The Hidden Heart

When his wandering attention returned to Gillian, he shrugged. “And why would I follow you here of all places, milady?” he asked. Though he kept his tone light, he added a taunting edge to his voice that sent a flush of color into Gillian’s pale cheeks. “Your guardian sent me to fetch you back to the keep, ’tis all.”

“Does he think to lock me away within the castle walls like some helpless damsel?” She stirred into motion, pacing away from him, her fingers going to the hilt of her eating dagger. She looked as though she’d like to draw the blade and spit someone with it—himself, most like.

He suppressed a chuckle at the image. Aye, that would be a sight to stir any man!

And why not rouse her anger further? He found Gillian de I‘Eau Clair difficult to resist under any circumstances, but when she had that soft, remembering look in her sparkling green eyes as he’d peered at her reflection in the pool, ’twas all too easy to give in to the compulsion to join her there. They’d both be better off sniping and snapping at each other.

And that way, there’d be no chance he’d give himself away before Nicholas Talbot, as he’d so nearly done too many times the day before.

At least if Gillian were angry with him, she’d do her best to avoid him.

Aye, he could not ask for a better plan.

“You, a helpless damsel?” he mocked. “How could he ever make that mistake?” Taking his time, he joined her at the water’s edge, then followed her when she stalked past him toward the trees. “You’re about as helpless as a she-wolf. If the king had known anything about you, he’d never have bothered to send you a guardian.”

He’d swear her eyes glistened with tears before she turned her back to him, her knuckles white as they tightened about the dagger.

It felt as though she’d stabbed that blade deep into his heart, but he kept at it.

“Did you know that Ella took Talbot to task yesterday when he asked why you had not come to help us bathe?” The morning sun fell on her hair where it hung below her veil, igniting the fiery locks with warmth, momentarily distracting him from his purpose. He shook his head and forced himself to forge on. “She told him you were an innocent maiden whom she’d protect to the death, most like, should he seek to change your state.” He gave in to temptation and reached for the end of her braid, tugging until she turned to face him. “Interesting that she doesn’t know the truth.”

“What truth is that, milord?” Gone was any hint of tears, her eyes instead alight with righteous anger. “That you took my innocence—here, in this very spot?”

He nearly glanced over his shoulder to the grassy bank she referred to, but that would be an act of monumental stupidity. Better he keep his eyes fixed upon Gillian’s face, Gillian’s anger, for ’twould serve to remind him why he’d led them down this path. Instead he released her hair and folded his arms across his chest. “Did I?”

Rannulf leveled a measuring look upon her, till she wanted to squirm beneath that cool, dark gaze. She realized her fingers had nigh gone numb from clutching her knife, and eased her grip. Did he realize, she wondered, how close she’d come to drawing the blade? Merely to keep him away, of course.

’Twas a mistake to let down her guard, she saw at once, for he stepped nearer to her, forcing her to retreat. “Did I indeed?” he asked.

She pressed her back against the rough trunk of an ancient oak and raised her chin in challenge. “Do you deny I was a virgin when you took me to your bed?”

He gave an aborted laugh and reached out to tug once again on a lock of her hair hanging loose over her shoulder. “My bed?” He wound the end around his wrist as he’d done the day before, bringing his captive hand ever closer to her breast, even as his eyes held hers hostage. He leaned so near, his words brushed her lips.

Though she knew she should try to free herself, Gillian could not make her reluctant body obey the dictate of her mind, could scarcely draw breath for fear of pulling him nearer still.

“There was no bed involved, as I recall, save the one we fashioned from my tunic and your bliaut.” His stubbled cheek grazed her face from temple to chin, sending a shiver down her spine. “I’ll never forget the sight of your hair glowing in the sun—” He released her hair and trailed his freed hand along its length, his knuckles coasting over her shoulder in the barest of caresses. “And the shadow here...”

She jerked away before his wandering fingers could settle against her bosom, but he trapped her hand in his.

His fingers intertwined with hers and he tugged her into his arms. “Gillian,” he breathed against her lips. His touch gentle, he wrapped her into his embrace.

He’d slipped off her veil before she realized what he was about, and buried his fingers in the mass of her hair, loosening her braid and sliding his hands up through the wavy mass to cradle her face.

Her eyes drifted closed, her breath caught on a sob as he nuzzled her cheek, pressed his body against hers in a caress devastating in its tenderness. Force she might have withstood, but this gentle assault proved beyond her will to resist.

She opened her eyes to stare into the familiar brown depths of Rannulf’s questioning gaze, lost herself in the web of desire he wove around them so effortlessly, watched as he lowered his lips to hers slowly, so slowly she could feel his touch before their mouths met.

Warmth flowed from his lips to her heart, set up a sense of loss so deep it spilled over into tears that flowed down her cheeks even as her lips clung to Rannulf’s.

He gasped against her mouth, his hand sliding up her cheek to capture a teardrop, then slowly stepped away. He fixed his gaze somewhere beyond her shoulder and drew in a deep breath. “Forgive me. I hadn’t intended to touch you.”

Before her disbelieving gaze he cast off the languor of desire and resumed the mantle of warrior—or tormentor. Somehow all emotion drained away from his features, leaving behind a shell of the man she’d seen.

The man she’d known so long ago.

“You’ve grown even more lovely these years past, milady. I don’t suppose you’d care to pick up where we left off back then, would you?” he asked, his mouth curved into an insolent grin. “If we’re careful enough, Talbot need never know.”

She had the knife free of its sheath before her stunned brain could form the words to curse him straight to hell where he belonged.

Grin still intact, Rannulf eased away from her, one hand held in front of him as though to ward her off. “No one need know you’re no longer a maiden. I wouldn’t want to harm your chances of making a decent marriage, although with a dowry such as yours, combined with your beauty, I doubt most men would care.”

Gillian drew in a gasp of air and, knife upraised, snatched her skirts into her free hand and charged after him. “Whoreson knave,” she growled, stalking him as he backed through the trees toward his mount. “Get you gone, else I’ll gut you where you stand.”

He believed her threat, it seemed, for he spun on his heel and leapt into the saddle. “Let me know if you change your mind, milady,” he called, gathering the reins and nudging the stallion into motion. “At any time.”