The Hidden Heart

by Sharon Schulze

  He walked up to her as soon as she passed through the gate, reaching for the basket she carried on her arm and calling for a servant to come take it for her.

  She refused to release it. “No, milord,” she said, waving away the maid and tugging on the handle until Rannulf let go of it. “What’s inside is far too valuable.” She turned her face away from him. “And you, sir, are far too high-handed. How dare you order my servants in my presence?”

  He took her by the arm and turned her toward him. “Your guardian wishes to see you at once, milady. I suggest you come with me now.”

  “You didn’t seem to be in such a hurry earlier. Nor as considerate of me, either. What’s brought about this change? Were you distracted from your duty, perhaps?” She shook her head. “Nay, that couldn’t be the reason. I haven’t the power to divert your attention from anything,” she snapped. “Though it appeared to me that your master’s command was the last thing on your mind then.” She met his narrowing gaze fully, her own expression thoughtful. “I wonder what he’d have to say if I were to tell him—”

  “Enough!” he snarled. His fingers tight about her forearm, he resisted the urge to haul her along after him and instead led her in a calm fashion to a sheltered spot beneath the wall and blocked her from view with his body. But his voice when he spoke again was far from calm, though he spoke in a whisper. “Are you mad, Gillian, to even consider telling him about this mom? About everything?” He eased his grip, though he did not release her. “Because you’d have to confess it all before you were through, I have no doubt. He’s already your guardian by the king’s order. How much power do you want him to have over you?” he demanded. “I don’t even know how much control he has over me.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “By the rood, you make me daft! Neither of us knows what he’s capable of doing.”

  “He’s your overlord. Don’t you know?” she asked, her eyes sharp with curiosity.

  He shook his head. “I managed to avoid meeting him until I was ordered to come here with him. I know little of Talbot, save that he’s King John’s crony.” Absently smoothing down his hair, he added, “That alone is cause for concern, wouldn’t you say?”

  She lifted his hand from her arm, her face pale. “There is much going on here that you’ve not told me, Rannulf, of that I’m certain.” She shook out her skirts and adjusted the basket on her arm. “I’ll go with you now to see Lord Nicholas, but only if you swear you’ll explain this situation to me more fully later.” She grasped his arm. “And soon. I’ll not be put off for long, or I’ll be forced to reconsider going along with your initial request.” Leaning closer, her gaze holding his as surely as her hand held him there, she added, “I mean it, Rannulf. You owe me that much, at least.”

  He weighed her request—and her sincerity. She’d follow through, he knew, for once set upon a course, Gillian seldom wavered. “You’ve my word, if you’ll trust it.”

  “I will, so long as you give me no reason to change my mind.”

  “Agreed.”

  His mind awhirl, he took her by the elbow, as custom dictated, and led her through the bailey and into the keep. They discovered Sir Henry and Will seated at a table in the hall, a pitcher of ale between them.

  Sir Henry turned on the bench and eyed them as they trod sedately across the room. “Now isn’t this a pretty sight?” he murmured when they halted by the table.

  Rannulf released Gillian at once; she sent Sir Henry a look fit to slay a lesser man.

  Will sloshed the last of the ale into his cup and chuckled. “‘Tis milady Gilles, I vow, finally come to enchant her guardian,” he teased, saluting her with the ale before downing the draft. He glanced up at Rannulf, a frown replacing his grin. “Took you long enough to bring her back, milord. Mayhap you should have sent someone who knows the lay o’ the land to seek her out.”

  “Since I found her, I’d say I know it well enough.” Rannulf couldn’t quite keep a menacing note from his voice. Will hadn’t wanted to go along with the ruse that Rannulf was a stranger to them; only the fact that Sir Henry—and Gillian—had ordered it so could compel his obedience.

  ’Twas clear to Rannulf that the other man suspected him of something—exactly what, he could not say. If he hadn’t known better, he might have believed that Will, Gillian’s lifelong friend, was jealous.

  But he knew, better than any of them, that there was nothing to be jealous of.

