ate, to disguise. Yet that fear could well be of Radulf himself. Most feared him; he had come to expect it. Why not her, too? And yet…and yet…
“She is proud for a mere vassal’s daughter,” he admitted at last, “but I have known many proud ladies with little to back their high opinions of themselves.”
Henry guffawed.
“I have questioned some of the villagers here at Grimswade, and they tell me that Edwin of Rennoc has a fair-haired daughter, young and pretty.”
“Ah, then, it cannot be she! This girl is beautiful!”
Radulf ignored him. “They did not mention Rennoc’s daughter had been wed, but Lily tells me her husband is dead, so perhaps it was not well known.”
He was making excuses for her now, inventing reasons to believe her.
“She had only one small bundle on her horse, and her clothing is serviceable rather than richly made,” he continued.
“A sensible girl would not dress in her best for such a journey, and perhaps she had more belongings on another horse which was taken in the wood. Have you asked her these questions?” Henry asked.
Radulf frowned, avoiding his friend’s eyes. He had not asked because he was wary of the answers. “What does it matter? I will hold her tightly until I know the truth.”
“And while you hold her, you will enjoy her?” Henry took a swallow of his ale.
Radulf shrugged as if the subject no longer interested him. “She is comely.”
Henry grinned, and Radulf knew that his pretended indifference wasn’t fooling his friend. Henry had known him far too long. Since they were boys, and Henry had come to Radulf’s father’s house in Normandy to be trained as a knight. Now, as if homing in on his deepest troubles, the secrets Radulf kept hidden, Henry said, “I saw my Lord of Kenton on my way north.”
Radulf froze.
“He was present at the king’s table in York, where I stayed while traveling to you. He is an odd fish. Smiling with his mouth while his eyes stay cold. He hangs over his new wife like a lovesick boy.”
Radulf, barely aware of the scorn in Henry’s voice, forced himself to continue with his meal, biting into a slice of apple. He made himself ask the question. “And how does his wife?”
Henry hesitated, eyeing Radulf’s shuttered face. So the pain is still as great, he thought. Would Radulf ever forgive himself, or would his bitterness and self-reproach continue to corrode that possibility?
Henry shrugged. “His wife is in York with him. She is still fair, and she is still adept at drawing a veil over her true nature when she is in the company of others.” He glanced at Radulf’s blank face, and then said swiftly, “She asked after you. She said she wished to be remembered to you. She told me so twice, so she must have meant it.”
Radulf gave a savage laugh. “The woman’s vanity knows no bounds!” For a moment he saw her face, beautiful, beneath him, and watched as her amber eyes widened, shifted beyond his shoulder…Then disgust filled him for himself and her, and he shut the door on his memories.
“I have heard enough of bad tidings, Henry. Tell me instead why the king has sent you.”
“To reinforce you. Perhaps he thinks his Sword is weary.” Henry smiled to take some of the weight from his words. “I am to take up stewardship of Vorgen’s lands until William decides who will have them.”
“’Tis poor, wild country,” Radulf muttered. “The people struggle to grow their crops and feed their beasts. Such hardship breeds discontent; Vorgen would not have found it difficult to draw supporters for rebellion. They are so far from London here, they think William’s long arm cannot reach.”
Henry yawned. “The country is all very well, my friend, but I prefer to spend my time at court.”
Radulf shook his head. “You fight battles with your tongue, Henry, while I use my right arm. That is the difference between us.”
“The difference is that I was up while you were still abed!” Henry retorted, and watched Radulf smile.
His eyes narrowed with sudden interest.
Radulf had a sated look to him that Henry had not seen for a long time. The lines about his eyes had smoothed out, and the rigid set of his mouth was softer. Perhaps this mystery woman was what Radulf needed. He deserved some happiness. If she was what she claimed to be, Radulf could keep her by him.
And if she was not…?
Quite suddenly, Henry understood the reason that Radulf had not pursued the matter further. His friend was afraid of what he might find! And yet was not the truth, however hurtful, better than living a lie? Radulf had seen his father suffer in a fool’s paradise; did Radulf intend to take the same misguided path?
“You say you are riding south today,” Henry said thoughtfully. “How far are Morcar’s lands? Twenty…twenty-five leagues? Two…three days’ riding? Why not take the lady and return her to her doting father? Rennoc is probably worried; you will be doing him a favor. Then, if she is as she says, you may continue your dalliance. There is not a man in England who would dare withhold his daughter from Radulf, the King’s Sword.”