by Sara Bennett
Angrily, she shook her head.
Radulf thought she shook it at him. “Lady,” he groaned in exasperation. “You try me too hard. I will have answers.”
Above them, on the rise near Radulf’s tent, preparations to leave were almost complete. Lily noticed that her own mare was saddled and waiting, her small bundle of possessions strapped in place. She turned in wide-eyed astonishment to the man scowling down at her.
“Why are you taking me with you?”
“Give me your answer.”
Lily’s eyes searched his dark ones, but could not read them. She sighed, surrendering. “I had a servant who spoke the language and she taught me.”
It was only partially a lie. Lily had had a Norse servant, but she had learned the language from her mother.
Radulf was still frowning, unconsciously rubbing his sore shoulder. Lily refused to allow the possibility of his pain to distract her.
“I am taking you home to your father,” he told her at last, and watched as she stilled, her pale skin turning a shade paler. But the next moment she was smiling as if she had never heard better news, and he convinced himself he had mistaken her pleasure for shock.
“He will be glad to see me,” she murmured prettily. “It has been long.” A strand of hair blew across her cheek.
Radulf reached out and secured it, smoothing the soft tress behind her ear.
“My blood burns for you, lady,” he said harshly. “Even now I can only think of when next I can have you in my bed.”
Lily knew he expected her to complain of his manners, or run like a frightened doe.
Her fingers lightly brushed the back of his hand, tracing a thin white scar on the brown skin.
“I, too, burn, my lord.”
Radulf’s hand turned and gripped hers fiercely, his face tight with desire. “Then God help us if you lie, lady. God help us both!”
Chapter 6
The horses stamped restlessly. Lily, flanked by two of Radulf’s men, waited as the group of soldiers prepared to leave. They were traveling light; Radulf was leaving most of his army at Grimswade, awaiting his return. In the meantime, Lord Henry would begin his stewardship of Vorgen’s lands.
My lands, Lily thought bitterly.
She pretended at a light heart. Her stomach roiled and churned like a stormy sea, but the Normans must not know it. Lily knew she had to effect her escape before she reached Rennoc, but how? Radulf watched her as if he knew her secret already, and when he was not watching, his men were.
Still, there must surely come a time when they would be distracted. A moment would do. There were hills and woods and streams aplenty between Grimswade and Rennoc, time for plotting and planning and taking advantage of any opportunity that might present itself. Lily would be ready.
“My lord!”
Lily glanced up as two soldiers appeared, huffing and puffing. They were carrying something between them, and as Lily watched in horror, they tossed the body of a man to the ground before Radulf.
The man’s long brown hair was tangled, his tunic torn and trousers mud-splattered. A stained and blood-soaked bandage bound one arm. He was obviously dead.
“My lord.” One of the soldiers had caught his breath enough to speak. “We found this rat in a hut in the village. I’m certain he was one of the rebels who attacked us last night. He had a Viking axe, and nearly shaved off my ear. I sliced him with my sword, but I didn’t see him fall.”
“Must have crawled off to die.” It was Jervois, Radulf’s captain, who commented.
“Scum!” One of the soldiers spat noisily.
Radulf raised an eyebrow, flicking his gaze to Lily, and the man mumbled an apology. Radulf urged his horse closer, the huge feathery feet surprisingly graceful. “Turn him over.”
Lily watched as the two soldiers rolled the body onto its back. A jolt went through her, causing her fingers to tighten involuntarily on the reins. Her mare shifted edgily.
Radulf glanced at her, but Lily kept her eyes down and her face expressionless. She felt that dark gaze move over her, warm like sunlight, probing at her secrets. The color heightened in her cheeks, while the air between them seemed to hum with secrets. I burn for you, lady, he had said earlier. Would he still burn if he knew the truth? Or would anger take the place of passion?
