by Sara Bennett
“We will ride to the coast,” he told her calmly, as they passed into the deeper shadows beneath the gatehouse. “Find a boat. We can sail north to Malcolm. ’Tis safer and quicker than going overland.”
“As you say.” Lily was empty. She felt as if she were leaving her future behind. With Radulf.
Why had she not trusted him when she had the chance? If she had, she would not now be in this dangerous situation. Though he was her enemy, Lily had never felt as if her life was at risk when she was with Radulf.
Hew was a different matter.
As if he had read the name in her mind, Hew muttered, “I wish I had more men. I would have killed Radulf, taken him in the throat with your dagger, while he slept.” He turned and grinned at her, sharing his evil joke. “Or I would have woken him first, and let him see your face so that he could understand the trick we had played upon him, before he died.”
Lily closed her eyes. She saw Radulf, too, but not as Hew described him. He stood before her, dark eyes warm and shining, sensuous lips smiling. She took a shaking breath.
All at once there was a clink of metal; the soft scrape of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.
Hew moved sharply, pulling his horse around to face the danger.
And the night split apart.
Men came running at them from all sides, voices roaring. Moonlight glinted on armor and sharp edges.
Hew yelled, “Lily! Run!” and slapped the flank of her mare. But instead of bolting, the mare screamed in fear and outrage, and rose up on her hind legs. Lily had no time to cling on. She was thrown into the chaos about her, and hit the ground hard.
The impact took her breath away. She lay in a tangled heap of wool and linen, her cheek sunk in mud. Somewhere to her right Hew whipped his terrified horse back, through the gateway, toward the monastery buildings. A furious gaggle of Norman soldiers pursued him into the darkness.
Two big, hard hands fastened about Lily’s waist, hauling her to her feet. She swayed, and was steadied.
Slowly, feeling as if this were a bad dream, Lily raised her head to confront her captor.
He was well suited to bad dreams. He towered over her, his big body made bigger by his hauberk, his massive chest rising and falling with each harsh breath. She couldn’t see his face properly because of the helmet, only the glint of his eyes.
She was profoundly glad for that.
“He was right,” growled a deep, familiar voice. “You should have run.”
Lily said nothing. Her body was bruised and winded, her head ached, and the cold fear of her capture had numbed her until even her breath was no longer warm enough to cloud the night air.
“My scouts noticed that the rebels had been following us since Grimswade,” said Radulf. “I wondered why.”
“And now you know.”
“Now I know.”
“My lord!” One of Radulf’s men had returned, his shoulders bowed with defeat. “We lost him.”
Radulf’s eyes remained fixed on Lily. “Keep looking.” He stepped forward and gripped her arms, pulling her hard against him. Lily was instantly aware of his body heat and his great strength. They were no longer comforting.
“You are no Norman lady.” His voice was low and menacing. “You were never traveling home from the border to Rennoc. I sent Jervois ahead to speak with Edwin and he returned yesterday. Edwin’s daughter Alice is safe at Rennoc. I knew about your lies, lady, before we set out for Trier. I asked you for the truth and you would not give it—”
“I could not,” Lily whispered, pushing her hands against the chain mail. “Do not punish Alice for any of this. She knows nothing of it.”
“Who are you?” Radulf demanded, and his fingers gripped her own so angrily that the hawk ring cut into her flesh. Lily cried out.
He stilled. She had worn no rings before.
“What is this?”
Radulf lifted her hand, catching the glint of the gold. He shouted for light. Another of his men ran with a torch and, at Radulf’s instruction, held it above their joined hands. The stinging smoke made Lily’s eyes water but she did not try to pull away. She was almost glad. No more lies, no more pretense. There was an inevitability about this moment.
Radulf bent close, and the red eye of the hawk winked up at him. He went very still.
“Lady Wilfreda isn’t in hiding, is she?” he said, trembling with his fury. “She’s here. With me.”
“Yes.”
