The Hidden Heart (16 page)

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Authors: Sharon Schulze

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: The Hidden Heart
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“Aye. But perhaps if I'd turned away instead of fighting back, talking back, he'd still be alive.”
“But would any of you have survived?” She released his hands to grasp his shoulders, her face alight with determination. “He'd have killed you all before he was through, Rannulf, if not that day, then some other. He'd terrorized you all for so long. Why would he stop?”
“I've wondered that myself, as I've wondered about so many things tied to that day. What if I'd kept my mouth shut—would he have left them alone, would we have muddled through my visit without an outburst from him? I don't know.”
“There would have been another time, perhaps the next time you were there—or mayhap once you'd left—when he might have still done them harm. You cannot believe that he only behaved thus when you were there.” She slid her hands up to his neck, moved her fingers up over his shoulders, stroked them over the tense cords of his neck in a soothing caress. “They were lucky. If it had happened some other time, you wouldn't have been there to save them.”
“I've told myself that before,” he admitted. “Though it hasn't brought me a moment's ease, for it seemed naught but the excuse of a guilty man eager to find a way around the truth to his own benefit.”
“You're wrong,” she whispered. “Let it go, Rannulf. You've shared your burden with me. Let that sharing ease your mind, give you peace.”
“It's not that easy,” he told her, afraid to hope, to look beyond the past to a future that might include her after all. “There's so much you still don't know.”
Gillian watched Rannulf's face, saw the honesty, the integrity, he wore like a mantle around him, saw the shadows still lurking within his dark eyes and knew what she must do. “This is enough for now,” she said, her voice so soft he leaned close to hear her. But she could speak no louder; it took all her strength to ask the question she must. “All I need to know for now is, do you love me still?”
He brought his hands up to cup her face. “I've always loved you, Gillian—and I always will.”
Chapter Sixteen
 
 
G
illian and Rannulf slipped back into I'Eau Clair without being seen, and with Talbot, to all appearances, none the wiser that they'd begun to draw closer together.
Talbot kept Rannulf busy for the next few days as they explored the environs of I'Eau Clair with a thoroughness Rannulf found exhausting. They rode from one end of the demesne to the other, leaving Rannulf to fall into his lonely bed each night and dream of Gillian.
To dream of the next time they could be together.
'Twas just as well he had scant opportunity to see her, else he'd surely have given himself away. Her taste, the memory of her body pressed to his haunted him until he thought he'd go mad for want of her.
Three days after he showed Gillian the passageway to the pool, he led her through the corridor again.
They made the journey in silence, though their bodies, their eyes, told of their passion, their yearning to be together. Hands linked, they sat by the edge of the pool.
Rannulf slipped both hands beneath the weight of her hair, feathered his mouth in a gentle caress across her aching lips and stole his way deeper into her heart.
He loved her still.
Despite all that had come between them, she'd hoped against hope that it might be true, but she hadn't believed it would ever come to be. Tears slipped down her cheeks, balm to an aching heart that had never hoped to feel such joy again.
The tenderness of his touch, the racing of his pulse beneath her hand, spurred her passion, filled her entire being with a lightness and pleasure beyond her ability to express.
She'd not allow that lack to deter her, however. They had four lost years to reclaim, and she'd not waste a moment more.
She leaned into the warm strength of his chest, but 'twas not enough to satisfy the yearning to hold him tight, to press as close as possible to him.
She perched on his lap and wrapped her arms about him. He groaned and shifted her to settle more firmly on his thighs.
His mouth opened over hers and his tongue slipped out to tease along her lips, tracing over them, then darting inside to dally with hers. Sighing her pleasure, she returned the caress, taunting him as he teased her.
She smiled against his mouth. Here was a battle they both might win.
He smoothed his hand over her belly and down her legs, outlining them with the flat of his palm, then dragging the hem of her gown up on the return journey. The warm breeze caressed her skin, sent a shimmer of sensation over her already responsive flesh, adding heat to the fire smoldering inside her.
His warm, rough palm retraced its path over her bare thigh. The feeling traveled from her leg straight to her heart, sending a shower of sensations flowing through her body.
