The Hidden Heart by Sharon Schulze Page A

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.”
    â€œWe’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.
    â€œâ€™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.
    Â 
    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?”
    â€œAye, milord,” the soldier said, motioning for Rannulf to precede him into the corridor outside. “How can I be of service?”
    â€œLady Gillian wishes to speak with you at once in her solar,” Rannulf told him as they walked away from the barracks door.
    â€œDoes 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