At last he looked away, and a soft sigh of relief escaped Lily’s lips. Once again she furtively inspected the dead man. Yes, she had been correct. He was one of Hew’s men. And if, as Radulf’s soldier claimed, he had been involved in the skirmish last night…
Lily’s shoulders tensed, and the muscles in her neck ached as she worked on unraveling the tangle of thoughts in her weary brain. Hew’s man being in Grimswade made no sense, for when Vorgen was killed, Hew and his men had fled across the border into Scotland to reassess their future.
Hew had come to her the day after Vorgen died, at dawn.
Hew brushed aside Lily’s ladies, stumbling as he entered her chamber. The clumsiness was uncharacteristic, he was always so graceful. And then Lily looked to his handsome face and saw that it had turned old and white with exhaustion and failure. He had betrayed her father, thrown in his lot with Vorgen, and now it was over.
He knelt before her, his head bowed, long golden hair matted with sweat and blood. Lily stood like a cold statue, wrapped in the smoking candlelight and the thick cloak thrown hastily about her shoulders to cover her near nakedness.
Hew rose at last, staggering wearily to his feet, and taking her trembling hand, pressed something small and heavy and familiar into her palm. Lily looked down, knowing what she would see.
The gold ring was still warm from Hew’s grip. Warmer than her chill flesh, when she realized that the return of her father’s ring could only mean Vorgen was dead.
Hew was telling her in a hoarse voice that the battle, and possibly the rebellion, were lost. Radulf, he said bitterly, had won. But Lily was thinking, I am free! Her soul, so long held captive, soared, only to plummet once more to hard earth when she met the desolation in Hew’s eyes. Vorgen was dead, but with the end of his greedy dreams came a new and perhaps more terrible threat.
As Vorgen’s wife, she had been able to cling to the remnants of the old ways. Now they would be swept to oblivion. Radulf would take her lands, maybe even her life.
Blindly, Lily was aware of Hew’s arms about her, his mustache tickling her cheek, the cloying, clinging smells of death and battle. “I am for the border,” he was saying. “Come with me, Lily, before it is too late.”
Yes, yes, she thought.
“King Malcolm was your grandfather’s friend; he will give us sanctuary until we can rally. This is not the end, Lily! We will raise another army, and return to send the Normans fleeing!”
He was fierce, angry, and for a moment he sounded like the boy she had once loved and believed she would wed. But when Lily looked into his eyes she recognized that his emotion was but pretense. Hew was beaten; they were all beaten.
Slowly, Lily lifted her head, looking around her. People had gathered at the edges of the candlelight, with fearful faces, and scared eyes. They were watching her, their hopes, their futures pinned on her actions. If she fled, what would happen to them? She was all they had, all that stood between them and total destruction. They had not asked for Vorgen’s war, just as she had not asked to be Vorgen’s wife. They could not turn tail and run for the border. They could not leave their homes and crops and families.
Perhaps…maybe Lily could secure some sort of peace for them?
But she could not do that if she was hiding in Scotland.
Slowly, Lily shook her head. “I cannot go with you, Hew. I am needed here.”
Pain twisted his face. “They will kill me if I stay!” he cried. “You too!”
She drew herself up. “So be it.”
That had been the last time she saw him.
This new possibility, that some of Hew’s men had remained in Northumbria, caused a flurry of unanswered questions that Lily d
idn’t have time to explore. Radulf’s voice, cutting through the past, reminded her of where she was and of the precariousness of her position.
The Normans were still gazing down at the pitiful body.
“Did anyone in the village know him? Did they claim him?”
Head shakings were the only response to Radulf’s questions.
The soldier who spat looked as if he meant to do it again, then changed his mind when he met his lord’s narrowed eyes. “No, Lord Radulf. Those we spoke to said they’d never seen him afore. Said the hut he was in was an empty one.”
“They’re afraid.” Jervois leaned closer to Radulf. “If they support Vorgen’s rebels, you will punish them, and if they support you, the rebels with punish them.”
Radulf grunted in agreement. “When we return from Rennoc, we must make it more profitable for them to support us. Lord Henry always says gold coin will win a war, when hot heads are cooling.”
Jervois nodded. “Aye, lord. Lord Henry has the right of it.”
