by Sara Bennett
At last they reached the rise upon which sat Radulf’s tent, and Lily gave it a fond, if somewhat exhausted, smile. Here she had been sent as Radulf’s prisoner after he found her in the church, and here she had hidden, afraid of him and yet wildly attracted to him at the same time.
She remembered her turmoil now with some amusement. Resistance—though she had shown little enough of that!—had been useless. Radulf had had his way with her, although it had been no hardship for her to give in. Indeed, “giving in” had been a victory in itself, for Radulf was as much a slave of her body as she was of his.
She slid down off her horse and felt a warm arm curl about her waist, supporting her, setting her on her feet. Pale and shadow-eyed, Lily turned to thank her husband.
“You are tired, Lily,” he murmured softly against her ear, his warm breath tingling in places she had forgotten for an hour or two. Amazingly, she felt desire pool in her belly and tighten her breasts, which had become so much more sensitive since her pregnancy.
“Rest,” Radulf ordered. Then, “Stephen!”
“The squire appeared from nowhere, wide-eyed as he gazed up at his lord. “Lord Radulf?” he stammered.
“You are well, boy?” Radulf quizzed him. “Lord Henry has been treating you kindly?”
“Yes, my lord.” Stephen’s blue eyes were full of admiration.
“Where is Lord Henry?”
“He’s with the workers at the castle, my lord. They’ve already made a beginning. Soon you won’t have to live in a tent.”
Radulf laughed. “Unfortunately, a good stone castle is not so quickly built, boy!”
Stephen caught Lily’s eye and color stained his beardless cheeks, but she had expected him to be suspicious of her. The last time she had been there, Lily had been under guard, a possible threat to the Normans. Now everyone would know she was the she-devil, Vorgen’s widow, and the wife Lord Radulf had been ordered by the king to wed.
“Bring food and drink to the tent for my lady, Stephen.” Radulf spoke over his shoulder as he walked away. “And for me!”
Stephen bowed as low as he could. “This way, lady.” He gestured toward the tent, as if she didn’t know her own way. “Lord Henry moved when he had word Lord Radulf was returning to Grimswade. The tent is all yours.”
“Thank you, Stephen.”
The dim, airy interior was heavenly after her long, rough journey. Lily would have collapsed on the furs on the bed, but Stephen pointedly placed a stool by the table. Amused, Lily sat while the squire hurried to fetch the food and drink his master had commanded.
As she waited, Lily wrapped her new fur-lined cloak closer about her body. Summer was truly over here at Grimswade. As they had ridden north she had noticed the trees beginning to turn, their leaves a brilliant collage against the vast gray sky. The rocky crags and thick forests seemed more desolate, more lonely. This was not the soft south, where Radulf’s heart dwelt. This was Lily’s country, harsh and unforgiving. It had made her what she was.
Stephen returned and set down a goblet of wine and several platters of food. Lily summoned a smile, and chose a slice of apple and several plump blackberries. The latter were sweet and juicy against her tongue and, with the wine, helped to revive her.
“How is Grimswade, Stephen?”
“Until now, lady, it’s been very quiet. Everyone who could has taken turns working on the castle. It is to stand upon the same hill where the she-dev—that is, where Vorgen had his keep…lady.”
The color had once more flooded his face at the slip, but Lily pretended not to notice. “And Father Luc?”
Thoughts of the little priest had niggled at her while she was in York. She had wondered whether Lord Henry had discovered Father Luc’s involvement with Hew and punished him for it. And of course, there had been the priest’s masterly twisting of the truth where Lily’s identity and whereabouts were concerned.
Stephen set her mind at rest.
“He left not long after you and Lord Radulf, lady. One of the villagers said he’d gone to a monastery on the coast. They say he was very fond of oysters,” he added, with more than a hint of disapproval.
Lily laughed, more with relief at Father Luc’s safety than Stephen’s prejudices. But Stephen’s fair skin pinkened for the third time.
“I’ll leave you to rest now, my lady,” he informed her with much wounded dignity.