  For despite any lingering feelings he might harbor for Gillian, Rannulf knew just how unlikely it was that Gillian felt anything for him but hatred.

  He’d certainly done everything he could think of to ensure that end.

  Sir Henry thumped his mug down on the table and stood. “Come along, then, children.” He hitched up his braes and settled his belt around his middle with a sigh. “We’ve kept his lordship waiting long enough, I’d imagine. We don’t need him growing too curious about the goings-on here, now do we?”

  After asking where her guardian could be found, Gillian led the way to the small, well-appointed chamber that had been her father’s sanctuary, her expression tinged with sorrow, to Rannulf’s mind. It must be difficult for her to see another in her father’s place.

  She knocked, and Talbot bid her enter. Rannulf, Sir Henry and Will trooped in after her, her two men ranging themselves on a bench by the door while she and Rannulf took seats at the narrow table in the middle of the room.

  Gillian arranged her skirts about her, folded her hands in her lap and waited.

  The perfect picture of a lady, Rannulf thought, hiding a smile. Ah, if Talbot only knew the truth of the matter....

  Gillian glanced at her guardian, standing at the table’s head—her father’s place—and forced her sense of resentment deep. Lord Nicholas was only doing his duty, she reminded herself, as his overlord—their overlord, in fact—had ordered him to do. For all she knew, Talbot had no more desire to command I’Eau Clair, to be saddled with a ward, than she had for him to do so.

  He’d already commandeered her father’s chair, she noted when he resumed his seat after gifting her with a polite bow. Though Talbot stood as tall as her father had, he lacked her father’s bulky frame and did not present her father’s imposing presence.

  And certainly not as impressive a presence as ’twas clear—to her, at least—he thought he did.

  Or perhaps he hoped he did. Though she’d had scant opportunity as yet to observe him, what she had noticed about her guardian thus far led her to a rather strange, and no doubt completely false, conclusion.

  To her it appeared that Lord Nicholas was playing a role.

  He wore his fine clothes with a natural grace, and carried himself with an almost challenging arrogance—as if he dared anyone to think him less than what he seemed. But she’d watched him carefully at supper the evening before, and it looked to her as if he observed everyone else nigh as closely as she did him.

  It could be natural curiosity, she supposed, or a suspicious nature, but...she didn’t know him. She’d do well to guard herself and her secrets m Lord Nicholas’s presence.

  In his vassal’s presence as well, she reminded herself as she glanced across the table at Rannulf.

  “I’m sorry for the delay, milord,” Rannulf said. “Lady Gillian was busy in the village when I ran her to ground.” Ran her to ground—did he think her his quarry? She resisted the urge to grimace. “I brought her back as soon as her tasks were finished.”

  Gillian darted another look at Rannulf when he uttered that patent falsehood, but his face, his eyes, bore an expression of complete sincerity.

  Interesting, the skills he’d acquired in recent years.

  It seemed that Talbot believed him, at any rate, for he nodded his acceptance. Leaning forward, he picked up a map from the stack of parchments littering the table and pushed it toward them. “Come join us,” he told Sir Henry and Will, then waited while they dragged the bench to the end of the table opposite him and resumed their seats. “I understand from what the kin
g told me that you’ve had trouble with raids and attacks about the demesne?”

  “Aye, milord,” Sir Henry said. He squinted down at the map. ‘Here—’ he pointed to a small farm high in the hills on the far western. edge of her lands ”—and in several places along the northern border here,” he said as he drew his finger over a dark, winding line near the top of the drawing.

  “They never do much damage,” Will added. “But enough people have come to harm—two injured badly enough that they died of their wounds—that ’tis difficult to work the lands away from the castle itself. We haven’t enough men to mount guards everywhere we’ve work to do and our people are fearful whenever their duties take them away from the keep.”

  Talbot stood, pulled the parchment closer and turned it about to study it. ’Did you take any guards with you to the village, milady?” he asked.

  Startled by his question, she glanced up at him. “Of course not.” His violet gaze held an unexpected look of censure. “’Tis just down the track. What harm could come to me there, in my own village?”

