The Hidden Heart (21 page)

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Authors: Sharon Schulze

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: The Hidden Heart
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Rannulf's presence, his love, for granted again.
If only they could stop the raiders and end the attacks upon her lands, her people, her joy would be complete.
By the time the men finished their plans, 'twas full dark, and Gillian could barely keep her eyes open. The day had been so full, spilling over with tension, with emotion. It would take time, and all her resources, to understand everything that had happened recently.
And it wasn't over yet.
She nodded her thanks when Nicholas held the door open for her. “I'll bid you all good-night, for I hear my bed calling me,” she said with a faint laugh as she passed through the doorway into the corridor. “I'll see you in the morning before Rannulf leaves.”
Surprised to hear her voice wobble on the last words, she dropped a swift curtsy, eyes lowered, and made her escape before she did something foolish.
Such as cry.
Or beg Rannulf not to put himself into danger on her behalf.
 
 
Rannulf spoke with Nicholas and Sir Henry awhile longer after Gillian left them, one part of his mind focusing on their discussion—and the fact that Nicholas seemed to have become more reasonable, more approachable—the remainder of his thoughts distracted by visions of Gillian.
Gillian naked beneath him by the pool, tossing an apple at him, trying not to cry when she left them.
Though 'twas naught but conjecture on his part, he wondered if the tears he'd seen pooling in her beautiful eyes had been for him. Was she sorry to see him go? God knew, he'd no desire to leave her, either, but he could not stay, allow her to remain in danger, when it was in his power to help her.
Besides that, he needed to talk to Ian, tell him all he'd learned in the time since the Dragon had left I'Eau Clair.
He sought his chamber, but found the room cold and unwelcoming despite the fire in the hearth and the candles scattered about the room to chase away the shadows of night. He'd find any place cold now, if Gillian wasn't there.
He drank deeply of the sweet spiced mead left warming for him by the hearth. The heady brew sent a wave of yearning through his veins, a boldness that would not be denied.
Setting the cup aside, he bent and tugged off his boots. He unbuckled his sword belt, but left his other belt, with its sheathed dagger, about his waist. He might be a fool m love, but he was not such an idiot as to wander any keep completely unarmed.
As he turned to leave, he noticed a bowl of apples on the table by the hearth. Grinning, he slipped one into the pouch on his belt and, carrying his boots, headed off for a night of adventure with his love.
If she'd let him into her room.
He'd not ask, he decided as he crept through the torch-lit hall and up the stairs. Mayhap he'd be lucky and she'd be asleep. His blood burned hotter at the thought of creeping into her chamber—into her bed—and waking her.
He met no one—a blessing, for he had no explanation save the truth for wandering the hall with his boots in his hand.
And he knew that Nicholas, for one, would find his reasons no excuse.
Deep shadows shrouded her doorway, and the hallway stood silent and empty. He tucked his boots under one arm and carefully raised the latch and eased the door open wide to slip into the chamber.
The room stood in near-darkness, only the banked coals in the hearth lending their faint glow to hold back the gloom of night. He halted as an unwelcome thought assailed him. Did Ella sleep here, too? He hadn't any idea, and he couldn't see to tell. Explaining himself to her might be as perilous as meeting up with Nicholas.
'Twas too late to worry about that now, for he'd, set himself upon this course, and he meant to follow it through until he reached his goal. If he met Ella lurking in the shadows by the bed, he'd deal with her then.
Gillian was worth any risk, as he well knew.
He made it to the bed unhindered and set his boots on the floor near the foot of it. The hangings were partly drawn on the side of the bed nearest him, cloaking Gillian from him.
And him from her, he thought with a silent chuckle.
Careful not to rattle the curtain rings, he eased open the drapery and rested one knee on the bed. Leaning forward, he reached for where he thought Gillian to be. Instead of encountering a warm woman, he felt cold steel pressed against his throat.
He remained motionless and silent, certain she'd not harm him, but unwilling to risk a mishap in the darkness.