He looked up then, and she was sure he would strike her. His voice ate into her with its bitterness. “What did you plan to do, lady? Murder me? Was that why you carried a dagger, to plunge it into my heart? It must have amused you to have Radulf in your snare.”
Lily shook her head. Whatever he thought of her, she could disabuse him of that. “No, Radulf, I never meant to trick you. You cannot believe—”
He leaned closer, his breath hot on her face. His eyes glittered like onyx. His voice shook as he spoke, betraying the enormous self-restraint he was exercising upon himself. “I may have been a fool, lady, but you made me a fine whore!”
Lily flinched, and swayed. Could he not see the truth in her eyes? It seemed he could not…would not see. “I am no whore,” she answered dully. “You of all men know that.”
He dropped her hand as if it burned him. “No, you’re right. Whoring would be too honest a profession for one with your treacherous soul.”
Anger bit into her. Pain and fear and hurt all meshed together in a great, hard ball in her stomach, where the fire of fury consumed them. Why had she ever thought him kind? How could she have imagined there was anything soft between them? This was Radulf, her enemy. He hated her!
And she hated him.
Blinded by her anger, Lily fumbled at her girdle, finding her dagger. She would kill him, stab him through the heart—if he had one! She drew the dagger and struck at him, but Radulf grabbed for it and the blade sliced into his thumb rather than glancing off his mailed chest.
Warm blood dripped onto her gown and Radulf laughed in his fury. “Aye, here is the real Lily!” he declared, his eyes blazing.
Lily went even whiter, instantly releasing the weapon into his keeping. She felt sick and dizzy, as shocked by her action as by its result. Radulf slipped the dagger into his own belt, ignoring the shallow cut to his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers.
“No, my lady liar,” he mocked. “I am not ready to die yet. First, you will have your reckoning. Just as I promised.”
She opened her mouth, but there were no words left in her.
Radulf had already turned away. “Secure her!” he roared. “In the morning we ride to York—to King William!”
Chapter 9
Radulf was in the grip of an anger such as he had never experienced before. It tore at his flesh, churned his stomach, and shot molten arrows into his brain. He rode for hours turned inside himself, burning with the rage which had dug its talons into him at Trier.
That he had known she was lying, even before his man returned from Rennoc, did not help. Nor did the fact that he had deliberately set a trap for her to fall into. He had wanted, desperately wanted, to be wrong! As he had waited with his men outside the gatehouse, Radulf had prayed to suffer nothing more than lack of sleep. He had told himself, over and over, there must be an innocent explanation for all of this, and soon he would know it.
What an idiot he had been!
How Henry would laugh at him!
Radulf, the King’s Fool!
Smitten by the she-devil, Vorgen’s wife. The very woman he had been pursuing all over the north…
Radulf ground his teeth. His men edged away from him, but he didn’t notice. He was remembering how she had cried out beneath him, how her body had trembled, the tenderness in her eyes…She must be a witch indeed to wind such a charm about him.
What madness had possessed him, that he had trusted her despite all the warning signs? What madness possessed him still, that he wished she had trusted him enough to tell him the trut
h?
And what would you have done? Let her go? So that she could rejoin her lover, rejoin this…this Hew?
Radulf had sent Jervois to Lily to discover the escaped man’s name and identity—he had not dared go himself.
He had been too crazy with hurt and fury.
When Jervois had returned somberly from his bidding, it was to tell Radulf that Hew, Lily’s cousin, had come to rescue her.
“She did not try to hide it,” Jervois had informed him nervously, eyes watchful in case his lord finally lost that iron hold he had clamped on his temper. “She said to tell you that she wished with all her heart he had succeeded.”
Now Radulf’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. No doubt she was wishing she was with her lover at this very moment! Well, Radulf would make certain she never saw him again. He would kill her first, or…or lock her away at Crevitch forever. Ah yes, that idea held appeal. As his prisoner, she would be at his mercy. Better still, he could continue with his enjoyment of her body. Keep her for himself alone, far from her lover.
Only he isn’t her lover.
