The Lily and the Sword

by Sara Bennett

  He had planned her downfall, and her mind accepted that. Her heart was another matter. Her heart had a tendency to soften and sigh, like a lovestruck maiden. You are mine and I am yours! it cried.

  Her heart, she decided coldly, was a traitor. Her heart was in league with her flesh, which was prone to grow heated and achy every time Radulf drew near. Both required careful guarding, needed reminding that Radulf was her enemy and could never be anything else.

  “Such fine hair. Like silver thread.” Una’s reverent voice broke in on Lily’s anguished thoughts.

  The girl was combing Lily’s hair, while Lily sat wrapped in a drying cloth. Her clothing had been hastily sponged and brushed, but was still a sad sight. Lily would have preferred to present herself before the king in rich cloth, weighed heavy with jewelry. The Normans respected show. Would they see this poorly dressed young woman as the rightful ruler of much of Northumbria, someone deserving of their respect? Or would they see her as a weak pawn in a man’s game?

  Lily made herself smile. “My hair has not had care such as this for many a long week, Una.”

  Una grinned back shyly. “Thank you, lady. Do you think I’d make a good lady’s maid?”

  “Indeed, you would. I am only sorry I cannot offer you such employment.”

  Una’s smile faded into a frown, and her eyes grew sly. “They say…the soldiers say that you are the Lady Wilfreda, the rebel Vorgen’s wife.”

  “I am,” Lily replied softly, “but remember, I am also a woman, just as you. I will not hurt you.”

  Una looked puzzled and then she laughed. “Oh, lady, I am not afraid of you! ’Tis him that scares me. The King’s Sword. Such a big, grim man. Are you not afraid of him?”

  Lily looked at her in surprise. Then, remembering the night at Trier, she said, “Only sometimes.”

  By the time Lily was ready, Jervois had the mare saddled and waiting in front of the inn, along with most of the soldiers. Lily mounted stiffly, silent in her anxiety and her mask of icy pride. The small band rode through the streets of York toward the castle, Radulf’s men clustered close about Lily, with Jervois at their head.

  Lily twisted her father’s ring upon her finger, and the red hawk’s eye flashed fire. For some reason Radulf had left her the ring, the symbol of her lost power. Had he done that on purpose, or had he been careless? No, she would not be led down that path again. She would never again believe that Radulf acted with anything other than the most careful deliberation.

  The thought of him opened again the hollow cave inside her, a place echoing with sorrow and longing. Those brief days and nights she had spent with him seemed dreamlike, a fantasy woven out of foolish dreams.

  Now she must return to her cold cage, to become again the icy woman who had lived as Vorgen’s wife. How else could she survive this latest ordeal?

  Jervois led them through the outer bailey of William’s new castle, picking his way around the workers who were still finishing the structure. He informed her in a colorless voice that it usually took the king two weeks to complete a wooden keep, while stone took a good deal longer.

  Before she knew it, Lily was dismounting, all but smothered by her zealous guard as they bundled her through the castle door. Dazed, frightened, she could take in little. A large dark hall, the smells of smoke, roasting food and clean rushes, men’s voices, and hounds snuffling and barking. Then Radulf’s men stepped back, and Lily was alone, apart from the tenuous comfort of Jervois’s hand on her arm.

  Faces and finery blurred about her. Stern-looking men-of-war, a number of William’s barons, and ladies in soft gowns and fine wimples, their fingers heavy with jewels. Feeling dowdy and insignificant, Lily raised her chin.

  And saw Radulf.

  He stood directly before her, a giant in his ruby-red tunic and dark breeches. Without even trying, he claimed her full attention.

  He was frowning at her. It seemed his temper had not improved. As he strode forward Lily quailed inwardly, while her outer demeanor grew even more glacial. At his lord’s nod Jervois stepped back, and Radulf replaced his captain at her side. His grasp on her hand surprised her with its warmth and strength, and it would have been comforting had it not been tainted with disturbing memories of hot kisses and hard flesh. Radulf bent his head, and Lily’s unwilling eyes rose to meet his. She knew her own were cloudy with remembered passion, for her skin tingled and ached with longing, but she hoped he would think she was suffering from rage.

