by Sara Bennett
“Your boy here tells me you’re riding south, Radulf?” Henry peered sideways around the other man, trying to catch a glimpse of Lily, but Radulf moved to block his view. The fact that he was stark naked didn’t seem to bother Radulf as much as Lily’s fully clothed presence.
“That vixen, Vorgen’s wife, still eludes me.”
“’Tis a pity that, with the north more or less peaceful once more, you cannot return home to Crevitch.”
Radulf shrugged. “I’ve left behind enough men-at-arms to guard my lands from greedy eyes. I can do no more than that. The king needs me here and here I stay.”
“And this, my friend?” Henry lifted his chin in the direction of the invisible presence beyond Radulf’s broad shoulder. “Does she help to make your exile from Crevitch the sweeter?”
Radulf tensed and shot his friend a dark look. “All the wenches fall for your cherubic looks, Henry. This one is mine. Stephen!” he shouted.
Lily stilled. Mine? Was she really his? Was that why he had tucked her away behind him so possessively?
“They may fall for me, Radulf, but they gaze at you as if they had been lightning-struck. If you would learn to scowl less and smile more, you could have your pick.”
Henry was grinning, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Lily decided he did look rather like a cherub, albeit a wicked one. Then his eyes fell to Lily and he sobered.
Radulf had grunted in disbelief, but seeing the new direction of Henry’s curious gaze, he half turned and drew Lily firmly into his embrace. With an irritable frown, he shoved down the hood of her cloak and freed her long hair, and with it the scent of flowers and spring rain. Lily felt her face turn a fiery red before Lord Henry’s bold stare.
“Perhaps the lady can tell you the truth of what I say, Radulf,” he said smoothly. “What think you of Lord Radulf, lady? Is he not a handsome and virile man?”
Henry was jesting, but still she felt Radulf’s arms tighten, felt him hold his breath as he waited for her answer. She should say something light and amusing in return, but Lily had led a life too fraught with danger to easily manage either. As Vorgen’s wife her simplest pronouncement was inspected, dissected, and suspected. There was no room for levity, for funning. Lily had lost the ability.
“He is neither, my lord,” she answered at last, her voice soft and husky. “He is a god.”
Henry’s eyes widened and laughter flushed his face until Lily thought he would burst with holding it in. Radulf released his own breath in a sharp hiss. He chuckled softly and squeezed her tighter. His breath tickled her hair as he bent over her, and his hand slid up to cup her jaw, lifting her face so that she was forced to meet his dark eyes.
The watchful expression was back, and with it some new, indefinable gleam. Lily knew she had pleased him, even as his next words reduced hers to insignificance. “The lady has difficulty telling the truth about anything; why should I believe her in this?”
Lily opened her mouth to argue, just as Stephen arrived at last.
“My lord, I beg pardon, I was—”
Radulf didn’t waste time with excuses. “Take the lady to Gudren’s tent,” he said gruffly. “Now!”
Lily found herself given firmly into the squire’s care, hurried past Henry’s amused and admiring gaze, and out into the brightening day.
The air struck her chilly, warm as she had been in Radulf’s arms, and she blinked about her at the camp.
Tents blended into the hillside, the unmoving veil of smoke giving further camouflage. Women were grouped about a cart from which one Grimswade entrepreneur was selling freshly baked bread, while men practiced their fighting skills in a meadow close by. Radulf’s huge black destrier was being saddled and readied for its master.
Lily wondered anxiously how long Radulf intended to be away, and what would happen to her. Would she be safe? And then she smiled. If his jealous care of her just now was anything to go by, she was very safe indeed.
Her smile faded.
With Radulf gone, she could escape. Yes, she told herself, ignoring the shiver of regret that came from a well deep inside her being, that was what she would do.
“Come, lady.” Stephen gave her an impatient glance and led the way, trudging down the muddy track. Lily followed, sniffing the unsettling mixture of animal manure, woodsmoke, and bread. Her stomach alternately lurched and rumbled. She hoped Gudren had something to eat; she had barely taken a bite of the food in Radulf’s tent before Lord Henry arrived.
