The Hidden Heart

“Sit down,” she told him. She waited until he drew the stool away from the doorway and took a seat. “You’d best explain yourself—and quickly, for we mustn’t linger here much longer.”

“Your godfather, Lord William—”

“I know who my godfather is,” she cut in. His voice sounded strange. Could he be nervous?

“Lord William asks that you and your people forget they ever saw me or knew aught of me. He does not wish Talbot to know I have any ties to I’Eau Clair.”

Her heart skipped a beat before settling into a faster pace. If only it were that easy to forget him! She drew in a deep breath and willed her pulse to slow to its normal rhythm, bit back the bitterness welling from deep within her before she spoke. “You have no ties to I’Eau Clair, milord. You saw to that yourself already.”

Rannulf glanced up sharply. “What do you mean?”

“You know very well, milord.” She tossed aside her sewing and clasped her hands together in her lap, restraining her own desire to leap up and pace the room.

She’d not give Rannulf the satisfaction of seeing her agitation. ’Twas bad enough to admit she’d seen—

“What do you mean, Gillian?” he demanded.

Her movements slow, as steady as she could manage, she stood and went to the large table pushed against the wall on the far side of the room. She fumbled with the ring of keys hanging from her belt, found the one she sought and unlocked the small, iron-bound coffer set near the back of the table. Reaching inside, she pulled out the betrothal contract.

The parchment clutched in her hand, all pretense of calm gone, she spun and hurried to stand before him.

“Mayhap I should ask you what you meant, milord,” she snarled, tossing the crumpled roll into his lap. He looked down at it and picked it up, but made no move to unroll the document. Instead he simply looked up at her, his dark eyes as blank, as emotionless, as his face. “But there’s no need to ask. Your words state your feelings clear enough.”

He glanced away for a moment, but when his gaze returned to her face, ’twas as expressionless as before. “The past matters not. Will you do as I ask?”

How could he say that? The past did matter. But now was clearly not the time to discuss it. So be it.

“I grant your request, Lord FitzClifford. I know not the reason, nor do I wish to know why we must keep our knowledge of you secret, but it shall be as Lord William requires. None here shall admit, or show by their actions, that they have ever seen you before. For the love and respect I bear my godfather, I shall do what you ask.” She picked up his tunic and belt from the bench and held them out to him. “Will you send Sir Henry to me immediately? It might be too late to inform my people, for they may have already revealed your secret.”

“We’ll simply have to hope all will be well.” Rannulf rose slowly to his feet and bowed. “I thank you for your generosity, milady. No doubt ‘tis more than I deserve.” He took his belongings from her and slipped the tunic over his head, then buckled his belt about his waist. “May I have my sword belt?” he asked, raising his left eyebrow. “Or did you plan to keep me weaponless until I leave I’Eau Clair?”

Temper seething at his baiting tone, Gillian peered behind the bench and found the sword on the floor.

He reached past her and picked it up by the scabbard. “I am no danger to you and yours, Gillian,” he said quietly. He straightened and took her hand. It took all her will not to snatch it free, especially when he captured her gaze with his. “I swear to you I am not.” He raised her hand to his lips and, turning it over, pressed a kiss to her palm.

He bowed, released her and turned to leave before she realized he’d not returned the parchment, but held it still in his left hand. “I’ll have that back, milord,” she said, pointing to the roll.

“’Tis of no value,” he said quietly. “I thought to be rid of it.”

She held out her hand. “It has meaning for me, milord. Pray return it.”

Rannulf set the parchment into her outstretched hand, but he would not meet her challenging gaze.

Clearly he must recall the words he’d written there.

Sword clutched in one hand, he made a formal bow. “I thank you for your patience with one who does not deserve it,” he murmured. “Adieu.”

He slipped from the room and closed the door before she could respond. ’Twas just as well, for his last statement had left her uncertain what she would have said.

Rannulf hurried down to the barracks in the ground floor of the keep, securing his sword belt around his waist as he went. He guessed he’d find Sir Henry there, or someone who’d know where the crusty old soldier might be. Gillian’s request dovetailed nicely with his own plans, as it happened.