  “Come and curtsy to the king.” His voice was low and husky, his lover’s voice.

  Did he, too, have an all but irresistible urge to throw himself into her embrace? Lily drew a ragged breath. She must fight it. For her life, she must fight her body’s betrayal!

  His fingers tightened. His dark eyes narrowed. “Do it, by God, or I’ll hold you down by the scruff of your neck.”

  Unafraid, Lily glared back at him and finally noticed how his skin was tinged gray with weariness and his eyes were hollow and bloodshot. The smell of ale clung about him, and his hair was damp, as if he’d lately poured water over it. Evidently while Lily had been locked in her small dark room at the inn, worried sick, Radulf had spent the night carousing at the castle.

  Anger built on the storm already brewing inside her. Her gray eyes darkened like thunderclouds about to burst. She opened her mouth.

  He bent his head and kissed her.

  In front of the king, his court, his men-at-arms, everyone. His wonderful mouth closed on hers in a kiss. It was not a gentle kiss, rather it was demanding, forcing Lily to respond whether or not she wanted to. It was the sort of kiss a man might give if he was starving for the woman in his arms.

  The heat melted Lily’s treacherous bones. She wanted to moan with pleasure and scream with rage, both at the same time. Cheers and laughter swirled through the great hall, but Lily cared only for Radulf’s powerful arms and his hot, unrestrained mouth.

  He released her as abruptly as he’d seized her.

  Lily gasped, face flaming, and only just managed to hold herself upright. As she twisted her face away from Radulf, she had a brief, vivid glimpse of a woman with golden eyes and a face white with shock, then Radulf reclaimed her full attention.

  “That’s better,” he murmured in her ear, the rumble of his voice sending tremors down her spine. “Now, come and curtsy to the king, lady.”

  The king! She had forgotten the king!

  Anger, pain, fear, and confusion…the wild tangle of emotions ran through her. Lily murdered Radulf with her eyes, even as she stepped forward and gave the curtsy he ordered. Radulf released a muffled sigh of relief, surprising Lily. Why was it so important to him that she appear compliant, obedient? And why had he kissed her? To show that he could! her mind replied furiously. Her heart was less sure.

  “Lady Wilfreda!”

  Lily froze. The king! Slowly, gathering her pride about her like a tattered cloak, Lily rose from her curtsy. She moved closer to the dais, her fingers tightening unconsciously on Radulf’s. William, even seated, had an extraordinary presence. Strong of body and long of limb, he radiated restless energy, as if he’d much rather be riding and hunting than sitting there playing king.

  “Radulf has spoken of your fair beauty. At length.” His voice was harsh and amused. “Does he always greet you so familiarly?”

  There was general laughter. Radulf shifted impatiently, while Lily kept her gaze on the king. She waited until the sound died before answering.

  “Always, Your Majesty.”

  A hum of amusement and consternation. William’s eyebrows rose. “Do you deal with all your prisoners in like manner, Radulf?”

  A few more chuckles greeted this. Radulf laughed himself. “Only Lady Wilfreda, sire.”

  William’s smile faded. “He has not ill-treated you, lady? I do not like to see women ill-treated.”

  Lily bit her lip. Here was her chance to damage Radulf’s reputation. She felt him stiffen beside her—he expected the worst—but she could not do it; she
was not naturally vindictive. There had been no rape; Lily had been Radulf’s willing partner.

  “No, sire,” she answered with a touch of regret, “he has never ill-treated me.” And had the satisfaction of coolly returning Radulf’s nonplussed stare.

  William was nodding, a satisfied smile on his face, his bright gaze flicking between Radulf and Lily. “Very well. Let us move on. Radulf has brought you before me to answer a charge of inciting rebellion in the north. What say you to that, lady?”

  Lily took a breath, preparing herself. “I say those charges are false, sire. Vorgen took up his sword against you. I did not.”

  “And yet your father married you to Vorgen. Vorgen made war in your name, beneath your banner.” The energy fairly crackled from him now. Lily expected him at any moment to leap from his chair and shake the truth out of her. She retained her cool composure with difficulty.