Radulf glanced at his captain. Jervois was the son of a Norman mercenary and had been with Radulf since 1066, when King William granted his Sword the extensive estates at Crevitch in gratitude for his support at Hastings.
Crevitch had been a joy, but it had also brought problems. Plenty of greedy eyes had turned in Radulf’s direction. He had needed good, loyal men to help him guard his good fortune. Jervois had proved himself both loyal and intelligent, an immensely useful captain. And unlike Henry, he did not seem overly ambitious.
Radulf had once been just like Jervois. Wielding a sword had made him feel unstoppable, invincible, but now even that was stale. Again Radulf found his thoughts drifting to Crevitch. Perhaps at thirty-three he had grown too old, too tired. He wanted to feel the warm breeze across the wheat field, smell the scents of summer, but now the dream had grown. He no longer wished to be alone in his paradise. He saw a woman riding crossways on the horse before him, her warm body melded to his, her pale hair streaming over his shoulder, her face flushed and smiling as she gazed up at him…
“Perhaps I should remain here at the camp. Hunt them down.” Jervois was speaking again. There was a frown in his green eyes that told Radulf he was fully aware of his master’s distraction.
Radulf mentally shook himself, and cold fear doused him. Stop it! Put her from your mind! He had known men to die from a brief moment’s lack of concentration; he had known battles to be lost through wandering wits. If Jervois sensed the extent of Radulf’s self-indulgence he would begin to think of turning elsewhere, of finding a more dependable master, one who would not get him killed. And Radulf would not blame him.
“No,” he said sharply, frowning as if he had been considering this question all along. “Leave that to Lord Henry. We’ll deal with what’s left when we get back. ’Tis only a couple of days’ ride to Rennoc, after all.”
As the little band rode out, a wiry man in one of Father Luc’s brown gowns watched from the shelter of the trees, his hands clenched at his sides, his gaze fixed on Lily’s bent head.
The sun shone between showers. Lily wasn’t sure which was worse, the dripping dampness of her cloak or the steaming warmth. Each clip of her mare’s hooves took her farther away from her lands, and her mind was filled with one wild scheme after another.
What did the discovery of Hew’s man mean? Was he part of a last pocket of resistance, a leaderless rabble who had decided to sacrifice themselves in a final attempt to drive the Normans from the north?
Lily rejected that explanation. Olaf had said the rebels were watching the camp, and had been seen and then trapped by the Normans.
Had they been watching for her?
Lily stilled, her mare slowing, until one of her guards edged close. “Lady? You must keep up.”
How could they be watching for her? Lily urged her mare forward once more. They did not even know she was at the camp unless Father Luc had told them. Was that what he had meant when he’d assured her she would soon be among friends again? Were these men attempting to rescue her from the Normans so they could use her as their own figurehead?
The idea was frightening. She had no intention of being the leader of another futile rebellion that would only further harm her people. Lily wanted peace, and the only way to find it was to talk with the conquering Normans, to win their trust, to work with them.
You’ve made a good start then, the voice sneered in her head. Does sleeping with their leader count?
That just…happened. I would never do such a thing in an attempt to win Radulf’s trust!
Trust? the voice mocked. How can you speak of trust, when your every word to him is a lie?
And the alternative? Lily demanded. If she had told Radulf the truth, he would have taken her captive and delivered her to the king! She stared blindly ahead. If Hew’s men had been trying to rescue her from the Normans, to prop her up as the head of their depleted rebel band in the hope more recruits might swell their ranks, then her escape became even more imperative.
Lily began to listen closely to the soldiers’ conversations, hoping to hear something to her advantage. At first the men appeared stilted and uneasy, but as the journey dragged on and Lily’s presence among them became more familiar, they tossed comments among themselves. Nothing extraordinary, just normal concerns—the chafe of their chain mail, the rub of a boot, the suitability of the country they were passing through for hunting or an ambush, their longing for the women who might or might not be waiting for them at home.