They spread a fiery heat through her veins, lent a boldness to her touch that the maiden she'd been at their past encounter would never have dared indulge. But she'd changed in that time—changed since he'd returned to I'Eau Clair—enough to obey what her heart bade her do, to satisfy the dictates of her soul.
She wanted Rannulf, needed the sharing, the sense of belonging, that only he could give her.
If that meant she took a chance, trusted him not to hurt her again, then that was a gamble she had to take.
Loving Rannulf was worth the risk.
She tugged loose the ties at the neckline of his shirt, pushing aside the well-worn linen and skimming her fingertips over his wildly throbbing pulse.
“Gillian,” he moaned into her hair. His mouth opened against her skin and he raked his teeth lightly over her throat, sending her own heartbeat pounding. He captured her mouth again, his tongue tracing her lips before plunging deep to explore further.
He stroked her so gently—with hands and tongue, with the soft sigh of his breath over her skin—that she found herself moving deeper still into his embrace in search of those subtle caresses. Wherever he touched her she ached for more, till her entire body seemed suspended in the throes of a yearning so great, 'twas a wonder she didn't lose all sense of reality.
Instead it honed her senses, made her more aware of the warm male scent of his skin—of sandalwood and man—surrounding her, of the rasp of whiskers beneath her questing fingers when she outlined the strong line of his jaw, his aura of power enveloping her with the knowledge that this man would protect her, lend her his strength.
“I've missed you more than you'll ever know,” he murmured against her throat. His lips skimmed over her sensitive skin and she bit back a moan. “Not just this, but you.” His voice vibrating against her flesh sent a corresponding shiver of reaction through her, making her want to purr, to wrap herself tighter still around him.
She must have made the sound, for he gave a weak chuckle and clasped her more firmly in his arms even as she cuddled closer. “Though we've been fools—” he met her gaze, his eyes alight with more than mere passion “—our bodies know they're meant to be together.”
“So it seems for the moment,” she whispered, her voice trembling with reaction to his touch, the look in his eyes, the honesty in his voice.
But would that feeling remain once they'd sated their passion?
Rannulf scooped her off his lap and stood, holding her snug in his arms as he scanned their surroundings. Lips curved into a faint smile, he carried her away from the rocky shore toward a small grassy area near the foot of the path from the cave. Trees and bushes screened them from the trail through the forest, but here the grass grew all the way to the water's edge.
He set her on her feet. “A moment,” he said, stepping away to pull his tunic over his head. He laid it on the ground and bent to smooth the wool over the springy grass. “For you, milady.” He straightened and held out his hand to her.
She placed her hand in his, surprised—and pleased—by the faint tremor of his palm when they touched. He raised her fingers to his lips for a lingering kiss, his gaze holding hers, promising her untold delights. Before he could release her she turned her hand and slipped her fingertips along the seam of his mouth, his indrawn breath setting her blood ablaze with longing.
He guided her down onto the tunic with him and eased her to sit between his outstretched legs, her back to him.
“I want to savor every moment, every bit of you,” he murmured. He lifted the band holding her veil in place and, with a tug of his fingers, sent the slippery material sliding over her shoulder to pool in her lap. “Four long years I've dreamed of this moment, though I never allowed myself to believe we'd be together again.”
She could feel both his hands moving in her hair as he loosened the plaits, then burrowed his fingers deep within the unbound waves and spread them to cover her like a cloak. “Your hair is like the finest silk, smooth and cool against my skin.” He raised a lock of her hair to his lips, let it sift through his fingers till he held the ends grasped within his hand. “Feel it, Gillian,” he whispered as he stroked the feathery curl over her cheek and down her chin to the sensitive flesh of her throat. “So many nights I drifted off to sleep with the memory of your hair draped over me lingering in my mind, the image so vivid it felt real, until I knew I'd not rest. Dreams of you—” he smoothed it away from her face and nuzzled her cheek “—not just of the time we made love, but of all the times we spent together, have haunted me, waking and asleep, nigh every day we've been apart.”
His words weighed heavy on her heart, the press of them cracking through the armor enshrouding the tender, precious feelings she'd once had for him... setting her love for him free once more.
With that freedom came all the pain she refused to hide any longer.