  “Vorgen may have fought beneath my banner, but he stole that along with everything else. My father did not agree to our marriage. Vorgen killed my father and married me over his dead body. I never asked him to make war upon the Normans, or upon anyone else. I want peace in the north—and I ask that you allow me to rule my lands in peace. Please, sire, allow me to show my people how to live in peace with the Normans rather than die under them!”

  Had she spoken too presumptuously?

  William was frowning. “What do you say to this, Radulf?” he asked in his rough voice.

  Radulf gave Lily another glance, but she did not trust it, or understand the reason for it. How could she, when he had never shared his thoughts with her?

  He drew himself up to his full impressive height. “Sire. You may well believe what the lady says, and mayhap she believes it herself. Tales have been told of the Lady Wilfreda, that she is a sorceress, an icy Viking murderess…” He shrugged disdainfully. “I do not listen to rumor. I have too long been the subject of such tales, and I know their worth. Here before you is a flesh-and-blood woman, young and beautiful, but powerless. I believe Vorgen used her. Other men will use her. I have fought hard to bring the north to its knees, and I do not see a lone woman being able to keep it there, whatever her good intentions.”

  Lily felt as if Radulf had taken a knife and severed her only lifeline. Her fine words had been discounted as nothing more than a woman’s weak and meaningless prattle. What hope was there for her now? Her sense of betrayal nearly overwhelmed her, and she had to blink furiously to refocus.

  William was scratching his chest. “Aye, Radulf,” he said, “you have the right of it. ’Twould not be wise to set a woman to rule over those lands. A stronger hand than yours is needed, Lady Wilfreda, even could we trust your promises.”

  “Sire, Lord Henry has a strong arm,” Radulf began, ignoring Lily, frozen at his side. “And a diplomatic tongue.”

  William appeared to consider it. “No,” he said, and struck the carved chair arm hard with his hand. “I have a better man in mind: you, Lord Radulf! You have spent much sweat and blood bringing peace to Northumbria. You shall have Lady Wilfreda’s lands. I make a gift of them, and order you to oversee the building of a strong stone castle. A good Norman castle, Radulf! What say you to that?”

  Radulf felt as if the floor had dropped away beneath his feet.

  He and William had spoken at length last night, but Lily’s lands had never been part of that conversation. Now that the king had made his generous gift, Radulf knew he was expected to be humbly grateful, but all he felt was dismay. What of his home? He had been longing to return, and now he must go north again and begin building yet another castle. The fact that it was his castle seemed immaterial.

  Lily’s fingers, stiff and frozen, tightened their grip on his.

  Radulf went still. In all the worry about saving her, he had forgotten that these were her lands and her people he and William were disposing of. She must love them just as much as he loved Crevitch. How did Lily feel, hearing them pass from hand to hand so cavalierly? And if he did not accept this gift, this…burden, then another, lesser man might. He must take on the mantle of protector of the north—if not for himself, then for the sake of the woman at his side.

  He bowed low. “You are very generous, sire. I accept.”

  William nodded, satisfied. “Now!” The king leaned forward. “That leaves the question of the Lady Wilfreda herself.”

  Lily’s face turned even paler but she held his gaze, her own unflinching. A ripple of admiration traveled through the great hall. There were words she should say, words she had planned to say, but her throat seemed to close up. The king had just given her birthright away as if it were a counter in a child’s game. Why should he value her life? A curious humming sound filled her ears, so that she had to strain to hear.

  “Radulf? What say you? We cannot set the lady free, for fear she fall prey to rebellious elements. Should we shackle her?”

  Inwardly Radulf groaned. William was amusing himself. The king’s playful, oftimes violent sense of humor was famous, and rightly feared.

  “I agree she should be shackled, sire,” he replied, refusing to meet Lily’s stricken gray eyes, although he felt their power like a spear in his belly.

  William shifted eagerly in his ornately carved chair. “And what should we use to shackle her, my friend?”

  Radulf pretended to be thoughtful. “For such a woman as this we must use a mighty restraint, sire. Shackles she cannot possibly escape, shackles which will hold her prisoner all her life.”

  The great hall was hushed, anticipation rubbing against horror until the atmosphere was raw.