  Placing his hands palms down on the pile of documents, he leaned toward her, his handsome visage set in stern lines. “I doubt you so ignorant that you’re unaware of your worth, Lady Gillian. All it would take to threaten your safety—and that of all who dwell here—would be for a few brawny men to drag you from the road and haul you into the forest. No one would even know you were gone till the ransom demand arrived, most like—a demand that we turn over I’Eau Clair in exchange for you.” He straightened and settled his hands upon his hips. “I have no desire to explain to the king why I traded this holding to ensure your safe return because of your imprudent behavior. From this moment on, you’re not to leave these walls unescorted.”

  Gillian rose to her feet and met his eyes. “That is impossible, milord,” she said low-voiced, not bothering to disguise her outrage. “I am lady of this keep. I have a duty to my people, and I will not allow you to keep me from it.”

  “Lady Gillian,” Sir Henry said, his tone sharper than she’d ever heard him speak to her. Unwilling to cede control to Talbot for so much as a moment, she kept her gaze fixed on her guardian. “He’s the right of it, child. You know that as well as I.”

  “And how am I to go about my duties, then? Drag a troop of guards down the hill to the village every time I’ve a sick child to attend in the middle of the night? Or never go beyond the castle walls?” She dared a glance over her shoulder at her men, both of whom refused to look at her, and spun on her heel to confront them. “You agree with him, don’t you?” It was obvious they did. Swallowing her disgust—and her hurt—she moved away from the table and turned her back on them all. “I’m surprised you’ve tolerated my command these past few months, for I’m clearly not fit to lead.”

  “You’ve not done so bad,” Will said quietly. “But you cannot do everything, milady. Your father never expected that of you. Lord Nicholas speaks truly. You cannot continue to take such risks.”

  Gillian closed her eyes for a moment, glad they could not see the pain on her face. Aye, her father had had other plans for her, plans that included a busband to share the welcome burden of I’Eau Clair. Why he’d never sought beyond the man sitting silently behind her for her mate, she could not say.

  Or perhaps he had, but had left no proof of his quest.

  Whatever her father had in mind for her, she could guess he’d not intended to leave her so unprotected.

  Wondering about her father’s plans solved nothing now, however. She’d be better served to face her guardian and discover what he had in mind.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Gillian spun and returned to her place at the table, although she remained on her feet. “Have you a plan to solve this problem, Lord Nicholas?”

  Talbot sat down and leaned back in the chair, his expression pensive. “Aye, Lady Gillian, I believe I do.” He toyed with the map, turning it about and staring at it for a moment before raising his gaze to Rannulf. “FitzClifford shall be your guard when you wish to leave the keep, if I’m not available.” Stifling a gasp, Gillian dropped onto her seat lest her shaking legs betray her completely. “You need not fear for your safety when he’s about, milady, for he’s a prodigious fighter.” For the first time since they’d entered the room, Talbot smiled. “What say you, Lady Gillian? Will that meet with your approval?”

  Under Lord Nicholas’s questioning gaze, what complaint could she possibly raise? It seemed she had no choice but to accept.

  But she didn’t have to like it, nor did she have to remain in Rannulf presence for another moment.

  Gathering her skirts, Gillian rose and curtsied to her guardian. “Aye, milord, your plan should solve the problem. Pray excuse me,” she added, then headed to the door without waiting for permission to leave.

  Once she’d shut the portal behind her, she slumped back and pressed her cheek against the smooth wood.

  She’d never leave the keep again till they were gone, she vowed, for how else could she avoid being alone with Rannulf FitzClifford?

  Chapter Eight

  The next few days presented Gillian with plenty to occupy her within the keep as Talbot’s company and the people of I‘Eau Clair settled into a new routine—and into the command of a new regime. The adjustment proved tumultuous at times, for Gillian had reigned over the castle as chatelaine for several years, and since her father’s death had been the sole and final authority at I’Eau Clair.

  ’Twas a blessing she’d remained so busy, for it left her with little opportunity to ponder the consequences of Lord Nicholas’s command—and thus far, no reason to leave the confines of the castle walls.

