by Sara Bennett
She reached out as if to touch, and then stopped as Vorgen’s words echoed in her mind. He had called her cold and unfeeling; he had said her flesh leaked poison and prevented him from being a man when he was with her. He boasted of his conquests with other women, swearing that his impotence was for Lily alone.
Radulf had seen her movement, and her withdrawal, but thought it only womanly modesty. He bent now and slipped her clothing from her hips, tossing it aside, and turned to gaze avidly upon her nakedness.
“Blond, like your hair,” he murmured, fingers grazing the curls at the juncture of her thighs. His gaze dropped to the jeweled dagger that was still strapped to her upper thigh. He ran his fingers over her creamy flesh, over the leather strap and sheath, until they rested on the green and red stones adorning the dagger’s hilt.
“What is this?” he asked her, his voice a husky rumble. “My Lily has a thorn?”
“’Tis…protection.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment Lily thought he would pull back from her. Instead he gave a reckless laugh, unbuckled the leather strap, and tossed the dagger to the floor, before burying his face in the fair curls between her thighs.
Lily gasped his name, clutching wildly at his hair as his tongue found her moist core. Never had she thought…never had she imagined…A desperate trembling seized her body; the beginnings of a hot and urgent need rose within her. Lily arched and pressed closer to that wonderful mouth and closed her eyes, climbing the wave, savoring these new sensations. But just as she was sure she was about to reach some strange and marvelous peak, Radulf moved away.
Lily cried out in dismay, and then her eyes opened wide as she felt Radulf’s big body sink down upon hers, all that hard flesh and sinew, all that power, completely covering her. His dark eyes were narrowed, gazing deep into hers, and she felt him reach his hand down between her legs, his fingers sliding into the slick heat he had stirred there. Lily moved against him, and he smiled with a slight, satisfied curve of his mouth. Gently he parted her thighs and settled between them. Radulf sighed with contentment, as if this was where he had wanted to be all his life.
“Are you ready for me?” His voice seared her. Lily had a frightening yet comforting sense of great strength held in check, awaiting her answer.
But what did he mean? She had not understood women, like men, could be prepared for the act of mating. She had believed it was a woman’s duty to endure, as she had endured Vorgen. Now, with her body hot and aching, she knew better.
She gasped, involuntarily lifting her hips against him, her body giving him her answer without words.
He entered her with a single deep thrust—he was so big, he had always found swiftness the best way. Time enough once he was inside to gentle matters. In a haze of pleasure he heard her soft scream, felt her body convulsing. There was an exquisitely tight, almost untried resistance. He checked, wishing he had not been so hasty. She was young; he had not realized she had been so long a widow.
But Lily was more than ready, her discomfort already fading. She moaned as her body stretched to take all of him, welcoming him. Radulf’s mouth closed on hers, his tongue diverting her while she adjusted to his size. His skin, beneath her palms, was as hot as fever.
“Are you ready for me, lady?” He asked it again, his breath against her ear making her shiver, and this time she understood his meaning.
“I am,” she panted, and then gasped as he began to move.
Long, slow thrusts at first, then quickly increasing in speed and strength, teaching her with his hands and body to match his rhythm. Lily learned quickly, eager to be the mistress of her own pleasure.
And then Radulf began to lose his control. His mighty arms shook, and he bent to suck on her breasts, groan her name. It didn’t matter. Lily was more than willing to follow him, wherever he was taking her.
In some far corner of his mind, where his wits were residing, Radulf remembered to see to Lily’s pleasure before he took his own. He slid his hand down between their slippery bodies, stroking firmly on that swollen nub. She went rigid with surprise—he almost laughed aloud at the amazement in her gray eyes—and then she was convulsing and crying out as if she had never reached that peak before. She was still gasping and clinging to him as he thrust deeply into her, once, twice, and with a harsh groan, followed her over the mountain.
Lily felt as if her soul had left her body and drifted away to some brighter place. She lay snug and warm in Radulf’s arms, her shoulder to his chest, her hip against his belly. What had passed between them was beyond words. She only knew that she had made a wondrous discovery, one she had every intention of revisiting with Radulf as soon and as often as possible.
