The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

“My lord, I beg pardon, I was—”

Radulf didn’t waste time with excuses. “Take the lady to Gudren’s tent,” he said gruffly. “Now!”

Lily found herself given firmly into the squire’s care, hurried past Henry’s amused and admiring gaze, and out into the brightening day.

The air struck her chilly, warm as she had been in Radulf’s arms, and she blinked about her at the camp.

Tents blended into the hillside, the unmoving veil of smoke giving further camouflage. Women were grouped about a cart from which one Grimswade entrepreneur was selling freshly baked bread, while men practiced their fighting skills in a meadow close by. Radulf’s huge black destrier was being saddled and readied for its master.

Lily wondered anxiously how long Radulf intended to be away, and what would happen to her. Would she be safe? And then she smiled. If his jealous care of her just now was anything to go by, she was very safe indeed.

Her smile faded.

With Radulf gone, she could escape. Yes, she told herself, ignoring the shiver of regret that came from a well deep inside her being, that was what she would do.

“Come, lady.” Stephen gave her an impatient glance and led the way, trudging down the muddy track. Lily followed, sniffing the unsettling mixture of animal manure, woodsmoke, and bread. Her stomach alternately lurched and rumbled. She hoped Gudren had something to eat; she had barely taken a bite of the food in Radulf’s tent before Lord Henry arrived.

And if the opportunity came to escape today, she preferred to do so on a full belly.

Radulf pulled on a clean pair of breeches and another shirt, while Henry sat down at the table and began to partake heartily of his friend’s breakfast. Radulf eyed him with fond disgust. Fonder than the disgust in which he held himself. Henry had been amused by his behavior with Lily, but Radulf hadn’t been able to help himself. As soon as he’d seen Henry’s eyes fix on Lily, he’d experienced such a bolt of jealousy he was sure the soles of his feet were sizzling.

“And that lady is under your protection?” Henry repeated after Radulf’s brief explanation. “That being so, should you have…uhmm…taken advantage of her undeniable charms?”

Radulf splashed the now lukewarm water over his head and picked up the cloth to dry himself. Lily’s scent was on it, and desire gripped him with hot, urgent fingers.

Her words were still ringing in his ears. Although he knew she must have been playing up to Henry’s teasing, she had not smiled when she said them. And she had spoken as if what she said was what she believed.

Radulf shivered.

Women had been known to lie. Anna had lied and lied again. It was wiser not to believe them, wiser not to become involved…no matter how much he yearned to.

“Radulf? Are you still asleep? Or are your wits addled?”

“She was hiding in the church,” Radulf said quickly, avoiding Henry’s knowing gaze. “I have been looking into her story.”

“Oh, ‘looking into her story,’” Henry echoed, nodding solemnly.

Radulf ignored the jibe and sat down, piling food high on one of the silver plates and pouring a generous quantity of ale into his mug. “She is the daughter of one of the Earl of Morcar’s vassals, Edwin of Rennoc. She had been visiting in Scotland, and when they heard that Vorgen’s rebellion had ended, she was sent home with some men-at-arms. They were attacked in the wood north of Grimswade. She fled and took shelter in the church, which is where I found her. That is what she says.”

Henry paused in his eating, eyeing Radulf curiously. “You sound as if you doubt her story.”

“Because I do. I sent some men to search the wood and they found nothing.”

“Is it a big wood?”

“Not particularly. There should have been something to prove her story. Where are the bodies, the signs of battle? Could they have been hidden so cleverly, and if so, for what purpose?”

“For fear of your reprisals?” Henry replied promptly. Radulf only grunted. “Other than the question of the wood, she appears to be what she says? A vassal’s daughter? Come, Radulf, you are used to reading people! What do you see when you look at this lady?”

Radulf hesitated. When he looked at Lily his thoughts were more erotic than analytical. How could he explain to Henry the joy he had found last night in Lily’s arms? The deep, gut-wrenching satisfaction he had experienced every time he entered her, made her his? When he felt her tremble beneath him, and heard her soft cries of pleasure—

Radulf shook his head sharply, angrily, clearing his mind. Henry was right—his wits were addled. Too many lives depended on Radulf’s decisions; it was time to unscramble them.

“She is a lady,” he said. “Gently reared. Yet I have learned to mistrust appearances, and there is something about this girl that knocks a sharp warning.”

“What is this ‘something,’ Radulf? Come, tell me.”

Again Radulf hesitated. He had sensed a restlessness about Lily, a fear she was eager, nay, desper