The Lily and the Sword

by Sara Bennett

  Radulf was striding toward her, setting his tankard down on a bench as he passed. By the time he halted, he was too close. Why did he always stand too close? Lily longed to take a step back and create space between them, but he would consider it a sign of weakness.

  “We ride to the castle within the hour,” he said in a formal voice. “Will you take some wine with me before we go to celebrate our marriage?”

  The men stood silent and waiting, while Una held her breath at Lily’s back. That she didn’t slap his face, Lily told herself, was more for their sake than her own. Radulf threw a glance at the innkeeper, and the man hastened to pour wine into two of the finest goblets.

  “It is a pleasure, my lady,” he began, but Radulf silenced him with a single glance.

  “To the lady Lily!” Radulf declared. As the wine reached his lips, an uncomfortable thought occurred to him. “Or should I call you Lady Wilfreda now?”

  Lily refused to look away from those dark questioning eyes. “It is my name, my lord,” she replied just as formally.

  He drank half the wine. His men raised a ragged and subdued cheer, obviously afraid their heads would crumble if they yelled too loudly. “So who is Lily?” asked Radulf, his brows drawn together.

  “My father called me Lily. It is the name I am called by those who love me,” she said very coldly, so he would know he was not one of them.

  He stared down at her a moment longer, then shrugged indifferently. “Then I will call you Wilfreda, or perhaps vixen, for you have been as cunning as one.” He swallowed the remainder of the wine. “Drink up, lady! You will be tired and thirsty ere this day is done. The king tends to wring every drop of amusement out of these occasions.”

  He did not speak to her again, but turned to thank his men and receive more of their congratulations. Making them, thought Lily crossly, even more his slaves than they already were. Vixen, indeed!

  Lily swiftly drank down her goblet of wine, to help dull her fears. When it came time to mount her mare and ride to the castle, she was able to do so quite regally and with very little nerves.

  “You do us proud, lady,” Jervois complimented her, as he assisted her into the saddle. “The King’s Sword could not have found a more ravishing bride.”

  Honeyed words were rare from Radulf’s captain, and Lily wondered if he had spoken them because Radulf had not. Apart from that one burning look, Radulf had said nothing at all about the golden gown. But then, why should he? They were only marrying because the king had ordered it, and despite what he had said about revenge and enjoying her body, Radulf must be feeling angry and resentful.

  She hardly knew what she herself was feeling. Confusion, pain, anger…and other, darker emotions she didn’t want to examine too closely.

  Lily’s mare shifted nervously, perhaps sensing her mistress’s shift in feelings. When Radulf moved in beside her, his destrier frightened the mare even more. As she tossed her head and sidestepped, he reached over and took her reins from Lily’s fingers, wrapping them firmly about his big hand.

  “My lord,” Lily gasped, shocked by his highhanded behavior, “please return my horse to me!”

  He ignored her, calling something to the innkeeper who was hovering in the doorway.

  Her father had determined her life when she was young, then Vorgen had controlled her, and Hew had tried to. Men seemed always to be telling her what to do.

  “My lord!” Lily hissed under her breath. “I asked that you return me my reins. I will not be led behind you like a child.”

  Radulf turned and looked at her then, eyebrows raised. “You wish to be thrown, lady?”

  “My mare is afraid of your destrier, Lord Radulf, but I can manage her.”

  There was a note of pride in the statement.

  Radulf did not appear to care one way or the other, for he shrugged and said indifferently, “As you wish, lady. Let us go.”

  Lily took control of her mount once more, settling her heavy skirts about her. It wasn’t much, perhaps, but it was a start.

  They rode through the narrow streets, Radulf’s banner carried snapping before them—a fist with a sword held upright on a field of azure. There were plenty of people to cheer for them. William had been busy, Radulf informed Lily, noticing her bewilderment. The king had ordered York to rejoice in the joining of Norman and English, in the coming of a new age of peace and prosperity to the north.

  Flower petals settled about them like perfumed rain. The blossoms were sweet and heady, and those who threw them were smiling, enjoying the moment as much as Lily was not.

