The Hidden Heart by Sharon Schulze

I speak with you alone, without Talbot’s knowledge.”
    Gone was the imploring tone, the heated glance, in its place a cool, impersonal courtesy.
    â€™Twas what she wanted, was it not?
    Why, then, did she feel a wave of sadness sweep over her, and moisture begin to pool in her eyes?
    Blinking back the tears, she laid her needlework in her lap and gazed unseeing at the pattern of vines outlined on the linen scrap. “I see now that I should have agreed to your request, milord, rather than summarily refuse to speak with you.” More composed now, she risked a glance at his face.
    He appeared no more willing to look at her than she to watch him. Perhaps they might get through this interview without further mishap, emotions intact.
    Emotions hidden, ’twas what she really meant, she reminded herself. Her emotions, at any rate.
    What Rannulf might feel, she no longer cared to know.
    â€œPlease, tell me what you wished to speak to me about. The hour grows late, and we must go down for supper soon.”
    Rannulf paced the length of the solar, coming to a halt in front of her and clearing his throat. “Talbot doesn’t know I’ve been here before.”
    â€œDoes it matter if he does?”
    â€œIt might.” He resumed pacing, sending her nerves jittering.
    â€œSit 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.”
    â€œYour godfather, Lord William—”
    â€œI know who my godfather is,” she cut in. His voice sounded strange. Could he be nervous?
    â€œLord 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?”
    â€œYou 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—
    â€œWhat 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.
    â€œMayhap 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.
    â€œI 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