  But such good fortune could not last forever, she knew. Sooner or later she would have to face Rannulf FitzClifford alone again.

  They met every day—every meal, at least—for ’twas impossible to completely avoid each other. It seemed to Gillian, however, that Rannulf was no more eager to be in her company than she to be in his.

  If Talbot but knew it, he could not have devised a more effective way to keep her within the confines of I’Eau Clair.

  Under Sir Henry’s direction, her guardian and his men rode the boundaries of her property, familiarizing themselves with the area and examining the defenses. This, too, kept her tied to the keep, for Talbot could scarce leave behind one of his best warriors simply to provide her with an escort.

  Of the raiders they found no sign. She hoped the addition of Talbot’s forces to her own would prove sufficient deterrent to whoever had been attacking them, and permit them the freedom to get on with their work.

  After a week’s time, Gillian felt as restless and frustrated as if she’d been living under siege. If she couldn’t escape the castle walls soon, she’d go mad. But when she asked for Lord Nicholas to accompany her, she was told he was too busy to do so. As much as she wished to avoid Rannulf—to avoid asking him for anything—she needed to go to the village to visit the sick. Though she cursed her ill luck, some tiny part of her couldn’t help but yearn to be with him again.

  Coward that she was, she sent Ella to request Rannulf’s company. Determined to prove to herself that he mattered not a whit to her, she wore her oldest tunic, drab but comfortable, and bundled her hair beneath a linen headrail. He’d find no haughty noble lady here—not in appearance, at any rate.

  She awaited him by the gate, her basket of simples slung over her arm. Though she’d been sorely tempted to don her sword, she couldn’t decide if he’d interpret that act as an attempt to mock his ability to protect her, or simply as something she’d do as a matter of course. There’d been a time not so long past when she had worn her sword regularly—and used it, too—and he knew it.

  But she’d rather not have to explain why she wore a man’s sword to her so-proper guardian. She doubted Lord Nicholas would understand that deviation from maidenly behavior, and he did seem to be a stickler for propriety.

  The sound of hooves against the flagstones roused her from her thoughts as Ra
nnulf rode toward her on his chestnut stallion. He reined in beside her, forcing her to crane her neck to look up at him. “Where is your mount?” he asked. He peered back toward the stables and frowned. “I thought Ella said you were ready to leave.”

  She bit back a sigh. “The village is so near, I’ve no reason to ride there. It’s not worth the bother to saddle a horse. Besides, when I go by myself, there’s usually no one to hold my mare while I’m busy.”

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” Leaning from the saddle, he reached down and hooked his arm about her waist. “My mount is strong enough to carry us both,” he added, then swept her up in front of him in the commodious saddle with surprising ease before she could do more than gasp in protest.

  ’Twould serve no purpose to oppose him, she thought, the memory of how his muscled arm felt clasped round her middle disturbing in ways she’d rather not explore. Even now, the heat of his body pressed to her side, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against her back, caused an odd flutter beneath her heart.

  Blessed Mary save her, she could not bear to feel these feelings once again....

  Especially not with Rannulf FitzClifford as their cause.

  But he’d not let her dismount, of that much she was certain. Best to present a calm front, go along with him and bring this torture to an end all the sooner.

  Resolved to endure, she shifted to sit more comfortably across the saddle bow. She had an excellent view of his handsome visage, of the freckles—faded now that he was a man grown—scattered over his lightly tanned face. She turned her attention to arranging her basket in her lap, lest she be tempted to gaze once more into the dark eyes she knew had focused on her face.

  He nudged the stallion into motion. They passed through the portcullis and over the drawbridge in a silence broken only by Rannulf’s greeting to the guard stationed at the top of the road leading down to the village. Once they’d passed the man, Rannulf spoke to her. “I suggest that the next time you ask me to accompany you, you bring your own mount.” He shifted in the saddle, managing to enfold her closer in his arms in the process. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to ride with me again,” he added, something in the low timbre of his voice sending a ripple of awareness vibrating through her.