  “They have denuded the gardens,” Radulf murmured close to her ear, humor tugging at his mouth.

  The surge of longing in her heart frightened Lily, and made her voice sharp and shrewish. “The king has ordered it. Who would dare disobey?”

  Radulf sat back, disinterested again. “Not I, lady.”

  He grasped her hand, raising it high in his, and the crowd cheered.

  “Smile,” he told her. “I order it.”

  Lily smiled, her face stiff and frozen, her heart leaden. It was all so beautiful, but it was all wrong.]

  Radulf glanced sideways at his bride-to-be. She was beautiful, even the normally taciturn Jervois thought so. And yet she seemed as brittle as eggshell. He had taken her mare’s reins because he was afraid for her, and then she had demanded them back. She could not even allow him that small courtesy, her pride was so monstrous.

  Radulf irritably brushed a petal off his nose.

  If he could get this business over with, take her back to the inn, there might be a chance of melting that icy hauteur. But that was hours and hours away; William’s feasts were never brief. Radulf sighed and settled himself for the long wait.

  The castle yard was crowded with servants and musicians, welcoming them and announcing their arrival. Inside, the great hall was resplendent with green twining leaves and more flowers, until it seemed more like a forest than a manmade structure. The sweet smells of herbs and blossoms almost but didn’t quite overpower those of stale sweat and hunting dogs—the more typical aromas of a Norman keep. Cooks and servants dashed about, while William’s guests drank enormous qualities of wine.

  The Normans were great fighters and hunters, but they were also great eaters and drinkers. They indulged their senses with passion. Why then, when it came to matters of the heart, were they so reserved and cautious?

  Lily remembered her father’s manor when she was young, and the laughter and merriment to be found there. Her father had honored her mother with his smile and his gaze, loving her deeply and not caring who saw it. There was nothing wrong in loving someone. Love, she decided, did not depend upon land or wealth; rather it was the connection between two hearts.

  And what of lust, which was what she felt for Radulf? Certainly in their case lust had nothing to do with land or wealth, or even which side of the battlefield they stood on. Like being struck by a bolt of lightning, it was beyond explanation.

  The priest was waiting in the small chapel. Radulf and Lily were led toward him, and guests crammed in behind them. Foolishly, Lily had hoped for someone like Father Luc. This priest was almost cadaverous, with sunken cheeks and hooded eyes. Lily stood, her chin up and her outer demeanor cold, while the words were spoken and the replies given. Beneath the surface pomp and glitter, beneath her regal pose, she was frightened by what was happening. And yet, at the same time, she felt a strange elation.

  For better or worse, they were joined together.

  As she thought it, Radulf swooped down and set his lips to hers in a quick, hard kiss. And then William was slapping his back and other voices were shouting congratulations. The noisy, colorful crowd moved back into the hall to begin the eating and drinking, and the king himself took Lily’s hand and led her to the high table on the dais, to the place of honor by his side.

  “Your hand is cool, Lady Wilfreda,” he said, when she was seated. “Does that mean your heart is warm?” But he seemed to doubt it; his sharp eyes
held little of the friendship he shared with Radulf.

  My heart is broken.

  “Will you be a loyal wife to my Sword?” he went on, not waiting for an answer. “I would not like to see him unable to rest in his own chamber, fearing a dagger in his back.”

  William, Lily recalled, was himself happily married and, it was rumored, had never been tempted to stray. Perhaps some Normans understood love after all.

  “I wish only to see my lands ruled well and wisely, sire, and will do everything in my power to bring that wish about. Does that make me a loyal wife?”

  “No, lady. Loyalty is not a cloak to wear when it suits you. Radulf deserves better than that.”

  “I do not intend to betray my husband,” Lily said quietly.

  William frowned at her, opened his mouth to say more. Just then an enormous plate was carried in, topped by a roasted boar crouched upon a bed of vine leaves and surrounded by honeyed vegetables. A murmur of appreciation arose from the guests, and William rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Lily watched in dismay as he piled her plate high and then ordered her jeweled goblet filled to the brim with the heady spiced wine.