“Sneaking about in the dark, milord?” she asked, her voice a silky caress. “What have you come to steal, I wonder?” She lowered the blade, drawing the flat of it along his neck, then rose up beside him to press the heat of her lips where the knife had rested.
He buried one hand in her disheveled hair to clasp her nape and closed the other over hers on the hilt of the knife and lowered it to rest on the mattress. “Need I steal what I want, or will I find it freely offered?” he asked. Tightening his grip on her hand, he brought it, blade and all, up to pull her closer to him.
Her fingers opened and she let the knife fall, turning her hand in his grasp and twining their fingers together. “You may take whatever you want, milord,” she whispered. Raising their joined hands to her lips, she nipped at his knuckles, sending a bolt of fire streaming down his spine to pool in his loins. “I hoped you'd come to me tonight.” Her tongue darted out to soothe the spot, then trailed over his fingers before she drew his fingertip into the warm wet cavern of her mouth.
She chuckled when he moaned in reaction, then did it again. 'Twas too much, yet not enough—he wanted that mouth, her tongue, elsewhere with a yearning he didn't try to resist.
He drew her back against the bolsters mounded at the head of the bed and captured her mouth with his. Despite the urge to seize her, strip off her silky shift and bury himself within the welcoming warmth of her body, he felt he'd rushed her before. He'd not do so this time, for he wanted to savor her, make memories to heat his blood while they were apart.
More than that, he wanted to show her how much he valued her, how much she meant to him.
Shifting the pillows, he propped them behind him and drew Gillian around to rest against his chest. “Do you realize, this is the first time we've been together in a bed?” he asked.
“Aye, ‘tis wonderful,” she said, wriggling against him as she sought a more comfortable position. “But 'tis so dark in here.”
He laughed. “You just want to stare at my body,” he teased. “Shall I tell you what effect your staring had on me this afternoon?”
She sat up, her hair slithering over his throat and making his breath hiss out through his teeth. “I'd like it even better if you'd show me,” she said boldly. “If you don't mind if I light the candles.”
He caught her by her shift before she could climb down off the mattress, tugging her back to him and pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Her shiver of reaction heightened his desire to not only feel her. response, but to see it as well. “You wait here—I'll be right back.”
He scrambled off the bed and groped along the table beside the bed until he found the flint and steel. His hands shook, but he managed to kindle a spark and light the single candle there.
Since Gillian wanted light, he would give it to her. Taking the candle in hand, he roamed the room, lighting every candle he found until the chamber seemed filled with a golden glow. 'Twas chilly even to his overheated senses, so he stirred the fire into life, adding small pieces of wood until the flames caught hold.
He couldn't allow her to become cold, he thought with a grin.
“What's put that smile on your face?” she asked, reaching out to draw him down beside her on the bolsters. While he'd been busy lighting candles, she'd folded the coverlet at the foot of the bed and pushed the sheets down, out of their way. She lounged back against the pillows, her shift a tantalizing veil over her body, her hair strewn about her a fiery temptation.
“Nothing of importance.” He'd make this night a memory neither of them would forget, he vowed, reaching out to stroke his finger over her eyebrows, down her nose, finally reaching her lips.
It scarce seemed possible they could be softer than her skin, yet they felt delicate as rose petals. Her tongue darted out to brush his fingertip, then just as quickly disappeared. He traced the outline of her mouth, watching her eyes grow dark, unfocused.
The expression in her eyes made him recall the apple he'd brought. Still holding her gaze with his, he unbuckled the belt, fumbled the fruit from the pouch and set the belt on the floor beside the bed.
“Where did your knife go?” he asked.
Her eyes widened and she sat up straight. “What do you need it for?”
What an idiot he was, to frighten her! “Nothing harmful, I assure you,” he said, reaching out to stroke her shoulder and ease her onto the pillows. He held the apple out to her on his outstretched palm. “I need it for this.”
Her expression brightened, and a teasing light appeared in her eyes. “I believe I'm supposed to offer this to you.” She took it from him and held it out to him, her smile enticing. “Can I tempt you, milord?”