“If you felt that way about me, how could you turn from me, push me away?” she cried. Shrugging off his grasp on her shoulders, she spun to face him, rose on her knees and tossed her hair out of her way. Sympathy, understanding—the emotions she'd felt when he revealed the details of his father's death, of his own shame—abandoned her, swamped beneath her own sense of loss.
Her own clear-burning anger.
“Did you trust me—my love for you—so little that you'd prefer to suffer in silence, to abandon all we had together and condemn us both to a life of loneliness?” She caught his face in her hands and forced him to meet her eyes. “Our love was strong enough to withstand anything, Rannulf, if you'd only have given it the chance.”
Face pale, he brought his hands up to cover hers and closed his eyes. “I was a coward,” he admitted, his voice awash with pain. “Afraid to risk what we had, too weak to put it to the test.” He opened his eyes, their brown depths pleading.
Pleading for what?
“I believed ‘twas better to distance myself from you, rather than give you the opportunity to decide you wanted nothing more to do with me. I thought to protect you, as well as myself. I thought 'twould make losing you easier to bear.” He tightened his grip on her hands. “But I was wrong, my love, so very wrong.”
“Aye, you were,” she said. “You should have trusted me. You should have believed in us,” she added, sadness for all that might have been filling her voice, her entire being. Her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to let them fall.
All the tears she'd shed in the past four years had done nothing to change anything in their past. Only she—nay,
they
—had the power to alter their future.
Starting now.
“Are you strong enough to believe now, to believe in us?” she asked. Though she spoke the words softly, calmly, she knew her eyes told a different tale.
Nothing
in her life had ever been so important. Had he understanding enough to notice?
Still holding her hands cupped within his, he brought them to his lips, gifting each with a kiss so gentle, 'twas enough to break her heart. “I trust you, Gillian.” He kissed her fingers again. “I believe that together, we've strength enough to face any trial.” His touch firm, sure, he smoothed his palms over her shoulders, entangling his fingers in her hair. “I love you,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to hers.
Gillian twined her arms about Rannulf in return as she gave him back his kiss—his vow—full measure. He eased her down to sit on the tunic, his outstretched legs around her, their muscular strength adding to the sense of security, of sanctuary, that he wrapped about them like a cloak to keep the outside world at bay.
No other people, no other place existed but this—the two of them in their own private Eden, their love the only emotion that mattered here.
Rannulf felt as though his heart might burst with the sheer joy of holding his love within his arms again—and with the knowledge that she wished to be there. His recent encounters with Gillian had been bittersweet, filled as much with confusion as with longing.
Gillian tugged aside the neckline of his shirt and slipped her hand inside, her fingers cool as they stroked over his neck and shoulders once again, sending a shudder of delight throughout him. This was longing, lust, trust... and so much more.
'Twas love.
He gave himself up to rediscovering that wonderful emotion with Gillian. Drawing back from her, he smiled at the expression on her face—yearning and determination mixed together into a fiery brew that was pure Gillian. Gazing at her beloved face, he realized anew that his love for her, having once been lost, was more precious to him now than he could ever have imagined.
He would never let her go, he vowed. Whatever their future might hold, she was his.
Her eyes popped open, the green depths soft and cloudy with dreams, from the look of it. Dreams that included him, he hoped, his smile widening in pleasure when he saw no hint of hurt or pain lurking there.
“Come back,” she purred, pulling him closer. “If you think to leave me—” She glanced down at his lap, at his body's enthusiastic, unmistakable response to her, and her kiss-reddened lips curved into a knowing grin. “If you think to leave us in this state yet again, I tell you now I'll not allow it.”
“Will you not?” he asked, moving toward her, guiding her to lie beneath him on the tunic. He propped himself on his elbows and wriggled his hips to settle into the welcoming cradle of her thighs. “What do you suggest we do about this...” Reaching down, he tugged at her twisted skirts to loosen them from about her legs and sank more snugly against her. “This ‘state'?”
He felt her hands at his waist, then the sun's warmth upon his bare back as she shoved his shirt up. “You could take this off, for a start,” she said.
Giving a swift tug on the neckline, he pulled the shirt over his head and cast it aside. She smoothed her palms over his waist and around to his chest, their warmth rivaling the sun for heat. Despite that warmth, he shuddered as her touch sensitized his flesh, made him ache to take her now, with no further preparation than this.

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