  “You will celebrate your wedding, Lady Wilfreda,” he commanded, “whether you willed it or not. Now eat up!”

  “Yes, sire.” She modestly lowered her eyes to hide her anger. When the king’s suffocating attention had moved on, she dared a glance at Radulf on her other side. He caught it, reading it correctly as his dark gaze swept over her piled plate. The corner of his mouth tugged up.

  “You are clearly ravenous, lady.”

  “No,” spluttered Lily, “I am not!”

  He made his mouth serious, though a gleam still lit his dark eyes. “You are thin, wife. A little more flesh could not hurt.”

  Lily sighed in exasperation. “If I eat this, I will be as round as a bladder.”

  He threw back his head and laughed, the tension smoothing from his face as if by magic. She had never seen him laugh like that. He looked so handsome and so carefree, not like the King’s Sword at all! It caught at her, confused her, like a hand squeezing her heart. Then someone else claimed his attention and Lily was left with a view of his back.

  It was, she decided, a very nice back. Broad, straight, shoulders wide…She took a small piece of meat and began to chew. She felt absurdly pleased with herself for making him laugh. Somehow their byplay had lightened the mood, and even sitting beside a king who did not like her very much didn’t seem quite so bad.

  Lily glanced at Radulf again, secretly examining him. The ice within her melted still further as she allowed herself a brief daydream. Radulf’s arms around her, his mouth on hers…Loud and discordant music brought her to her senses, luckily before she could melt completely into a warm puddle of lust.

  A group of players capered about the hall, singing and playing their instruments until Lily’s ears rang with their racket. When they had done, a harpist played and sang some plaintive songs, but was soon ousted in favor of acrobats and then some actors, who performed a play based on Lily’s own recent capture and wedding.

  Surprised and dismayed, Lily recognized herself in a lithesome lad with a long, fair wig and a disdainful air. He glided about, swinging his hips and tossing his locks, while glancing coquettishly in the direction of the player who was meant to be Radulf.

  If Lily had found her own portrayal embarrassing, Radulf’s was worse. He was depicted as a fool, blundering about the hall, tripping over feet and dogs, cursing and shaking his fist, and all the time making much of his “sword.” Bawdy laughter followed every jest.

  Radulf, leaning back in his chair beside Lily, gave the occasional snort of laughter, but like her he was embarrassed that his personal affairs had become fodder for William and his gossip-hungry court. He was more used to inspiring fear than laughter.

  As the play came to an end and the “bride” and “groom” were entwined in a clinch more like a wrestling match than an embrace, Radulf breathed a deep sigh of relief. He glanced sideways and noted Lily’s bowed head and the flush of color in her cheeks. Had this nonsense upset her? She glanced up, just a quick flicker of her long lashes, and he was gazing directly into a pair of dark gray eyes.

  “’Tis only silliness,” he assured her in a murmur, his voice low and gentle.

  Lily’s pupils were huge and dark and she shivered, but when he asked her if she was chilled, she shook her head. “No, it is only…no, it is nothing, my lord.”

  He wanted to ask her to tell him what she really felt; he wanted to take her aside and hear her voice close to his ear, her breath warming his skin. For suddenly it seemed as though the iron shield she held so rigidly before her had been lowered. But in a moment it was back up again, her chin raised, her gaze haughty.

  Radulf nodded and turned away, back to the conversation of the man to his right. Yet he remained intensely aware of Lily, as if her every movement was imprinted on his skin. Was it his fevered imagination, or had he seen invitation in her gray eyes? Was it possible his wedding night was going to be more than sitting with his men getting drunk?

  Nerves jumped in Radulf’s belly. He felt like a boy with his first girl. It was ridiculous, demeaning, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Lily, he needed her, and tonight that was all that mattered.

