of a town, having stayed within castle walls for the most part.

Murat appeared much like most other villages he’d seen, both in his native Norway and on his journey through Scotland and England on the way to Prince Llywelyn’s court in Wales—a series of cotters’ huts along a main street, several barns and large buildings and an assortment of crude sheds ranged along the palisade wall. The cluster of well-made stone and timber buildings at the far end of the wide street caught his eye, though, as did the cloud of smoke rising into the sky from a large stone chimney in their midst.

It looked far neater and more organized than any smithy he’d ever seen.

The sudden clatter of hammer against metal coming from behind the stable told him where the blacksmith plied his craft.

Mayhap ’twas no smithy after all. Swen turned away with a shrug. No matter, Murat was small; whatever the strange buildings’ purpose, he’d learn it soon enough.

He looked about for Anna, but she’d disappeared into the group of villagers as soon as she’d dismounted. She hadn’t returned.

Though why should she? This was her home; she’d no reason to linger outside the stable with him. After watching him lay about with knives and fists the night before, wearing a half-wit’s grin on his face, no doubt, she could hardly be blamed for wanting to be quit of him.

Still, he wished for her presence, even as he knew ’twas better that he spend no more time with her. Now that he remembered she’d been in his dreams—although the dreams themselves were naught but a blur in the back of his mind hinting of danger—he’d be best served to make his farewells and leave Murat.

Leave before the dreams he’d already had became clearer in his thoughts.

Or before he dreamed of her again.

But he feared the plan even now taking shape within his foolish mind would keep him firmly rooted here.

Because for the first time in his life, the desire to stay was stronger than his fear of what might happen if he didn’t go.

William came striding toward him, a welcome distraction from his pondering. “What? No one’s taken your mount for you?”

Swen looked down at the reins, still held tight in his hand, and shook his head.

“Here, milord, Owen’ll take him.” A young boy stood just inside the stable doorway despite William motioning him forward, his eyes wide as he stared at Swen.

“Come along now, lad,” William said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “They’re big, I grant you, but neither the man nor his beast will do you harm.”

Still Owen hesitated within the stable.

William shook his head. “Beg pardon, milord. We’re far from the world here, and most of the folk hereabouts live simple lives. The boy thinks you’re a giant or some such creature, most like.” He reached over and took the reins from Swen. “Owen, this brave knight saved Mistress Anna from as fierce a pack o’ brigands as it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. We could not have beaten them without his help. Will you reward his courage with a show of cowardice?”

Swen wondered he did not hear the gulp of air Owen took—for courage, no doubt—before the boy moved out of the doorway. Owen took three steps into the open, planted his feet square in the dust and held out his hand as though he expected to lose it. His eyes, if anything, appeared wider than before as he stared at Swen, but his gaze and stance did not falter.

Swen reclaimed the reins from William, led the huge black stallion toward the boy and placed the reins in Owen’s outstretched hand. “Here, lad—see you care for Vidar well,” he said, speaking the accented words slowly so Owen would be sure to understand him. “Don’t let his size frighten you. He’s sweet-natured.” He nudged the horse with his shoulder. “Aren’t you, old fellow?” Swen stepped back. “He especially likes it if you scratch right here;” He pointed to the area just below Vidar’s ears. “Rub him down well, and you’ll gain a new friend.”

Owen stroked Vidar’s velvety muzzle. “Aye, milord. I’ll take good care o’ him.”

Swen nodded and turned to William. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course. I figured to bring you along to my home. My wife’ll see you fed. We can talk then.” He led the way toward the odd cluster of buildings at the end of the street.

They passed through an open door in the palisade side of the largest building into a tidy hall. A sturdy trestle table and benches marched down the center of the room, and a beautifully carved wooden rack held several shelves of plates and drinking vessels—and pride of place—against the far wall. Fresh rushes and herbs crunched underfoot, releasing a crisp scent to mix with the homey smells of bread and cooked meat. Swen drew in a deep breath and released it with a bittersweet sigh.