Lily smiled at the pledge and opened her eyes. Radulf was looking down at her, his warrior’s face alert and watchful. Again the directness of his gaze startled her, but only momentarily, and then she reached up and stroked his cheek, gently tracing the puckered skin of the old scar.
“How came you by this, my lord?” she whispered.
He shuddered, as if her touch were hurting him, but when she, remembering again Vorgen’s cruel taunts, would have withdrawn, he turned his face and gently nibbled at her fingers. “A fight with a brave man,” he murmured. “I deserved what he gave me, and much more.” He began to kiss her palm, his mouth hot and hungry.
Lily watched him, holding her breath. This was Radulf, her great enemy, the man she had been fleeing. This was Radulf, the terror of the north. And he was hers.
A great relief filled her, and with it an incredible tenderness for the man beside her. He was hers, and Lily had learned to fiercely protect what belonged to her, be it flesh and blood or sticks and mortar.
She lifted herself on her elbow, stretching to meet his lips with her own. Radulf’s tongue delved into her mouth. His hand still clasped hers, and now he drew it down to his groin. She stiffened, trying to pull back, but he laughed and held her tighter. His manhood was already hard again, and he seemed proud of the fact. “My lord,” she gasped, as he rolled her over onto her back, straddling her. He raised her hands above her head, pinning them there with a satisfied smile, so that she was powerless to stop his kisses even had she wanted to.
She didn’t.
“I feel besieged,” she whispered.
He laughed arrogantly. “The castles I besiege always surrender to me. They open their gates”—he slid his thighs between hers, opening them—“and surrender.” His manhood prodded her entrance. “Do you open to me, lady?” he teased huskily. “Do you surrender yourself into my care?”
And Lily, afire again, could only gasp her assent.
It was not until they had caught their breaths once more that Radulf moved to pull the covers over them both. Lily felt him tense. The warm tenderness turned chill. He turned his dark eyes on her, and although they were blank and unreadable, Lily sensed his growing anger. She was reminded with a sharp, prickling awareness that although Radulf was her lover, he was still Radulf.
“Lady, you have lied to me.” His voice was as quiet as an assassin.
Lily stared back at him, gray eyes huge, wondering what he had discovered, and how.
His soft voice went on. “You told me you were married and that your husband was dead.”
“I was married, and my husband is dead,” she managed, her throat dry.
Radulf held up his fingers, and by the light of the smoking candles Lily could see the dark smears of blood. “You were virgin,” he stated angrily.
Lily refused to look away. “’Tis true,” she managed through the lump in her throat. “I was wed, but he was…was unable. I was a wife in name only.”
Radulf continued to stare at her, as if trying to see beyond her words, to see inside her head. “Why did you not take another?” he demanded. “Why wait until now, until me?”
Lily did not answer him. After a moment, when she could bear his gaze no longer, she leaned forward to rest her cheek against his chest. His heart beat strongly beneath the wall of flesh a
nd muscle.
“I was waiting for you,” she whispered, and acknowledged as she spoke that the words were truth.
Radulf laughed in disbelief.
Lily, her hand trembling, touched his skin, exploring the rough dark hair on his chest, rubbing her fingers over it. He did not move, and she sensed his aloofness, his resistance. He thought she had lied to him, and now he distrusted her even more.
And yet he did not push her away, or move from the bed. Lily continued to caress him, her fingertips finding his nipple, and remembering what Radulf had done to her, she covered him with her mouth. Radulf took a ragged breath, his hands capturing her head and holding her still. “Lady, tell me again how you came to Grimswade church?”
Lily smiled against his chest. “I was seeking sanctuary,” she whispered, “and I have found it.”
He tilted her face so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “I sent my men to the wood you spoke of,” he told her harshly. “They searched and found naught of any battle between your soldiers and their attackers.”
Lily said nothing, gazing back into his eyes. In a nervous gesture, she licked her lips.
