The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Lily woke to the dawn, with Stephen creeping about the tent, tidying and laying out platters of food, careful not to disturb his master. She lay still until the boy had gone and then, easing her tangled hair out from beneath the heavy weight of Radulf’s arm, sat up.

Was it truly only two nights ago that she had made her way to the church? Then she had been frightened and alone, at the end of her tether. Now she felt changed. Not just in body, though her limbs ached pleasurably and her mouth was swollen from Radulf’s kisses. But in mind and heart, too.

The dark, painful memories of her time with Vorgen seemed to have faded just a little. Radulf had undergone no difficulty; did that mean Vorgen had been wrong? That Lily was not a woman who sapped a man’s vigor with her touch? That maybe the fault had been with Vorgen alone?

Hope seeded itself in her heart. Suddenly she wished that the story she had told Radulf were the truth. How much simpler it would be now, were she really Edwin of Rennoc’s daughter! Maybe, if she were to wake Radulf, tell him who she was? Explain…?

A cold whisper of warning halted her hot rush of impetuousness. Radulf was a Norman lord, and she knew the high price such men placed upon their honor and their allegiance to their king. In his greed Vorgen had turned his back on both, and had hated himself for it even as he was powerless to stop himself. Lily knew instinctively that Radulf was not the kind of man to compromise his honor, nor would he betray his king. If she were to tell him her secret, that she was the Lady Wilfreda, he would give her up to King William.

You are foolish if you think your gift will soften me to you if you lie.

Radulf’s words echoed in her head, and Lily shivered in the chill light of morning. So she would be damned if she lied, and damned if she didn’t.

Very uneasy now, last night’s exhilaration completely faded, Lily glanced down at the sleeping man at her side, almost expecting him to have grown horns and a tail.

He lay sprawled across the bed, beautiful in a stark, masculine way, his big body still and yet alert even now. His short dark hair was disordered by sleep and Lily’s fingers, his face relaxed, the lines about his eyes smoothed out and his firm lips slightly open. Lily longed to stroke the scar on his cheek and kiss him awake.

She did neither.

He had made love to her as thoroughly as any man could, and yet he had been aware of her needs, too. Lily remembered, with a rich coloring of her cheeks, how he had brought her to her pleasure time and time again before he took his own.

Would Vorgen have caressed her, lifted her to such heights, made her forget her very reason for being? Assuming, of course, he had been capable of it! Lily shuddered at the idea of swapping Radulf for Vorgen. Vorgen was as different from Radulf as rain from sun. And Hew—what of Hew? Once, long ago, Hew had begged her to allow him to visit her in the night, and Lily had been young enough and flattered enough to agree. Luckily, her father had guessed what was afoot and prevented any harm from coming to his precious daughter.

At the time, Lily had raged and wept with a mixture of shame and regret. She had been spoiled and headstrong—the only child, and her mother dead. Now she was glad her father had stopped Hew that night.

So Radulf is a fine lover.

Lily’s inner voice invaded her mind, scattering her thoughts.

Will his kisses keep you safe, if he discovers the truth?

No, of course they would not! Radulf cared nothing for her—how could he? He didn’t even know her. He thought her a widowed Norman lady, grateful for his protection.

I do not think you will hurt me.

Lily had meant what she said in the tingling warmth of Radulf’s embrace, but now…Fright caught like fingers at her throat, quickening her breath.

Lily had had her night of love, and she knew she would never forget it. But now, she must go. She did not think of where she would go. The dread of Radulf’s discovery was driving her, and that had little to do with common sense.

Cautiously, fearful of waking him, Lily crept out of Radulf’s bed. Shivering from the cold and her somber thoughts, she found her clothing and dressed hurriedly. The jeweled dagger lay on the ground, and she strapped it around her thigh. Breathlessly she caught up her cloak and, with one eye on Radulf, felt for the ring in its lining. The rounded shape had lodged into one corner. Lily slipped her hand into the tear to remove it, and hesitated. Where else would she hide it? It was safe enough where it was; best to leave it for now.

Moving noiselessly across the tent, Lily noticed that, as well as some cold meats, Stephen had brought water for washing, a knob of sweet-scented soap, and a drying cloth. Hastily she availed herself of all these things, then wavered over the wild tangle of her hair. At some point during the night Radulf had freed the silver strands from her braid, running his hands through them as if through gleaming water.

Impatiently Lily cast the memory aside. There was no time now to tidy her hair. She thrust it down inside her cloak and pulled up the hood. Yet even as she set her mind to the task ahead, she turned once more to face the bed.

Radulf slept on, his long brown legs and strongly muscled torso framed by the dark furs, his face turned from her into the shadows. Lily took a sharp breath, swamped by regret for what might have been. In another time, another place, she and Radulf could have met and loved.

Lifting her chin, her back stiffening with determination, Lily turned and made her way on soft feet to the tent opening. There were several slices of dark bread on a platter on the table, and she picked one up as she passed, nibbling at the coarse crust.

Lily peeped outside into the steely morning.

She saw the camp, hazy with smoke. Soldiers were setting about their daily tasks. A woman laughed, a horse stamped, voices were raised in mild dispute. And two guards in chain mail stood just beyond the entrance to Radulf’s tent.

Lily jumped back like someone bitten.

Of course there were guards—and whether they were there to keep her in or others out made little difference.

She was a prisoner.