And if the opportunity came to escape today, she preferred to do so on a full belly.
Radulf pulled on a clean pair of breeches and another shirt, while Henry sat down at the table and began to partake heartily of his friend’s breakfast. Radulf eyed him with fond disgust. Fonder than the disgust in which he held himself. Henry had been amused by his behavior with Lily, but Radulf hadn’t been able to help himself. As soon as he’d seen Henry’s eyes fix on Lily, he’d experienced such a bolt of jealousy he was sure the soles of his feet were sizzling.
“And that lady is under your protection?” Henry repeated after Radulf’s brief explanation. “That being so, should you have…uhmm…taken advantage of her undeniable charms?”
Radulf splashed the now lukewarm water over his head and picked up the cloth to dry himself. Lily’s scent was on it, and desire gripped him with hot, urgent fingers.
Her words were still ringing in his ears. Although he knew she must have been playing up to Henry’s teasing, she had not smiled when she said them. And she had spoken as if what she said was what she believed.
Radulf shivered.
Women had been known to lie. Anna had lied and lied again. It was wiser not to believe them, wiser not to become involved…no matter how much he yearned to.
“Radulf? Are you still asleep? Or are your wits addled?”
“She was hiding in the church,” Radulf said quickly, avoiding Henry’s knowing gaze. “I have been looking into her story.”
“Oh, ‘looking into her story,’” Henry echoed, nodding solemnly.
Radulf ignored the jibe and sat down, piling food high on one of the silver plates and pouring a generous quantity of ale into his mug. “She is the daughter of one of the Earl of Morcar’s vassals, Edwin of Rennoc. She had been visiting in Scotland, and when they heard that Vorgen’s rebellion had ended, she was sent home with some men-at-arms. They were attacked in the wood north of Grimswade. She fled and took shelter in the church, which is where I found her. That is what she says.”
Henry paused in his eating, eyeing Radulf curiously. “You sound as if you doubt her story.”
“Because I do. I sent some men to search the wood and they found nothing.”
“Is it a big wood?”
“Not particularly. There should have been something to prove her story. Where are the bodies, the signs of battle? Could they have been hidden so cleverly, and if so, for what purpose?”
“For fear of your reprisals?” Henry replied promptly. Radulf only grunted. “Other than the question of the wood, she appears to be what she says? A vassal’s daughter? Come, Radulf, you are used to reading people! What do you see when you look at this lady?”
Radulf hesitated. When he looked at Lily his thoughts were more erotic than analytical. How could he explain to Henry the joy he had found last night in Lily’s arms? The deep, gut-wrenching satisfaction he had experienced every time he entered her, made her his? When he felt her tremble beneath him, and heard her soft cries of pleasure—
Radulf shook his head sharply, angrily, clearing his mind. Henry was right—his wits were addled. Too many lives depended on Radulf’s decisions; it was time to unscramble them.
“She is a lady,” he said. “Gently reared. Yet I have learned to mistrust appearances, and there is something about this girl that knocks a sharp warning.”
“What is this ‘something,’ Radulf? Come, tell me.”
Again Radulf hesitated. He had sensed a restlessness about Lily, a fear she was eager, nay, desper
ate, to disguise. Yet that fear could well be of Radulf himself. Most feared him; he had come to expect it. Why not her, too? And yet…and yet…
“She is proud for a mere vassal’s daughter,” he admitted at last, “but I have known many proud ladies with little to back their high opinions of themselves.”
Henry guffawed.
“I have questioned some of the villagers here at Grimswade, and they tell me that Edwin of Rennoc has a fair-haired daughter, young and pretty.”
“Ah, then, it cannot be she! This girl is beautiful!”
Radulf ignored him. “They did not mention Rennoc’s daughter had been wed, but Lily tells me her husband is dead, so perhaps it was not well known.”
He was making excuses for her now, inventing reasons to believe her.
“She had only one small bundle on her horse, and her clothing is serviceable rather than richly made,” he continued.