“You already do,” he told her. “But I would tempt you, milady.” He reached beneath the pile of pillows and found the knife. At her questioning look, he added, “Right where I keep mine.”
He took the apple and cut a slice from it. After carefully returning her blade to its resting place, he brought the apple to Gillian's lips.
When she opened her mouth to take a bite, however, he edged the fruit away, instead dragging it over her lips and painting them with the tart, sticky juice. The tip of her tongue slipped out to taste it just as he bent and licked at her mouth. He would not allow her to hurry him, but lapped away every trace, then captured her lower lip with his teeth and nibbled at it.
Her moan filled his mouth. Still toying with her lip, he raised the piece of apple to the corner of her mouth and trailed it over her chin, down her throat and, nudging aside her shift, down to circle her nipple.
He had no word for the sound that Gillian made, but that it signified pleasure he had no doubt. 'Twas nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't melted into a puddle beside her; he hadn't realized that by teasing her, he'd well nigh drive himself mad with longing.
And he'd yet to follow the apple's path. Smiling, he drew a deep breath and set off on the journey.
Chapter Twenty-One
 
 
G
illian gasped as Rannulf slowly, tortuously followed the apple's path down her body. The anticipation of his touch alone sent heat pulsing through her to center deep within her. The reality of his tongue blazing its way over her sensitive flesh made her nigh mindless with need.
She ached for his possession, but it seemed he was in no hurry to bring their lovemaking to fruition.
Indeed, he seemed intent upon making it last a very long time.
She'd not complain about that, but she didn't know if she'd strength enough to endure this blissful torment.
He paused at her throat, raking his teeth over her skin, nibbling at the place where her blood pulsed just below the skin until she thought she'd swoon. “Does that please you?” he murmured, the vibration of his voice adding to the sensation.
She nodded weakly—all she could manage—and slid deeper into the pillows. He slipped his hand beneath her back and arched her to meet his questing mouth. His tongue traced over her chest, leaving dampness in its wake. He followed that course with his callused fingertip, spreading the moisture, then blew gently on the spot, sending a chill that wasn't cold at all skimming over her skin.
“Rannulf, 'tis too much—” she whispered.
He halted the words with a finger over her lips. “Hush, love, 'tis only the beginning.” He reached for her hand and twined his fingers with hers, his free hand lifting her breast to his mouth.
He lapped away every trace of juice, his flexing grip on her hand somehow intensifying the feel of his tongue on her breast. Finally he left her nipple wet and aching and rose on his knees to brush his lips across her own. “You taste so sweet,” he said. His voice shook—did he feel as she did, ache the way he'd made her ache?
She hoped so.
From someplace inside her she found the strength to return his kiss, to try to make him lie back against the pillows so she could torment him as he'd done to her. “Not yet, love,” he told her, resisting her efforts and edging down her body once again.
Before she could argue with him, he closed his teeth carefully about her nipple and sent every thought flying from her mind. Waves of pleasure flowed through her, leaving her limp and throbbing with need.
She clutched him to her, burying her fingers in his hair, the feel of the soft curls brushing against her another caress. “Rannulf, please,” she cried. Her hand still gripped in his while he suckled her breast, he smoothed his free hand over her—breast, belly, the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs—pushing her shift down her body and off her legs before answering her unspoken prayer and moving to caress her aching women's flesh.
Her senses shattered beneath his touch. He rose up and muffled her cries with his mouth; his kiss, and his hand still stroking her, eased her into awareness so subtly it seemed but another part of the pleasure he'd given her.
He brushed kisses over her cheeks, her brow, then her lips again, until her body quieted and she could think again. “Thank you,” she murmured.
He smiled. “'Twas my pleasure, love.”
“I doubt that,” she said, casting a look over his still-clothed body. Her cheeks heated at the realization that she'd been so involved in her own pleasure, she'd scarce spared a thought for his. “'Tis your turn now,” she said, the words a promise.
She only hoped she could bring him as much joy as he had given her.
Her fingers shook, but she fumbled open the neck of his shirt. “Off with your clothes,” she commanded.