  Chapter 12

  The trestle tables were being cleared, but whether the feast was over or they were simply waiting on more courses, Lily wasn’t sure. The need to relieve herself was an excuse to slip out of the hall. She was glad of a moment alone, for the strain had been considerable. And she had almost made a fool of herself, swaying toward Radulf like a besotted maid, trembling with the need to have his arms about her.

  Such things could not be. Real life was not a play. Radulf had stated his reasons for marrying her, and because she was his wife there would always be parts of her life which were completely in his power. She must never allow him to discover he heated her blood to such an extent that she was his willing captive. No, that would never do.

  When Lily returned to the hall, she paused a moment in the doorway, watching the guests. Dress, both male and female, varied from the elaborate to the shabby. Fashions did not change much from year to year, but there were subtle differences. London styles, Lily supposed.

  When someone tapped her arm she turned with a start, and found herself facing the same golden-eyed woman she remembered from yesterday’s audience with King William.

  “Lady Wilfreda.” The woman’s voice was alluring, her clothing exquisite. She wore a wine-colored gown glittering with gold thread and tiny pearls. Upon her dark, curling hair sat a circlet of gold studded with rubies. Her beauty transcended the tiny lines about her eyes and mouth, the inevitable signs of her age.

  “You do not know me?” she asked, disappointment in the lift of her dark brows. “I am Lady Anna Kenton. I sent your bridal gown.”

  Lily gasped, flushing with embarrassment. “Lady Anna, I did not know…I am most grateful for your kindness. The gown is beautiful. I had brought little with me from…from home, and such a gift was most welcome.”

  Anna smiled, satisfied with her reply. “I knew that Radulf would not think of your wardrobe, or lack of. He is never interested in women’s affairs.”

  There was something behind the smile, something unpleasant. As though Anna were laughing at Lily in the guise of kindness. Surprised, she took a step back.

  “You know Lord Radulf, Lady Kenton?”

  Anna laughed softly. “Oh yes. I know him. I know him well. Has he not spoken of me? Ah well”—with a shrug—“there are some things which cannot be shared with outsiders. I hold a part of him, my dear, that you will never have, no matter how you strive to win it. Do you know what that is?”

  Lily shook her head, bemused.

  Anna’s golden eyes lit up. “It is his heart, lady.”

  A bolt of jealousy drove through Lily, filling her instantly with suspicion and envy and all manner of emotions she had never felt before. Who was t
his woman, and what did she mean by saying such things? How could she make such a claim, and what was she to Radulf?

  But there was no time to ask the questions blistering her tongue. The next moment she sensed a familiar warmth at her back, and then Lady Anna’s gaze had lifted to someone above and behind her.

  “Radulf,” Lady Anna murmured, her mouth curling up in a smile. “I have been telling your wife how well I know you. No one knows you as well as I do, or as…thoroughly.”

  Radulf gripped Lily’s arm so roughly she flinched, beginning to protest. Only to stop abruptly after one glance at his face.

  His sensual mouth was white and pinched at the corners, his eyes black as pits of tar. Lily had never seen him look so, not even when he had caught her trying to escape with Hew.

  “Come,” he said in a voice that had no strength. “We will take our leave of the king.”

  “Radulf…?” she began in instinctive protest.

  Anna laughed, more softly now, taunting and triumphant. “Yes, run away,” she mocked. “But you know you will never outrun the memories, Radulf. And those memories can be more than cold, dead things. We can bring them back to life. I have been thinking of that ever since you left me.”

  “‘I left you’?” he repeated blankly, as if he couldn’t comprehend her meaning.

  Lily felt sick. This was not Radulf! When had he ever been so drained, so drawn? Whatever Lady Anna had been to him, the very sight of her was leaching out his will to live.

  “What think you of your new wife’s gown, Radulf?” the woman went on, still smiling. “’Tis mine. I have been a part of your marriage, you see. I have stood between you and her”—with a dismissive wave at Lily. “I knew you would not notice the dress, would not question it. You never did notice the outer coverings, always so eager to get to what lay underneath.”

  Radulf took a shaky breath. “You drew me into your chamber to help with your gown,” he said, his voice not his own. “And sometimes you wore no gown.”