  “Yes.” William drew the word out thoughtfully. “Mighty shackles. I think I know what will hold Lady Wilfreda securely, Radulf. You will marry her, and without delay!”

  The hall erupted in a cacophony of sound. William reduced it to a murmur with a single glare.

  Lily swayed as the hum in her head turned into a roar.

  Marry him? Was this a jest? A cruel game, designed to add to her suffering?

  Oh God, this was even worse than she had imagined!

  “Well, Radulf?” the king demanded. “I have ordered you to marry this lady. What say you?”

  Radulf bowed low. When he spoke, his voice was loud enough to fill the silence. “I will humbly obey my king, sire.”

  “Are you sure your lady is willing, Radulf? She appears to be about to faint.”

  Radulf slipped an iron arm about Lily’s trim waist. “She’s overcome with joy, sire.”

  William snorted. “Mayhap she still mourns her last husband, the rebel Vorgen,” he jested, but there was a hint of steel in his voice, as if he were having second thoughts.

  Radulf laughed coarsely. “After Vorgen’s limp dagger, ’twill be a fine pleasure for the lady to have the King’s Sword between her thighs!”

  William grinned at the ribald jest, his good humor restored.

  Shame and fury burned Lily’s fair skin. She struggled, pushing at his hands, but Radulf held her easily, pinioning her to his side.

  “Patience, lady,” he mocked. “I will bed you soon enough.”

  Gales of laughter greeted this sally, William’s voice loudest of them all. When it had eased, he spoke again, a grin still splitting his face.

  “I have ordered you to marry her, to protect her from those who would use her in their traitorous schemes. Make an heir on her—a child of your blood and hers. Norman and English. You will conquer the north by breeding the treachery out of it, Radulf! Aye, let every one of your men who is unwed marry a girl of English or Viking blood! We shall win these people over by means far more pleasurable than making war on them!”

  William rose to his feet and dealt Radulf a hearty blow on the shoulder that would have felled a lesser man.

  “We’ll see you wed here on the morrow. I order a feast to be prepared! I’m only sorry the queen will not witness it—she has so long despaired of seeing you marry, Radulf.”

  There was a note of sadness in his voice. Happily married and deeply
in love, William would never risk his wife, so he had returned Matilda to Normandy.

  Radulf bowed and led Lily away, pretending not to notice her struggles.

  “You have chosen a wildcat to take to wife, Radulf.”

  The voice was sweet and melodious, and despite her own tumultuous feelings, Lily sensed Radulf’s shock on hearing it. Instinctively she turned toward the speaker, and found that it was the same golden-eyed woman she had noticed earlier. The lady stood, a half smile on her wide mouth, very secure in her fine velvet gown. A smooth strand of dark hair curled at her brow, the remainder covered with a gossamer veil. Not in her first youth, she was nevertheless breathtakingly beautiful.

  “Radulf?” she queried with a laugh when he did not answer her, but Lily sensed a touch of pique.

  Radulf bowed, a brief tilt of his dark head. His movements, always so graceful despite his size, seemed suddenly clumsy. “Lady Anna.”

  The golden eyes slid over him, devouring him. “You have not changed,” she said, but Radulf had already turned away.

  Taking long strides toward the door, he pulled the now subdued Lily along behind him. As they passed into the outer chamber, Lily finally managed to free herself. She spun to face him, stiff and white.

  With a resigned and heartfelt sigh, Radulf prepared himself for the onslaught. He felt physically and mentally drained, and now Anna was there to complicate matters. But he had expected Lily to be angry, and after what had been said about her and done to her, it was natural she would want her say.

  “I will never marry you!” Her voice was trembling uncontrollably. “All Normans are greedy land-grabbing monsters! I had thought Vorgen bad enough, but now I see that you are worse!” She swung her arm, aiming blindly.

  Radulf easily caught the blow in his palm, folding her shaking hand into his. He lifted an eyebrow and replied mildly, “You know that is not true. I have lands enough, and no love for your northern wilds. I agreed to take them because I feared what would happen to them if I did not. And as for marriage…if you do not marry me, lady, then you will be imprisoned for the rest of your life. Tell me, would you prefer to be shackled by a vow, or by irons?”