“A sensible girl would not dress in her best for such a journey, and perhaps she had more belongings on another horse which was taken in the wood. Have you asked her these questions?” Henry asked.
Radulf frowned, avoiding his friend’s eyes. He had not asked because he was wary of the answers. “What does it matter? I will hold her tightly until I know the truth.”
“And while you hold her, you will enjoy her?” Henry took a swallow of his ale.
Radulf shrugged as if the subject no longer interested him. “She is comely.”
Henry grinned, and Radulf knew that his pretended indifference wasn’t fooling his friend. Henry had known him far too long. Since they were boys, and Henry had come to Radulf’s father’s house in Normandy to be trained as a knight. Now, as if homing in on his deepest troubles, the secrets Radulf kept hidden, Henry said, “I saw my Lord of Kenton on my way north.”
Radulf froze.
“He was present at the king’s table in York, where I stayed while traveling to you. He is an odd fish. Smiling with his mouth while his eyes stay cold. He hangs over his new wife like a lovesick boy.”
Radulf, barely aware of the scorn in Henry’s voice, forced himself to continue with his meal, biting into a slice of apple. He made himself ask the question. “And how does his wife?”
Henry hesitated, eyeing Radulf’s shuttered face. So the pain is still as great, he thought. Would Radulf ever forgive himself, or would his bitterness and self-reproach continue to corrode that possibility?
Henry shrugged. “His wife is in York with him. She is still fair, and she is still adept at drawing a veil over her true nature when she is in the company of others.” He glanced at Radulf’s blank face, and then said swiftly, “She asked after you. She said she wished to be remembered to you. She told me so twice, so she must have meant it.”
Radulf gave a savage laugh. “The woman’s vanity knows no bounds!” For a moment he saw her face, beautiful, beneath him, and watched as her amber eyes widened, shifted beyond his shoulder…Then disgust filled him for himself and her, and he shut the door on his memories.
“I have heard enough of bad tidings, Henry. Tell me instead why the king has sent you.”
“To reinforce you. Perhaps he thinks his Sword is weary.” Henry smiled to take some of the weight from his words. “I am to take up stewardship of Vorgen’s lands until William decides who will have them.”
“’Tis poor, wild country,” Radulf muttered. “The people struggle to grow their crops and feed their beasts. Such hardship breeds discontent; Vorgen would not have found it difficult to draw supporters for rebellion. They are so far from London here, they think William’s long arm cannot reach.”
Henry yawned. “The country is all very well, my friend, but I prefer to spend my time at court.”
Radulf shook his head. “You fight battles with your tongue, Henry, while I use my right arm. That is the difference between us.”
“The difference is that I was up while you were still abed!” Henry retorted, and watched Radulf smile.
His eyes narrowed with sudden interest.
Radulf had a sated look to him that Henry had not seen for a long time. The lines about his eyes had smoothed out, and the rigid set of his mouth was softer. Perhaps this mystery woman was what Radulf needed. He deserved some happiness. If she was what she claimed to be, Radulf could keep her by him.
And if she was not…?
Quite suddenly, Henry understood the reason that Radulf had not pursued the matter further. His friend was afraid of what he might find! And yet was not the truth, however hurtful, better than living a lie? Radulf had seen his father suffer in a fool’s paradise; did Radulf intend to take the same misguided path?
“You say you are riding south today,” Henry said thoughtfully. “How far are Morcar’s lands? Twenty…twenty-five leagues? Two…three days’ riding? Why not take the lady and return her to her doting father? Rennoc is probably worried; you will be doing him a favor. Then, if she is as she says, you may continue your dalliance. There is not a man in England who would dare withhold his daughter from Radulf, the King’s Sword.”
Radulf grunted.
“Come, Radulf, it is a good scheme. I will continue your hunt for Vorgen’s wife and guard her lands. It will take only two days to get to Rennoc, and your mind will be set at ease.”
He was right, Radulf knew. Best to discover once and for all the truth about Lily. Then why this sense of deep reluctance? As if he knew the truth might not be something he wished to hear? Just as the truth had been something his father had refused to acknowledge…Nay! he could not go down that road.