“As you wish, milady,” he replied, his mouth quirked into a winsome smile, his eyes dark with appreciation as he caressed her with his gaze.
“Stop,” she said. Perhaps if she covered herself... She reached for her discarded shift.
He snatched it away from her and pitched it across the room. “It gives me pleasure to watch you, love. Your skin is so beautiful, and your body..:” Kneeling before her, he skimmed his hands over her from shoulders to knees. “Your body is made for mine.” He eased away from her. “I'll behave, as long as you let me look my fill.”
Since she intended to do the same, she could hardly argue the point with him, so she focused her attention on him—a distraction, indeed.
He lay back on the pillows, his arms at his sides, and gifted her with another of his teasing smiles. He seemed as willing as she to have her pleasure him.
She helped him tug his shirt and tunic together over his head. His chest gleamed in the candlelight, limned in the warm glow. His arms bore the strength of years of a warrior's training, sleek and strong. She curled her hand about his upper arm, the flex of muscles beneath her fingers sending a wash of heat through her. “You're so much stronger than I.” She traced her finger over the bulging muscles and down to the tender skin of his wrist.
He sat up, leaned toward her. “I will never use that strength against you, my love,” he said, the urgency in his voice startling her until she realized the source of it.
She caught his hand in hers and raised it to her lips. “I know,” she assured him. “I would never expect that of you, Rannulf. I trust you, body and soul, and I always will.”
She pushed him down onto the pillows and, holding his gaze, spoke words she'd never thought to say, save that he needed to hear them. “Your strength excites me.” Her touch light, she outlined his shoulders, chest, stopping at the waistband of his braes. “You make me feel delicate, cherished—not weak, but not as outwardly strong as you.
“There's something about feeling your size and strength surrounding me... I cannot describe it, but knowing that you could overwhelm me if you wished—yet knowing you will not—it sets fire to my blood.” Fingers unsteady, she toyed with the knotted drawstring. “You overwhelm me in other ways, with your tenderness, your kind heart—” She untied the knot, grasped his braes and began to tug them off. “Your passion.” Trying not to stare, she shoved the fabric over his legs, but found her fascinated gaze wandering back to his manhood.
She glanced up in time to see him close his eyes for a moment, then open them and send her a teasing smile. “My ‘passion' is quite overwhelmed by you as well,” he said with a chuckle. Her face, doubtless flushed red already, grew hotter still.
But she'd not look away.
“And I thank you for what you said,” he added, his voice serious. “It means more than I can say.” He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips. “I'm glad my body pleases you. Feel free to do with it as you will.”
“Gladly,” she murmured. Uncertain where to begin, she sat back on her heels and, taking her time about it, eyed him from head to toe.
She kissed him while she decided what to do next, savoring the taste of him, spicy and warm. “Where did that apple go?”
She found the slice on the sheet and picking it up, pondered what to do with it. She'd certainly enjoyed what Rannulf had done, so she brought the fruit to his lips.
Before she could do anything further with it, he captured her hand and nibbled at the apple. “You're not supposed to eat it!” she cried. He snatched the rest of it from her fingers with his teeth as another thought came to mind. “You...you smeared that over my...” she gestured toward her breast.
“I know.” He grinned and finished chewing the fruit. “'Tis the most delicious apple I've ever tasted.” He tugged her down onto his chest and kissed her, sweeping his tongue, apple-tart, over hers.
Pulling away, she scowled at him for a moment before deciding that she'd play his game, aye, and beat him at it.
She found the apple on the table beside the bed, then groped under the pillows for the knife, giving Rannulf a close view of her naked torso in the process. The idea didn't disturb her as much as it probably should have—less, in fact, than it had only a few moments ago. After watching him eat the slice of apple with such gusto, she could feel her maidenly reserve ebbing fast.
Catching the knife by the hilt, she slid it free and hacked off a piece of apple, then set it, along with the fruit, on the table. “I might need them again,” she told Rannulf, her smile teasing. “Depends upon how much of this you can withstand.”
