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‘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.
    â€œIndeed, 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.”
    â€œNone 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.
    â€œCease your prattle, you fool,” Talbot commanded, although his lazy tone lent little weight to the order.
    â€˜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.
    â€™Twas an annoyance, and a hindrance, too, for how could