A feeling of calm settled over him. Lily might well be any number of things: a liar, a straying wife, an English spy, a follower of Vorgen’s wife. There was a myriad of unpleasant possibilities. But whatever she was, Radulf had two days—three or four if he took his time—in which to enjoy her before they reached Rennoc.
Curtly he nodded his agreement, but Henry noted the tension had returned to his face.
Back once more in Gudren’s tent, Lily reacquainted herself with the smell of smoke and the taste of goat’s cheese. Gudren appeared pleased to see her, chattering away in her own language. Lily had only to nod occasionally to keep the conversation going.
In truth, she was too caught up in her own thoughts to pay Gudren much attention.
He is a god.
Why had she said such a thing? Though they had thought her jesting, the words remained to Lily a betrayal of the depth of her feelings. And she knew Radulf had sensed their truth, just as he sensed her lies.
Soon he would be gone, soon she could plot her escape. There would not be another chance like this. Once Radulf returned, he would send for her again. And with each moment the leaving would grow more difficult, and the danger more intense.
She could not risk it.
“You are far away, my pretty one.”
Gudren was watching her with pale eyes, her round face made even broader by her smile.
“There are things to be considered, mother.”
Gudren nodded wisely, as if she understood. “Lord Radulf has a fiercesome reputation, lady, but you should not believe all you hear.”
Lily smiled despite herself. “Is he a lamb then, to follow meekly? I think not.”
“That would depend on who called,” Gudren retorted.
“They say,” Lily began thoughtfully, “he is without a heart or a soul, that he kills to feed the lust within himself. That he knows nothing else, except the authority of his king. That he is as cold and hard as the sword he wields.”
“The legends would have it so. He is a great warrior, ’tis true, but he is also a wise and just lord. I cannot speak for others, but I know that my Olaf is well paid for his work, and has a dry, comfortable place to live and sleep, and that our table groans with food. At Crevitch, the people do not talk of his lack of heart. Their bellies are full and their bones are warm, and they cheer him when he rides home.”
Lily shifted uneasily. “You almost make me believe him to be a great man, mother.”
“And so he is, lady. So he is. He is also a fine lover…so I have heard.”
Color flooded Lily’s cheeks.
Did everyone in the camp know of last night? Life here was close-knit, necessarily so. The Normans were strangers in a foreign land and clung together for safety as well as the familiarity of their own kind. They would know if their lord coughed, and why. They must know about Radulf and Lily.
“You do not under—” Lily began, when a deep voice from outside interrupted her.
“Lily?”
Her gray eyes widened on Gudren’s. Briefly she considered remaining silent, pretending she was not there, but dismissed the idea as cowardly and foolish.
Radulf would simply come in and drag her out.
She nodded stiffly in Gudren’s direction. “Thank you once again, mother. I will not forget your kindness.”
Gudren watched her go, a knowing smile in her eyes.
Radulf stood outside, a giant in chain mail, his dark hair damp and sleek to his skull, his face cleanly shaven. A tightness gathered in Lily’s chest, a breathlessness. Truly, it was just as well that he was leaving. He was more dangerous to her than all the Normans in the land.
“I have come for you, lady,” he said, and held out his hand.
Without thinking, Lily gave him hers, and felt his hard fingers close tightly. A tingle of anticipation ran up her arm. He felt it, too, she was certain of it. She could see those fires, banked now, in his dark eyes. She resisted the urge to sway against his body like a feeble sapling, forcing herself to remain aloof.
“Olaf says you speak the language of the far north.” Radulf’s frowning eyes searched hers.
She blinked back at him, her eyes stinging from the smoke and the cold clear air.
“How do you speak that tongue?” he went on. “Where did you learn it?” His voice was hard now, and demanding.
You could tell him the truth, the treacherous voice whispered in Lily’s head. Remember what Gudren said? He is a wise and just lord. He will listen to you; he will understand. Tell him now. Now!