Radulf moaned deep in his throat. He wound his hands through the long strands of her hair, pressing his face to them, kissing the silken locks. “Ah, Lily, Lily,” he groaned. “Mignonne, you are foolish if you think your gift will soften me if you lie.”
His yielding emboldened Lily. She pressed her palms to his shoulders, urging him back. When he lay among the blankets and skins, she leaned over him. The tips of her breasts brushed across his chest, and her hair made a cave about their faces. “I will take that chance,” she told him softly. “I do not think you will hurt me, my lord.”
Radulf hesitated a moment, as if he were tempted to disillusion her, and then he was pulling her down to drink from her mouth, and all conversation was forgotten.
Chapter 5
Lily woke to the dawn, with Stephen creeping about the tent, tidying and laying out platters of food, careful not to disturb his master. She lay still until the boy had gone and then, easing her tangled hair out from beneath the heavy weight of Radulf’s arm, sat up.
Was it truly only two nights ago that she had made her way to the church? Then she had been frightened and alone, at the end of her tether. Now she felt changed. Not just in body, though her limbs ached pleasurably and her mouth was swollen from Radulf’s kisses. But in mind and heart, too.
The dark, painful memories of her time with Vorgen seemed to have faded just a little. Radulf had undergone no difficulty; did that mean Vorgen had been wrong? That Lily was not a woman who sapped a man’s vigor with her touch? That maybe the fault had been with Vorgen alone?
Hope seeded itself in her heart. Suddenly she wished that the story she had told Radulf were the truth. How much simpler it would be now, were she really Edwin of Rennoc’s daughter! Maybe, if she were to wake Radulf, tell him who she was? Explain…?
A cold whisper of warning halted her hot rush of impetuousness. Radulf was a Norman lord, and she knew the high price such men placed upon their honor and their allegiance to their king. In his greed Vorgen had turned his back on both, and had hated himself for it even as he was powerless to stop himself. Lily knew instinctively that Radulf was not the kind of man to compromise his honor, nor would he betray his king. If she were to tell him her secret, that she was the Lady Wilfreda, he would give her up to King William.
You are foolish if you think your gift will soften me to you if you lie.
Radulf’s words echoed in her head, and Lily shivered in the chill light of morning. So she would be damned if she lied, and damned if she didn’t.
Very uneasy now, last night’s exhilaration completely faded, Lily glanced down at the sleeping man at her side, almost expecting him to have grown horns and a tail.
He lay sprawled across the bed, beautiful in a stark, masculine way, his big body still and yet alert even now. His short dark hair was disordered by sleep and Lily’s fingers, his face relaxed, the lines about his eyes smoothed out and his firm lips slightly open. Lily longed to stroke the scar on his cheek and kiss him awake.
She did neither.
He had made love to her as thoroughly as any man could, and yet he had been aware of her needs, too. Lily remembered, with a rich coloring of her cheeks, how he had brought her to her pleasure time and time again before he took his own.
Would Vorgen have caressed her, lifted her to such heights, made her forget her very reason for being? Assuming, of course, he had been capable of it! Lily shuddered at the idea of swapping Radulf for Vorgen. Vorgen was as different from Radulf as rain from sun. And Hew—what of Hew? Once, long ago, Hew had begged her to allow him to visit her in the night, and Lily had been young enough and flattered enough to agree. Luckily, her father had guessed what was afoot and prevented any harm from coming to his precious daughter.
At the time, Lily had raged and wept with a mixture of shame and regret. She had been spoiled and headstrong—the only child, and her mother dead. Now she was glad her father had stopped Hew that night.
So Radulf is a fine lover.
Lily’s inner voice invaded her mind, scattering her thoughts.
Will his kisses keep you safe, if he discovers the truth?
No, of course they would not! Radulf cared nothing for her—how could he? He didn’t even know her. He thought her a widowed Norman lady, grateful for his protection.
I do not think you will hurt me.
Lily had meant what she said in the tingling warmth of Radulf’s embrace, but now…Fright caught like fingers at her throat, quickening her breath.
