The Hidden Heart. Sharon Schulze

worn his gift. She’d no way of knowing he was part of Talbot’s party. ’Twas a coincidence, nothing more.

      Though ’twas surprising she’d kept it after his defection, he mused.

      He rubbed his eyes. At least she’d no knowledge of the hateful words he’d penned upon the betrothal agreement. Otherwise he’d never have escaped the hall intact.

      He accepted the towel Ella held out to him and wiped his face, then glanced up at the old woman m surprise once her stern glare made an impression upon his befuddled brain.

      “My lady is a virtuous maiden, milord,” she said, indignation lending her voice an arrogance not usually heard from a servant.

      In his shock, he barely resisted the urge to snap out a response—any response—to her words. Did she think to take him to task here? Now?

      And did she suspect...?

      Her scowl deepening, Ella looked past him to Talbot, settled into a tub nearer the fire, and he realized she’d spoken to his overlord, not to him. What had Talbot said that he’d missed?

      “I care not what the custom is elsewhere, milord, but at I‘Eau Clair ’tis not proper for a young lady, innocent and unwed, to bathe a man.” Ella drew a length of toweling from the stack draped over her arm and fairly snapped it into Talbot’s outstretched hand.

      “‘Innocent’ and ‘unwed’ don’t necessarily go together,” Talbot pointed out with a grin. Ella drew herself up and stared down her nose at him. Talbot sat up straighter and held out a placating hand before she could say more. “Though I’ve no doubt your mistress is pure as the Blessed Mother herself, of course.”

      Rannulf watched Talbot carefully; the other man’s apparent sincerity lightened the burden of concern he carried. He’d troubles enough to deal with already, without having to worry that Talbot might see Gillian as tainted goods, fair game for his obvious attraction to her.

      And if Talbot ever discovered the full truth of Gillian’s purity or lack thereof—and Rannulf’s part in it...

      No sense wandering down that peril-strewn path unless they must.

      He knew of no reason why the subject should ever arise, so long as he found a chance to speak with Gillian as soon as possible.

      Assuming she agreed to do as he asked.

      “Indeed, you’d better believe it.” Ella gave a rude snort. “And as for the bathing, I care not whether the guest be King John himself! My lamb’ll not be helping any man with that chore, not while I’m here to stop it,” she added with a decisive nod.

      Stifling a chuckle at Ella’s vehemence, Rannulf rose, wrapped the towel about his waist and climbed out of the tub. He turned to face Talbot, curious about how the arrogant lord reacted to the maidservant’s words.

      He didn’t seem to have taken offense. Indeed, he appeared at his ease as he slicked back his hair with his free hand and swiped the towel over his face. “I’m pleased to see that my ward has so staunch a champion.” He settled back against the padded edge of the tub with a sigh. “’Twill make my task easier, for I know little about protecting a lady’s virtue.”

      Ella bobbed a brusque curtsy in response and turned away, muttering under her breath all the while. “Too busy relieving ’em of it, most like,” Rannulf heard her say as she walked past him, crossed the chamber and knelt by the hearth to tend the fire.

      Talbot’s servant, Richard, swept into the room, one arm loaded with Talbot’s clothes, Rannulf’s saddlebag clutched in the other. “These lodgings are not so fine as those we left in London, milord,” the man said with a sniff. He cast a measuring glance about him, his lean face twisted into a frown. “Though I suppose they’ll be sufficient for the nonce.”

      Ella rose and turned to face them. “Lord William Marshal, the earl of Pembroke, has broken his journey behind these walls and counted himself well lodged,” she said, her wrinkled visage alight with pride. “They’re more than enough for the likes o’ you, I trow.” She nodded toward Talbot. “No offense, milord.”

      “None taken,” Talbot replied as he climbed from the bath and wrapped himself in a towel.

      Richard’s scowl more pronounced, he dumped the pack at Rannulf’s feet, then scurried across the room to place his master’s belongings carefully on a table near the hearth. “It’s not as if we have any choice in the matter, at any rate.” He began to sort through the garments, shaking his head and continuing to mumble beneath his breath.

      “Cease your prattle, you fool,” Talbot commanded, although his lazy tone lent little weight to the order.

      ‘Twas no wonder he’d taken no insult at Ella’s words, Rannulf decided, for he tolerated an amazing amount of insolence from his own servant. ’Twas yet another example of how little he understood his overlord. The longer he spent in Talbot’s company, the more confused he felt. He’d thought to get to know the other man on the long journey into the Marches, but Nicholas Talbot remained a mystery he’d yet to unravel.

      ’Twas an annoyance, and a hindrance, too, for how could he decide how to deal with Talbot—how to work around him to carry out Pembroke’s dictates—when he never knew from one moment to the next which facet of the man he’d encounter?

      Talbot accepted another towel from Ella and dragged the linen over his chest. “Lord knows how your last master stood your rantings without relieving you of your tongue, Richard. If you’d turn your energies to your duties, instead of finding fault with everything, I might be dressed and out of here before Lady Gillian has the tables cleared away.”

      Rannulf shook his head and turned his attention from the fractious servant. Mayhap if he left now, while Talbot lingered here, he might find a way to speak with Gillian before everyone gathered for supper.

      ’Twould be best to find her and get it over with, before they had to rub along in Talbot’s presence. Spurred on by his eagerness to see her again, even though the encounter was bound to be unpleasant, he snatched his bag from the floor. He pulled out a shirt and drew it over his head, muffling the sudden sound of raised voices.

      He tugged down the shirt in time to see the towelclad Talbot lunge across the chamber and grab Richard by the shoulder. He gave the wiry little man a shake like to set his teeth clacking and lifted him till his feet cleared the floor. “Enough, you fool. If you ever speak of the lady so foully again, I’ll see you suffer for it.” Richard still held in his grasp like a terrier with a rat, Talbot turned and thrust the servant toward the door. “Get you gone from my sight,” he added, nudging him on his way with a cuff aside the head.

      Talbot stalked over to stand by the blazing fire while Richard stumbled from the room. “By Christ’s bones, where did he come up with such filth?” he asked, dragging a hand through his hair. “Scarce arrived, and already running his mouth.”

      What could Richard have said in so brief a time? Rannulf wondered. To judge by his master’s reaction, it must have been vile. A swift glance at Ella showed that the old woman appeared shaken; he’d ask her for the details later.

      Despite his ignorance of the offense, he’d best make some response. “Mayhap the journey addled his wits,” he suggested. He stepped into his braes and knotted the drawstring at his waist.

      “Who knows?” Talbot shrugged. “I’ll not put up with any more of his foolishness, I assure you.” Draping the towel he’d used to dry his hair around his shoulders, he rubbed his hand over his chin. “And now” I’ve sent him off before he could perform any of his duties.” He grimaced. ”Mayhap that’s his game. ’Tis hardly the first time he’s angered me enough to send him away with his work undone, the clever bastard.”

      Ella stepped toward him. “If ’tis a shave you’re wanting, milord, I can do it, and trim your hair as well, if you wish. I helped care for Lord Simon in his last months, and I’ve a careful hand with the blade.”

      Precisely the opportunity he needed!