Lily stretched and yawned. “Yes, Stephen, I am very tired. And Stephen…I’m glad your voice has stopped jumping about. It sounds very nice.”
He bolted.
Lily chuckled to herself. She glanced longingly over the platters but was just too weary to eat. Stumbling over to the bed, she climbed under the pile of furs and collapsed. She didn’t even bother to undress. What did a few creases matter? Soon they would do battle with Hew and Lord Kenton.
Lily’s head ached with thinking. She drew a deep breath, and promptly fell asleep.
And woke, disoriented.
It was as if the past had slipped forward, or Lily had slipped back. She was lying in Radulf’s bed in his tent at Grimswade, just as she had before, and he was in the room with her. She sensed him, knew he was there even before she heard the sound of his low, husky voice.
Last time, she had been afraid—he had been her captor, and her future had been a frightening void. Now she was his wife, carrying his child, and they had come north to fight a last battle and start a new, peaceful reign in this troubled land.
“How can you know?”
The voice was familiar, though Lily needed a moment to place it. Yes, it was Lord Henry. Opening her eyes a mere slit, she saw that the two men were standing by the table, eating. Lord Henry appeared less smooth than he had when she had seen him last, his chestnut curls messy, his blue eyes snapping. Perhaps the time spent at Grimswade had taken its toll, or else Hew’s approach had rattled him.
“How can you know?” he demanded again, his voice rising. His cherubic face was twisted with annoyance that did not sit well upon it. Maybe, thought Lily, he was not so handsome after all.
“I know.” Radulf took a gulp of his wine, and poured more from the jug. He chewed and swallowed a piece of meat, following it with a handful of the juicy blackberries.
“You don’t speak with your mind, Radulf, you speak with your cock!” Lord Henry snarled. “She has you by it, and all you care about is putting it in her. I saw that in your eyes when I came here. She had you even then, but I believed she might be good for you. I never thought you’d lose your head entirely over a woman! Jesu, the great Radulf! Turning into an old fool, just—”
He stopped then. Lily felt her own heart stutter, knowing what he had been about to say. Just like his father. Her gaze shifted to Radulf. His back was turned toward her, but she could see by the set of his shoulders, the tightening and bunching of the muscles in his upper arms, that he was very angry.
“You speak of what you don’t understand,” he said in a deceptively soft voice. “I will forgive you for it, because you have been my friend for so long, and I think it is concern which makes you so unlike your usual tactful self. Lily is my wife, and she has come with me by order of the king to speak to her people, to turn them to our side. I believe she will do this, Henry, because she cares deeply for their welfare. I have seen her ask after their children, I have seen her give them her own bread, and promise she will do all she can to help their lot. You wrong her, my friend.”
But Henry was set on his course and meant to have his say. “You should have left her in York. She is dangerous, and you have brought her here where she can do the most damage. In God’s name, Radulf, when I told you to enjoy her I did not know she was Vorgen’s wife, and I did not know you meant to wed her!”
Radulf brought his fist down on the table, hard. On the bed, Lily jumped. On the table, the wine slopped, the platters jumped and spun, the food spilled onto the floor.
“She is not Anna!” Radulf rasped, his low voice infinitely more dangerous than Henry’s shouts. “Can
you believe me to be such a fool that I would marry another Anna?”
The words were hardly out of his mouth when Radulf knew they were the truth. The doubts he had been carrying with him ever since he learned Lily’s true identity suddenly crumbled into dust. He was free, for perhaps the first time in his adult life.
Henry stared at him a moment more, and then heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Very well, Radulf. I am sorry for speaking so plainly. Sometimes friends need lies, and sometimes they need plain speaking. I have stated my fears and you have answered them. I will accept what you say. She is your wife, and if you trust her with your life…then so will I.”
Radulf took the other man’s outstretched hand in a firm clasp. The argument was forgotten, and soon they were discussing the approach of Hew’s army and the battle they must win.