He hadn’t lied when he’d told Talbot he needed to settle his men, either, though he’d scant time to take care of business before the call to supper.

Several of his men had been to I‘Eau Clair with him years ago. While he’d warned them before they set out on this ill-favored trek that they must pretend ’twas their first visit to the place, it would do no harm to remind them, now that they’d arrived, that they must be especially careful not to slip up in front of Talbot’s men when they encountered their old friends among the castle troops.

Actually, his men didn’t concern him so much as keeping Gillian’s people quiet did. He’d brought along a select cadre of his vassals on several of the tasks he’d performed for Pembroke, men he trusted. He knew he could count on them to guard their backs—and their tongues—no matter what the situation.

Fortune favored him for once as he discovered Sir Henry preparing to leave the barracks when he entered them. He met the other man’s respectful nod with one of his own. “A moment of your time, Sir Henry?”

“Aye, milord,” the soldier said, motioning for Rannulf to precede him into the corridor outside. “How can I be of service?”

“Lady Gillian wishes to speak with you at once in her solar,” Rannulf told him as they walked away from the barracks door.

“Does she now, milord?” Rannulf felt his face start to color beneath Sir Henry’s speculative gaze. “And how did you come to be her message boy, eh? You being a stranger here and all,” he added in a low voice, a spark of amusement lighting his sharp blue eyes.

“I’m merely doing a favor for her, nothing more.”

Sir Henry led Rannulf deeper into the shadow-filled corridor. “I know not what your game is, milord, but I’ll not give it away for the nonce.”

A relief to hear, though not completely a surprise. “I appreciated your silence earlier, ’tis true. Though I didn’t expect it.”

“Man’d have to be a half-wit not to realize something’s going on. You’d never greet my lady thus, so cold and indifferent, without a damned good reason. Christ’s bones, lad—” he nudged Rannulf in the ribs with his elbow “—you ran tame behind these walls for far too long to be treating us like strangers now, unless there’s some plot afoot.” When Rannulf didn’t respond, his stare became more intense. “You do have a reason, don’t you?”

“Aye. Several, though the only one that truly matters is that Pembroke wishes it so.” Of a certainty, that was the only reason he planned to give Sir Henry. Details of the situation between him and Gillian had remained private for this long—he had no intention of delving into them again now.

And certainly not with the man who’d been a mentor to him, and Gillian’s protector all her life.

At the least that way would cut short his stay at I’Eau Clair, if it didn’t bring his very existence to an abrupt end, he thought wryly.

“That Pembroke asks is reason enough for me,” Sir Henry said. “’Tis a shame he’s at odds with the king. Is that why John gave my lady into another’s keeping?”

“Aye,” Rannulf replied shortly. “Though I cannot tell you more now.”

“I’d be glad to hear more about it once we’ve a chance to share a pitcher of mead and the details.”

That he could do. “You shall have them as soon as we’re settled,” he agreed. He glanced out the narrow window above them and saw that the light was nearly gone. “You’d best hurry if you’re to see Gillian before supper.”

Sir Henry nodded. “Aye, I’ll get to it right away, milord. Though I’ve already warned our people to treat you and your men as strangers in our midst, same way we’ll treat Lord Talbot’s men till we come to know ’em better. Seemed wise to do so until I had the chance to hear just what was going on.”

“I thank you,” Rannulf said. “I know that’s one thing Gillian wanted to speak with you about. There could be more, so I’ll let you be on your way.”

To his surprise, Sir Henry clapped him on the back. “‘Tis glad I am to see you here again, milord. I don’t mind telling you, you’ve been sorely missed these years past. Your lady needs you now that her father’s gone, more than ever before. ’Tis good to see you where you belong.”

Before Rannulf could respond, the older man gave another nod and headed for the stairs, whistling under his breath.

Rannulf shook his head and tried not to let his evergrowing burden of guilt weigh him down further. “Ah, Sir Henry, if you only knew the truth,” he muttered. He turned back toward the barracks. Though I’m more glad than I can say that you do not.

He paused for a moment outside the door, reaching into the pouch on his belt, drawing forth a heavily embroidered riband and holding it up to the flickering torchlight.