The Hidden Heart by Sharon Schulze Page A

restless hooves and headed immediately for the pool. Kneeling on the rocky bank, she slipped off her veil, pushed her loose sleeves above her wrists and scooped the cool water into her hands.
    She let it trickle through her fingers, easing her heated blood, before raising her hands to her flushed cheeks.
    â€œWhat are we looking for here?” Rannulf asked as he joined her. He paced along the rocks, his boots slipping on the wet moss, peering down at the flowers growing along the water’s edge.
    â€œYou’ll be looking at the bottom of the pool if you don’t have a care,” she warned. Feeling cooler now, more composed, she rose and made to move away from the stones just as Rannulf jumped from one large rock to another.
    They met on the same slick ledge, slid into each other and, clutching hold of each other for support, instead pitched sideways into the water.

Chapter Nine
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    T hey landed with a huge splash, both of them dropping beneath the surface until they hit hard against the rock-strewn bottom.
    Gillian’s skirts tangled about her legs, and Rannulf lay half atop her besides, pinning her under the water and rendering her unable to move. She’d landed in the cold layer along the bottom, the chill shocking her motionless for a brief moment.
    Panicking, she struggled to stand, then burst into the sunlight when Rannulf found his footing and hauled her upright and onto her feet.
    Gasping for air, she leaned against his solid form, allowing him to support her until she caught her breath. As soon as she thought she could stand without his help, she tried to move away from him, but the bottom was so slick with muck and weeds where they’d landed that she slipped and would have gone under again if Rannulf hadn’t caught her by the arms.
    â€œTake your time,” he cautioned. “Let me hold you until you’re steady.”
    She gazed up at him through her wet lashes, then stared at his eyes, his face, stark and handsome, slick with moisture that glistened in the sun.
    Rannulf appeared equally transfixed by the sight of her, for his eyes trailed heat as they roamed her face, then down over her body in its sodden, clinging garments. “My lady,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on her face once more. His brown eyes holding her captive, he bent his head and lowered his mouth to hers.
    No glancing touch this, no forbidden brush of lips laden with guilt and sorrow. He traced his mouth over hers, his tongue darting out to lick away the water beaded on her lips, teasing at the sensitive corners of her mouth until, with a moan of surrender, she opened and let him in.
    His taste was familiar, the sweetest subtlety, sustenance after loss and pain. Gillian accepted the caress and returned it full measure, letting him feel all she’d once felt for him....
    Felt for him still, to her shame.
    But shame held no sway over her now, with her love in her arms once again.
    She dragged her hands over his chest and up to measure the width of his shoulders, broader than before, the feel of his leashed strength beneath her palms making desire smolder hotter still within her veins. Fingers trembling, she carried the caress higher, to frame his face, moaning when he deepened the kiss.
    Rannulf tightened his hold, one hand slipping low to cup her bottom and raise her until her feet scarce touched the slippery ground, the other buried at her nape in the soaking mass of her hair. His heat branded her as he molded her to him, front to front, her aching mouth still captured by his lips.
    He groaned low in his chest, a rumbling vibration that echoed within her own body before he eased his mouth from hers and lowered her until she could stand. “You taste sweeter than wine,” he murmured, raising his hand to brush his knuckles lightly over her cheek. He stroked a finger along her throat, then used it to tilt her chin. “How I’ve missed you,” he whispered before reclaiming her