The Hidden Heart

Copper threads shimmered, their brightness untarnished by years of handling. Gillian had done such a fine job of copying the circlet’s design, the resemblance was truly remarkable.

Although he knew the scent had long ago faded beyond detection, this time when he raised the favor to his lips he could almost imagine he smelled the essence of rose and lavender...Gillian’s fragrance.

He tucked the favor back into the pouch, but he could not elude the truth it represented.

No matter what he might say or do, or that he could never claim her, Gillian remained his lady, ever and always, the one truth hidden deep within his heart where it could not fade away.

Chapter Six

Gillian dragged the crude stool across the hard-packed dirt floor of the cotter’s daub-and-wattle hut and set it down next to her patient’s straw pallet. Rowena had given birth to a stillborn child the week before—the second child she’d lost—and despite Gillian’s best efforts to build up her strength with an elixir of healing herbs and good food from the castle kitchen, Rowena remained weak and pale upon her bed.

“How long, milady, ‘fore...you know, ’fore I can try again?” Rowena asked, her pale cheeks tinged pink. She peered into the cup of tonic Gillian handed her.

Although Rowena was no more than a year her senior, Gillian’s cheeks heated. She’d never had a female friend her own age to talk with about such things. But Rowena depended upon her to give her aid and advice, so she’d offer what she could.

“You know ’tis too soon to even be thinking of that,” she cautioned.

“‘Tis easy to see you’re a maiden still, milady,” Rowena said, her pale lips curled into a faint smile. “Else you’d know the men think o’ little else.”

“True as that may be, ’tis much too soon. Allow your body to mend, at least.” She stood and concentrated on gathering her simples together in her basket. “It may better your chance of carrying a live babe next time, if you’ve regained your strength beforehand.”

What must it be like, to carry a babe beneath your heart, tangible proof of the love you’d shared with your husband—your lover?

And to lose a child... Mayhap she was better off than she knew, to be yet unwed.

And like to stay that way, if her luck held. Lord Nicholas seemed unlikely to pledge her elsewhere, now that he’d seen what a fine holding he’d the governing of. He’d be a fool to let it slip from his grasp.

So long as he didn’t decide she should wed him herself, she thought with a grimace. Despite his handsome face and form, he didn’t appeal to her in the least.

Rannulf’s reasons for refusing her hand rose to her mind yet again. The mere image of his words upon the page sent a chill of loss and dread through her heart.

Perhaps she was not fit to be wife or mother at all.

She took up the basket of simples and rose to leave. “I’ll come again tomorrow,” she said, pausing by the door. “See that you take care of yourself.”

“I thank you for your help, milady,” Rowena said. “’Tis a fine mistress you are, to make time to care for such as me.” She settled back onto the pallet. “May God bless you and keep you safe.”

Touched, and uncertain how to respond, Gillian nodded and left the hut.

Many duties awaited her within the keep, especially now that their numbers had increased so dramatically. Evidently the king had received her request for aid, for Talbot had brought a sizable train with him—and supplies to help feed them, she’d been grateful to learn. But it was bound to take some time before they all settled into the new regime.

Her step lagged the closer she drew to the track leading up to the castle. Gillian stood and stared at the hum of activity, the people everywhere she looked, and knew she could not face them yet.

The pool in the nearby forest gave the castle its name. There, as she’d done so often in the past, she could escape for a little while, clear her mind and dream her dreams. It was exactly what she needed.

She turned and set off through the greening fields until she reached the edge of the forest. Her step growing lighter by the moment, she settled her basket of simples upon her arm, kilted up her trailing skirts to avoid the underbrush and wove her way through the trees.

Eventually she came to a clearing nestled deep within the older trees, an island of peace and beauty not visible from the castle walls. ’Twas a sylvan glade straight from ancient lore. A sparkling waterfall emptied into a small, flower-bedecked pool, blending its restful murmur with the solitude of the forest.

A smile upon her lips, Gillian set aside her basket under a towering fir and made her way over the smooth carpet of new grass and spring flowers to the moss-covered stones scattered around the edge of the water.

Perhaps here, in her childhood retreat, she might regain her composure, settle her thoughts.

She settled onto a mound of rocks beside the pool that formed a seat of sorts, and stared down into the water. Clearing her mind of all thought, all fear, she let it roam where it would.

But the journey she took in her mind’s eye was not one she’d have chosen to relive. ‘Twas Rannulf she saw there, a Rannulf younger than the man who’d arrived at I’Eau Clair the day before.

Younger in more than years, for that other Rannulf FitzChfford bore the glint of laughter in his eyes, and an expression of joy upon his handsome face. They’d been so happy that day, carefree and innocent. They’d escaped Lady Alys’s vigilance and gone seeking adventure and privacy. Closing her eyes, she felt again the warmth of his hand holding hers, heard the laughter in his voice as he led her headlong through the forest to this very glade.

The sun had shimmered on the water that day, sparking rainbows from the mist at the base of the falls, lending a magical glow to the air. How could she forget the cool water lapping against her body as she waded, clad only in her thin linen shift, into the depths of the pool, the heat of Rannulf’s gaze as he joined her there all she needed to warm her?

Opening her eyes, she reached down and trailed her fingertips through the water, sending ripples coursing over the smooth surface and distorting her reflection. She stared at the wavy surface until the water stilled, then started at the new image mirrored there.

“Rannulf!” she gasped, whirling to see if he was there behind her in truth, or naught but a creation of her imagination.

“Good day to you, milady.” He stepped away from her, but reached out a hand to steady her when she wavered on her rocky perch. The touch of his fingers on her arm was firm, impersonal... and lingered a moment too long for her peace of mind. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you would have heard me coming through the forest,” he said with a glance to where his huge chestnut warhorse stood tethered to a tree.

’Twas a wonder she hadn’t noticed, a measure of how deeply enmeshed she’d been in the past.

“What do you here, milord?” she asked, her voice as cold as she could make it, given the heated memories still lurking in her brain. “Are you lost?”

“Nay, Lady Gillian. I sought you in the village. When I couldn’t find you there, a lad told me he’d seen you head this way.”

“Are you following me, milord?” If that was his plan, for her own sanity she must set him from that path at once.

For how could she survive his constant presence, the continual reminder of what had been?

And what could be, whispered a taunting voice within her traitorous mind.

He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. “Following you? Why should I do that, milady?”

Gillian felt her temper flare. “I know of no reason, sir, none at all.” The trembling that had beset her since she noticed him behind her disappeared, replaced by a wave of determination.

She’d show him his error! She would not permit him to torment her any longer.

Her legs firm beneath her, she stood, shook out her skirts and threw back her shoulders in a deliberate display of bravado.

Rannulf held his ground in the face of her show of spirit, not out of any desire to flee, but rather to fight the urge to leap more fully into the fray. Dear God, but she was magnificent!

His arms ached to reach out to her, to enclose her in their grasp, to pull her flush against him and appease the hunger burning for satisfaction. Four years of yearning howled for appeasement, and though he knew ’twas impossible, his body refused to accept that answer.

He wanted her, not just to gratify a physical hunger, though his body throbbed with wanting. Nay, simply to feel the joy of Gillian held tight within his arms, to know he’d never have to give her up again... ’Twas a pleasure worth any price.

Except that of his honor.

And her safety.

Taking his time, he glanced about the glade, not permitting his gaze to linger anywhere, lest the memories of this place etched within his memory take control of his reason and destroy his will to resist them.