The cold thought pierced his hot madness.
Radulf frowned, and finally some of his rage fell from him. His wits, which had been writhing like snakes in his head, began to calm. He asked himself whether, in the heat of his passion, he could have imagined her maidenhead. No, he had not been mistaken. Even now he recalled the resistance when he broke it asunder, and how she had explained her virgin state.
My husband was old.
Vorgen was old.
He was unable.
Radulf recalled there had been rumors, even before Hastings, that Vorgen was impotent.
She had not lied in everything, then.
His frown deepened. If she had told some truths, was it possible that she had told the truth when she said she burned for him? Burned for him as much as he burned for her?
Radulf shrugged his shoulders angrily. What did it matter? Why was he splitting hairs? She was the Lady Wilfreda, that was the important point. He had been ordered by his king to find her and bring her before him.
He was happy to obey. Ecstatic!
At that moment, Jervois bumped against him and earned himself a look that would have turned a lesser man to jelly. “My lord,” he began, his voice strained, “I beg your pardon, but the lady will not eat or drink. She is making herself unwell. I fear by the time we reach the king at York, she will be no more than a wraith…”
But Radulf wasn’t listening to his captain. After that brief glare, his restless gaze had traveled past Jervois, over the tired and dirty faces of his soldiers, and settled on the author of his troubles.
Lily rode hemmed in by heavily armed guards. Lady Wilfreda, Radulf corrected himself. May her soul rot for making such an idiot out of him. For tempting him to open wide his sore, wounded heart, only to have her stab him with her lies. She was an evil conniving bitch. Just like Anna. She was—
“My lord?” repeated the long-suffering Jervois.
Lily had begun to sway in her saddle. Her face had turned chalk-white, and her silver-fair hair was tangled and dulled. There was a mark on her cheek, caused by her fall from her mare during the escape attempt.
The woebegone sight of her did not soften Radulf’s heart. Instead his fury returned, a different sort of fury and hotter than ever. Like a spurred devil, it rode him, raking him. Giving him no rest. Suddenly he could bear it no more.
“Stop!”
At his bellow, his men did stop. They pulled up so sharply their horses danced, and their swords grated in their scabbards as they prepared for certain attack.
“Be easy,” Radulf ordered gruffly, when he saw what he had done. He looked about him at the weary, exhausted faces, as if seeing them for the first time. “We will rest here awhile.”
He could not miss the exchange of grateful glances, but no one said anything as they dismounted. Radulf swung down to the ground and strode back toward Lily, still atop her mare, every movement he made proclaiming his anger.
Lily stiffened, watching him approach. Her eyes were reddened and gritty from lack of sleep, while apprehension had drained her face of all color. But she refused to let him see her weakness, gripping the reins tightly to hide the trembling of her hands, reminding herself of who she was. She had gone from misery to hatred so many times, she no longer knew what she felt.
Radulf barely paused as he reached her, lifting her abruptly from the saddle. Her hands were tied before her, so she was unable to prevent him, but she made her body rigid and unhelpful. As Radulf set her down, however, her breasts brushed his chest. That, and his hard hands at her waist, almost shredded her carefully constructed defenses, and she had to exert all her strength to prevent herself from melting against him. Focused so hard on being strong, she didn’t notice how very gently he set her on her feet.
Dark eyes looked down, gray eyes lifted. Fury and ice clashed and collided. Perhaps it was the proud coldness in her eyes, so at odds with her bedraggled state, but suddenly Radulf found his anger unraveling. When he spoke to Jervois, his voice was almost mild. “Has she had aught to eat and drink?”
Jervois had hurried along in his lord’s wake, and sounded breathless. “No, my lord. She will take neither.”
Radulf grunted. He lifted Lily’s hands, checking on the tightness of the rope, and saw at once the red marks where the coarse fibers had rubbed her tender skin. Something twisted inside him, a truth he had tried to keep buried until now. She let him inspect a bruise on her wrist and a torn fingernail, pretending haughty indifference. She was like a queen, only far more regal than any queen Radulf had ever known. He felt a wild urge to pull her into his arms and hold her fast until this proud stranger was vanquished, and all that remained was his sweet, beautiful Lily, the girl from Grimswade Church.