Lily’s body gradually relaxed again as their words washed over her, and she must have slept. When she woke this time, Radulf was alone, seated by the table in his breeches and white linen shirt, his head bent over a parchment that he had spread across the table. Stephen must have come and tidied up the mess, for now only the wine remained.
Lily hesitated to disturb him, but his words still rang in her head. He had spoken up for her when he could just as easily have agreed with his friend. You wrong her. She is not Anna.
It was as if Radulf’s rebuttal had freed something in her heart, some restriction that had been there since she read Anna’s message.
Lily rose, her body still stiff and aching from the long journey. But at least the tiredness had gone. If necessary she could ride again, although she hoped she wouldn’t have to do so. She walked quietly over to where Radulf sat, and rested her hand against his broad shoulder.
He must have heard her approach, because he didn’t seem startled, only turned his head slightly to offer a weary smile. It was a map he had spread out before him, the cloth worn and tattered about the edges through much use. The candle had burned low, but Lily recognised Vorgen’s keep and the hills surrounding it, as well as the countryside around Grimswade.
“This is where Hew is camped,” he said. “And here is where we will draw him out.”
Lily looked to where he pointed and nodded.
“We have two days at the most.”
Lily stepped closer, leaning lightly against her husband. “Until you have to fight?”
“Until I have to win.”
“You will.” Lily bent to kiss his neck. He smelled of sweat and horse and man. “You are the King’s Sword, the immortal Radulf; you always win.”
He laughed softly. “‘Always,’ Lily?”
“Always.” She trailed her tongue across his ear, tickling, tantalizing. She slid her fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of it against her skin. Earlier, Radulf had fought for her in another way. He had stood up for her honor when Lord Henry had tried to turn him against her.
Maybe he trusted her after all.
Maybe it is time you trusted him.
The thought startled her, frightened her.
Radulf turned his head just enough to catch her mouth with his. Their kiss deepened, until Lily’s head spun dizzily and her legs lost their strength. His hands cupped her buttocks, drawing her closer, bringing her to stand between his thighs.
“Ah Lily,” he murmured, nuzzling against her throat, her breasts. “So cool on the outside, but so hot within…”
She gasped as he found one of her nipples through the cloth of her gown, and held his face close. “Vorgen did not think me hot within,” she managed, dragging the words out before she lost her wits entirely. Radulf’s hands were on her thighs now, purposefully raising her skirts. “He thought me as cold as the ice that covers the streams in winter, as cold as the snow on the ground. Once, his soldiers brought news of a man who had become lost and died in the forest. His body was covered in snow, and it was frozen hard. Vorgen turned to me when he heard that story, and he said, ‘That is you, lady. You are like that man.’”
Radulf had stopped, his hands gripping her thighs, his breath warm in the hollow at the base of her throat. His eyes had lost their dazed look.
Lily took a ragged breath and went on, before she lost her courage altogether. “He told me that it was my fault that he could not take me as a husband takes his wife; that my coldness shriveled his manhood whenever he came near me, whenever I touched him…there. He hated me for that. He swore to throw me to his men, and sometimes he wept because he could not do to me what he so wanted to do. He said it so many times that I believed him. I was cold. But you have thawed that ice, Radulf. You have turned me into a warm, living woman once more. I am alive again, because of you.”
His eyes were fixed on her face now, taking in every movement, every emotion.
“He was lying to you. Give me your hand.”
Slowly, Lily placed her fingers in his. He smiled, bending to kiss them. “You are no frozen woman, Lily. You are warm and desirable. Put aside what Vorgen said.” His eyes narrowed, a flash of anger lighting them as he thought of what he would like to do to that particular Norman.
Instead, he gently pressed her hand against that ever-eager bulge between his thighs. “I have no difficulty in taking you as a husband takes his wife, and far from your touch shriveling this tireless piece of flesh…my dilemma is in resisting you, mignonne!”
Tears filled her eyes, blinding her. “I did believe him,” she insisted. “He was very convincing. You have freed me of his evil.”