As the hours passed, Lily noticed that Radulf’s captain, Jervois, was also keeping an eye on her. He would ask if she was thirsty or hungry, if she was weary and might prefer to ride before him. Lily did not know whether he was acting under Radulf’s orders, or whether he was making her comfort his concern for other reasons. Maybe he thought to gain her favor, and therefore Radulf’s. So it had been when she was Vorgen’s wife—Vorgen’s men vying for her notice, until they understood how little power she had to wield on their behalf.
Probably it was Radulf’s orders, for several times Jervois rode up to speak with his master, and occasionally he would ride into the surrounding country, always reporting back to Radulf.
Radulf rode in front of his men. Sometimes he would turn to look back, his face a blur beneath his helmet, his gaze sweeping over them, checking each detail. Once he ordered the soldiers nearest her—her “guard”—be changed, but he didn’t seem to notice Lily in particular. She was just another task, another detail to be dealt with.
Perhaps he had already forgotten the night they shared, and his words of that morning. The warm generosity of his lovemaking had turned, in an instant, to cold calculation. Did he have the ability, like Vorgen and Hew and even her father, to shut off his emotions when the situation demanded it? His tall helmeted figure, bulky with armor, astride the huge destrier, was every inch that of a cold, heartless warrior. A fighting machine.
Radulf, the King’s Sword.
He was well named.
Lily shivered. She found it almost impossible to understand such behavior. Her own emotions were too much a part of her to switch them on and off. She had never been able to make decisions in such an emotionless manner, no matter how she tried. Her heart ruled her, sometimes tempered by her head, but if there was ever a conflict between the two, it was her heart that triumphed.
If women ruled the world, she told herself fiercely, there would be no bloodshed, there would be no wars. Women understood better the importance of life, for it was women who brought it into the world and then tended and cared for it. What could Radulf know of the suffering of the children? What did he care?
So deep in her bitter thoughts was she, Lily did not notice the terrain changing about her. The rocky outcrops and uneven ground had given way to gentler hills and a forest of tall beeches. Soon they were making a steady descent into a valley. She was surprised when she heard the cry to halt. As the command passed swiftly down the line, Lily craned her head to see up ahead.
/> A narrow stream, water flashing silver as it trickled over smooth stones. Moss-mottled tree branches overhung one side, while the ground was grassy and more open on the other.
Radulf threw out his orders, but everyone knew what to do. They had done it often, up and down the width and breadth of England, as the King’s Sword subdued the English and forced them to assume the Norman yoke.
Fires were soon lit and cook pots started. Men sprawled about, eating and drinking, taking their ease as if it were a holy day. But the relaxed air was deceptive. Lily noted the watches Radulf had set on the higher ground about them, and the weapons close to every man’s hand.
She sat in the middle of the camp, on a flat-topped rock beside a rowan tree. She had already eaten the bread and cheese brought to her by Radulf’s captain, and now sipped from a cup of cold stream water. Jervois sat close by, his old-young face tense and alert beneath his flopping fringe of yellow hair. Lily wondered a little at his diligence—she was surrounded by soldiers, after all. How could she escape? Only a fool would attempt it.
She removed her heavy cloak, took up her antler comb, and prepared to coax the knots and tangles from her hair. It was in an even worse state than it had been when she awoke in Radulf’s arms that morning. She had to comb each section several times, laying the gleaming silver strands over her back and shoulders, while shorter tendrils curled about her face. On the few occasions she happened to glance up, the men about her appeared to be studiously avoiding looking at her.
Apart from Radulf. He was looking, and frowning. Lily refused to let him intimidate her, turning back to her grooming.
A linnet sang in the rowan tree, competing with the blackbirds in the beeches to be the sweetest songster. Lily smiled as she listened, and stopped to finish sipping her water. The sun warmed her back, and although gray clouds hovered, the showers had eased. It seemed briefly as if everything that had happened to her during the past four years had faded, become a dream. Lily felt lighthearted, and young. For so long, she had been forced to carry a burden far beyond her years. Now, she remembered with surprise that she was young, barely twenty.