The Shielded Heart

Despite the fact that they lodged at the opposite end of the village, far from the racket she’d made in the night, they didn’t appear to have slept much either, she noted as she scanned the chapel’s occupants. The attack had not just taken away two members of the community, but it had heightened the sense of threat to everyone in the town as well. The villagers wore their concern drawn tight about them, like a mantle held close against the cold.

Father Michael must have journeyed through the night to have reached the village so quickly. He’d come well guarded by a troop of seasoned fighters, men who seemed as frightening to her as those who’d attacked her party.

As Siwardson had warned, he was still here. He stood with William and Bess near the rear of the chapel. He met her gaze and nodded to her, sending a chill down her spine. She drew in a sharp breath and spun on her heel to face the altar.

She let the words of the Mass flow around her, the soothing cadence lulling her overburdened mind into an almost dreamlike state. Here was the peace she sought.

Too bad it would not last.

She started when she looked up and found the abbot standing before her, ready to give her Communion. Her mind still adrift, she opened her mouth to accept the Host, then drank from the chalice he offered. Lowering her gaze, she attempted to bring her thoughts back in line with the solemn ritual.

For the remainder of the Mass she focused her attention on her surroundings, hoping that she could regain the sense of well-being she’d lost the past few days. Mayhap listening to Father Michael might help her regain her gift. His faith in God and the Church was deep and true; she could not help but be inspired by him.

William came up to her outside the church once the Mass had ended. “Will you join the abbot and me at my house, lass? Everyone’ll be there. Bess and some of the other women have made enough food for an army, been slaving away at the hearth since daybreak. Father Michael wants to speak with us alone before he heads back to the abbey. We can go up into Bess’ solar and be private there.”

“Does he want to see us right now?” she asked, sensing a reprieve from the villagers’ questions and expressions of concern. They meant well, she knew, yet her emotions felt too new to run that gauntlet now.

“Aye, he wants to leave as soon as he can after the ‘pleasantries,’ as he calls ‘em, are over.” He hitched up his belt and looked behind him, sending a fiery glare at one of the abbot’s guards who stood nearby. He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice. “I’d just as soon have the men he brought with him out of here, at any rate. I don’t trust ‘em at all.” He took her arm in his meaty fist and led her toward the street. “I’d just as soon see you safe to my house, mistress, if you don’t mind.”

With William at her side Anna made it through the crowd gathered in his hall with little difficulty. Bess passed them as they headed for the stairs at the back of the room, gifting them with a smile and a promise to bring food and more drink to them so soon as she could.

Bess’ solar was at the top of the house, a long, narrow chamber fitted under the eaves, with shuttered windows, now opened wide, at either end of the room. Seated in simple chairs at opposite sides of the trestle table in the center were Father Michael and Swen.

Anna hesitated in the doorway, grabbing at William’s sleeve to keep him from entering the room. “Why is Siwardson here?” she whispered. “He has no business with us, nor with the abbot.”

“Actually, lass, he does, a proposition that could affect us all. Be a good lass, now, and come along.” Since she still held his sleeve in her hand, William tugged her right into the room with him.

Swen stood and offered her his chair. Anna glared at him, but could see no way to refuse it without appearing churlish. She nodded her thanks, sat down and settled her skirts about her. With her hands folded on the table, Anna waited for someone to explain what this was about.

William pulled a bench up to the table for Swen, then went around the table to sit opposite him. “Shall we get started then, Your Eminence?”

“Of course.” Father Michael toyed with the goblet in front of him on the table, but he did not pick it up to drink. Anna stared at him, impatient to learn what he had to say.

And why Swen Siwardson had to be present to hear it.

Swen watched as the abbot squirmed beneath Anna’s expectant look. He couldn’t decide if the elderly cleric was afraid of her, or if a woman’s presence made him uncomfortable. Despite Father Michael’s calling, he was still a man, after all.

Lord knew, Anna made him uncomfortable, Swen thought, stifling a chuckle.

But more likely ’twas the way Anna stared at Father Michael, as though waiting for some word from God Himself, that played havoc with the man’s composure. That was more than anyone should have to bear.

The abbot was not at all like Swen had expected, after hearing Anna’s tale of how she’d come to be in the abbey’s possession. Although she’d told him that it was the previous abbot who’d accepted her—as their chattel, from the sound of it—he’d assumed Father Michael must be of a similar disposition, most likely a worldly, venal man.

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