“You may need the whole apple.” His expression called her to him, dared her. “What are you waiting for, love?”
If she must be bold, she'd give it her full attention. She reached over and dragged the candle stand on the far side of the bed closer, nudged the bed hangings out of the way. “I want to see what I'm doing,” she said when he raised his eyebrow in question.
The slice of apple clutched in her hand, Gillian knelt beside Rannulf on the mattress and leaned over him as though pondering where to begin. He followed her every move with his eyes, amusement brightening his passion-dark gaze when the apple hovered near his manhood. His smile dared her, but she couldn't be
that
bold—not yet, at any rate.
She chose instead to mimic his route, anointing his lips first, bending to sample the taste of him as she grazed her fingernails lightly over his whisker-dark cheek. “I think 'twas naught but a ruse,” she whispered in his ear. “All I taste is you.”
His laugh was a deep rumble, sending a shiver along her spine. “Perhaps.” His tongue darted out and trailed over her lower lips. “Or perhaps you need to try again.”
Apple or no, 'twas no hardship to kiss him, to trail the piece of apple on a meandering route from his mouth to his belly, her mouth following m its wake. He didn't touch her with his hands, but he caressed her with his voice, murmured words of passion designed to spur her on.
To build her desire again.
By the time she had kissed and licked her way to his stomach, his comments were interspersed with moans of pleasure—and she'd decided to raise her daring to new heights. Rannulf's eyes, closed now, shot open when she cupped his manhood in her hands.
His breathing ragged, he raised himself on his elbows. “I didn't believe you'd go so far, love.” She shifted on the mattress, sending her hair streaming over his belly before she swept it out of the way.
He sat up and caught her to him, his arms hard bands about her, his hands cupping her face. “You win, love. Any more of that, and I'll not last to make you mine.” His kiss stole her ability to think, to feel anything. beyond the man who held her so tenderly. When he broke off the kiss she found herself sprawled beneath him, his manhood pressing for entrance. “Do you want me?” he asked. He raised himself on his arms to gaze at her face, his eyes dark, intense.
“You know I do,” she told him, sounding as breathless as he.
“Then take my love and give it back again,” he whispered, staring into her eyes as he joined himself with her.
This
made all that had gone before but a game, temptation for a pleasure beyond imagining. Moving together, they found passion, a joy so complete she never wanted it to end.
Together, anything was possible.
 
Rannulf crept from Gillian's room well before dawn began to lighten the sky. Though they'd barely slept, he still felt wonderful when they met in the bailey a short time later, his body sated with love, his heart full of hope for a future with Gillian.
Perhaps with his family as well, for he'd begun to believe he might resolve his differences with Connor. He'd seek out his mother, too, at the convent near FitzClifford. Perhaps now, with the passage of time to heal her, and the promise of her family together again, she'd be ready to return home.
As for himself, with Gillian by his side he believed he could come to terms with all that had happened these four years past.
To his eyes Gillian had the look of a woman well loved—he'd done his best to see that she was, he thought, hiding a grin—though he hoped that to Nicholas's eyes, she'd simply appear as though she'd just crawled from her bed—alone.
He doubted anyone would notice. In the flickering torchlight 'twas difficult to see clearly.
Will, bundled against the predawn chill, led his mount from the stables and joined them, cutting off Nicholas's spate of final instructions. “Ready whenever you are, milord,” he said, his voice giving the lie to his words, his expression that of a man ready to crawl back beneath the covers. Scowling, he mounted and sat hunched over in the saddle.
“You should have sought your bed a mite earlier, lad,” Sir Henry said flatly. “Look at Lord Rannulf—'tis clear he got plenty of rest last night.”
Rannulf caught the amusement in Gillian's eyes and nearly burst out laughing. Plenty, aye—but not of rest, he thought, winking at Gillian. She turned away, coughing into her cloak. 'Twas laughter she hid, more like.
Rannulf listened as Talbot finished relaying his orders, handing him a folded parchment with a message for Ian. “Have a safe journey,” he said as Rannulf climbed into the saddle. “Come back as soon as you can.”

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