Lily had had her night of love, and she knew she would never forget it. But now, she must go. She did not think of where she would go. The dread of Radulf’s discovery was driving her, and that had little to do with common sense.
Cautiously, fearful of waking him, Lily crept out of Radulf’s bed. Shivering from the cold and her somber thoughts, she found her clothing and dressed hurriedly. The jeweled dagger lay on the ground, and she strapped it around her thigh. Breathlessly she caught up her cloak and, with one eye on Radulf, felt for the ring in its lining. The rounded shape had lodged into one corner. Lily slipped her hand into the tear to remove it, and hesitated. Where else would she hide it? It was safe enough where it was; best to leave it for now.
Moving noiselessly across the tent, Lily noticed that, as well as some cold meats, Stephen had brought water for washing, a knob of sweet-scented soap, and a drying cloth. Hastily she availed herself of all these things, then wavered over the wild tangle of her hair. At some point during the night Radulf had freed the silver strands from her braid, running his hands through them as if through gleaming water.
Impatiently Lily cast the memory aside. There was no time now to tidy her hair. She thrust it down inside her cloak and pulled up the hood. Yet even as she set her mind to the task ahead, she turned once more to face the bed.
Radulf slept on, his long brown legs and strongly muscled torso framed by the dark furs, his face turned from her into the shadows. Lily took a sharp breath, swamped by regret for what might have been. In another time, another place, she and Radulf could have met and loved.
Lifting her chin, her back stiffening with determination, Lily turned and made her way on soft feet to the tent opening. There were several slices of dark bread on a platter on the table, and she picked one up as she passed, nibbling at the coarse crust.
Lily peeped outside into the steely morning.
She saw the camp, hazy with smoke. Soldiers were setting about their daily tasks. A woman laughed, a horse stamped, voices were raised in mild dispute. And two guards in chain mail stood just beyond the entrance to Radulf’s tent.
Lily jumped back like someone bitten.
Of course there were guards—and whether they were there to keep her in or others out made little difference.
She was a prisoner.
There would be no escape this morning.
A
flutter of relief somewhere in the region of her heart caught her by surprise. By God, she must stop this madness!
“Is he up, Stephen?” came a voice from outside.
Lily peeped out again, more cautiously this time. A thickset man of medium height was walking toward the tent, his gleaming chain mail and the decorated hilt of his sword proclaiming him a knight as surely as his confident manner. The squire hurried forth to meet him, looking rather like an eager, half-grown puppy.
As Lily watched, Stephen gave Radulf’s tent a nervous glance. “No, he’s not awake yet, Lord Henry. Think you I should wake him? He said we would search to the south this morning, and his men are already waiting. Will he be angry if I wake him?”
The knight laughed, tipping back a mop of short chestnut curls. He was almost as handsome as Hew. “Angrier if you do not! Come, boy, let me do the deed for you. I am used to his scowls.”
Lily stepped back swiftly, the piece of bread dangling from her fingers.
She came up against something very large and hard and warm…and naked. She froze. Radulf! Thank God she had not been able to attempt her escape, he would have caught her as easily as a hound a rabbit.
“Careful, wench,” his voice rumbled in his chest. Bending his head, he began to nibble at the soft, sensitive flesh between her ear and neck.
“My lord!” Lily gasped as her willing senses were aroused all over again. “You have a visitor.”
At that very moment the visitor in question appeared in the tent doorway. Radulf’s hands closed over Lily’s shoulders and, startled, she looked up at him. Radulf blinked in the sudden shaft of light from beyond the door, and then he smiled broadly. Lily stared in amazement as his hard face was transformed into that of a younger, more carefree man.
Her heart seemed to dive like a hunting falcon, so fast it made her giddy.
“Henry!” he cried, releasing Lily with one arm, and slipping her behind him with the other. Puzzled, Lily stood in the shelter of his big body, hidden from view. Was he embarrassed by her? Ashamed of her presence? Then, as he glanced over his shoulder and gave her a questioning look, she decided Radulf was too arrogant to care what others thought of him or his actions.