her heart. Tears spilled from her eyes as she reached down and adjusted the woolen blankets shrouding the battle-marred bodies of the dead guards.
Trudy placed two winding sheets alongside them. “Ye need not do this, mistress. Nay, you should not even be here. We’re here to serve you, not t’other way ‘round. Especially with such work as this. Father Abbot would ne’er approve.” She took a deep breath and wiped away her own tears, moved to the forge and hefted an iron kettle from the coals. “Ned’s my man, mistress,” she said as she poured the water into a shallow basin and carried it to the workbench. “’Tis a hard task, sorrowful. But it must be done. ‘Tis my place to ready him for burial.”
Anna dropped the cloth she’d held clutched in her hand into the basin and met the woman’s steady gaze. Trudy wanted to do this last task for her husband, she could see it in her eyes. ’Twas not her place to deprive her of these last moments with her husband to satisfy her own sense of guilt.
She reached out and gave Trudy’s work-worn hands a squeeze. “Aye, you’re right. But are you certain there’s nothing 1 can do to help you?”
“Ye’re a good lass, Mistress Anna. I thank you for offerin’,” Trudy said, sniffling again. “But ‘twould be best if ye just leave me to it.”
Anna walked around the table, paused to steady her racing heart, then forced herself to raise the edge of the blanket and look at the other guard’s face. “What of Pawl? He has no wife to ready him for his final journey. Shall I bring his mother here, guide her crippled hands as she prepares her only son for the grave? Or should I stand beside his orphaned daughters—little more than babes—and watch as they wash his life’s blood from his body?”
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,