He stroked her cheek, brushing aside the falling tears. Her lips trembled as he kissed them tenderly, a healing kiss. His heart was full to overflowing with what she had told him. He had guessed some of it, from knowing Vorgen and from her reactions, and from what she had said to him at Trier. Now he knew the whole truth, and he wanted to tear Vorgen to pieces. It was a shame that he was already dead. After what he had heard tonight, Radulf would have enjoyed killing him.
Chapter 18
Throughout the following day, a constant trickle of men sought the safety of Radulf’s army. Some of them came alone and expressed a desire to fight with the husband of Lady Wilfreda, others brought their families and set up camp, huddling dry-eyed and weary beneath the azure banner of the King’s Sword.
As Radulf watched them come, and watched his wife go among them—with the bodyguard he had insisted upon—he understood at last that she had been right. Her people loved and trusted her, far more than they had ever trusted Hew or Vorgen. She had come north to give them hope of peace, and despite their instinctive distrust of the Norman conquerors, they believed in her enough to grasp at the opportunity she was giving them.
Hew was camped some five miles away. His army, mostly Kenton’s men with a few rebels thrown in, had ruthlessly pillaged the surrounding countryside, making themselves even more hated than before. By joining Hew, Kenton’s soldiers were doing as they had been ordered, but many of them didn’t like it. They had fought at Hastings with the Normans they now faced as enemies. Deserters had already joined the trickle of Englishmen who were swelling Radulf’s army.
He was well satisfied.
Lord Henry, too, had had to admit his mistake where Lily was concerned. Radulf had noticed, with amusement, his friend’s attempts to charm his wife as only Henry could. He was even more amused to notice that, although she listened politely, Lily was not cajoled by his glib tongue. Had he once thought Henry could charm her away from him? She was not such a fool.
It was midday as Radulf stood, listening to Henry and Jervois argue about tactics, his eyes scanning the smoky camp with its many souls, all dependent upon him. He noticed his wife leave their tent. She paused a moment, breathing in the air, straightening her back as if preparing herself to face whatever obstacles might be set in her path.
Aye, she was a proud woman, and Radulf was proud of her and what she had done. A man could ask no more than to live with such a woman at his side. Her hair was bright and uncovered, like a young girl’s, her gown a simple one, so as not to intimidate the
common folk, and she wore no jewelry apart from the red-eyed hawk upon her thumb.
He watched her stretch again, as if her back ached. Something in the movement, something in the way her hands were folded so protectively across her belly, struck a discordant note in Radulf.
Puzzled, he watched her descend once more into the heart of the camp. Stephen was trailing behind her, and the boy shot wistful glances at the soldiers as they checked and sharpened their weapons, shouting bravado to hide their fear. Many of them would be dead tomorrow, but Stephen probably didn’t think of that, Radulf thought wryly. He was dreaming of the glory.
Radulf had already decided that the battle would take place tomorrow, soon after first light. He would march his men in predawn darkness to the long, flat valley where Hew was encamped. Then they would attack. If Hew was unprepared, so much the better, but Radulf did not fool himself into thinking it would be an easy victory. Kenton’s men were well trained; they were no rabble. No, it would be a hard fight, but one he had no intention of losing.
His gaze slipped back to Lily. She had reached Gudren and Olaf’s tent, and seemed to be hesitating there. Even as she made to move on, Gudren’s gray head popped out of the opening and her arms waved bossily, gesturing for Lily to enter. With a regal nod of her head, Lily did so, vanishing from his sight.
“I am glad to see you, my pretty one.”
Gudren had not changed. She was as plump as ever, her face barely wrinkled, her pale eyes cunning.
“And you, mother.” Lily smiled, answering her in her own tongue.
Gudren sighed. “It does my heart good to hear the sound of Norway. I knew you were not who you said you were, lady. I told Olaf you were of Viking blood, but he scoffed and said I was getting old. Now see who is old!”
Lily smiled. “Olaf prepares for the battle?”
“He works all day and at night he sharpens his axe.”
Lily hesitated. “He believes in a great victory, like Radulf?”