Instantly he stifled it.
This was no time to loose his grip. The part of him that was his father’s son might want nothing more than to throw all caution to the four winds, but Radulf the warrior knew better. Still, the sheer madness of such a thought at such a time brought a gleam of appreciative humor to his dark eyes.
Lily recognized it, and her own eyes widened.
Radulf had pulled her jeweled dagger from his belt and was slicing through her bonds. When he lifted his face again, it was once more a stony mask, and his eyes were as bleak as winter.
“Now, eat!” he ordered, and turned and walked away.
Lily watched him go.
Her body ached, her head ached, but most of all her heart ached. And although she had known what would happen if he ever learned the truth, in some small corner of her being, she had hoped that somehow he would understand and forgive.
How could she have been so blind?
This was a Norman lord, to whom duty would always come first. He would take her to his king and sacrifice her at the altar of his own pride.
Better you had gone with Hew.
Lily shook her head. No, she could never go back to being the consort of such a man. And now Hew had escaped. Lily didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry about that; a little of both, maybe. She was glad that Hew had thwarted Radulf, but sorry that someone with Hew’s evil intent was again free in the north.
“Come, lady, you heard what Lord Radulf said,” a voice murmured bracingly at her side. “You must eat and drink; you must stay strong.”
A cup of water was pressed into her hands, and Lily sipped it without thinking. She allowed Jervois to lead her to a flat rock, and press her down onto the makeshift seat. A chill wind tugged at her cloak and her hair, stinging her eyes. Jervois removed the cup and replaced it with food. Lily chewed slowly, gazing at nothing.
“Good.” Jervois nodded, and eyed her a moment more before turning in Radulf’s direction. His lord and master stood stiff-backed, pretending an inordinate amount of interest in the surrounding countryside. Jervois shifted his shoulders, as if there was an invisible weight upon them. In truth, the situation he now found himself in was more
wearisome and worrisome than any battle he had ever encountered.
He had been with Lord Radulf for nearly four years, and he had seen him angry before. But never this mindlessly, boilingly angry. And all over a woman! She was pretty, yes, but Jervois was never very comfortable in the company of women. He rested his green eyes once more on the lady. At least she was looking less white and strained, less like she might collapse. Radulf had been forcing the pace, riding as if the devil were on his back, but it would not do for her to collapse before they reached the king at York. Jervois had the uneasy feeling that despite Radulf’s own thoughtless haste, the man would have Jervois’s head if the lady suffered.
It made no sense, but then Jervois had found that when it came to the fair sex, sense went out the door. Give him a good battle any day! Man pitted against man. He was far more at home at war than faced with a lady’s smile.
And yet…a very pretty picture of golden hair and bright blue eyes leaped into his mind. Alice of Rennoc. He had seen her, spoken with her, during his short visit. His head had naturally been full of Radulf’s orders and Lily’s lies, but still he had retained the look of the girl and the scent of her skin.
“I am sure my lady Lily had good reason for her actions,” she had declared, when questioned.
Jervois admired loyalty. He had found himself remembering her words, and the inflections of her voice, ever since.
While Jervois puzzled over life’s inconsistencies, Lily was berating herself for being dim-witted. For one so used to living in the constant danger of Vorgen’s keep, she had been very lax. The fact that Radulf had not set a guard at her door should have alerted her at once to his trap. Like a cunning wolf, he had been watching her, waiting, and when the time was right he had pounced.
Lily doubted Radulf had been born to a flesh-and-blood mother, rather he had been created by Olaf the armorer, wrought in fire and fashioned in iron.
He had no heart.
The glint of ironic laughter she had seen in his eyes just before he cut her ropes only went to prove her point. No sane man would find humor in such a situation.