The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Radulf stood outside, a giant in chain mail, his dark hair damp and sleek to his skull, his face cleanly shaven. A tightness gathered in Lily’s chest, a breathlessness. Truly, it was just as well that he was leaving. He was more dangerous to her than all the Normans in the land.

“I have come for you, lady,” he said, and held out his hand.

Without thinking, Lily gave him hers, and felt his hard fingers close tightly. A tingle of anticipation ran up her arm. He felt it, too, she was certain of it. She could see those fires, banked now, in his dark eyes. She resisted the urge to sway against his body like a feeble sapling, forcing herself to remain aloof.

“Olaf says you speak the language of the far north.” Radulf’s frowning eyes searched hers.

She blinked back at him, her eyes stinging from the smoke and the cold clear air.

“How do you speak that tongue?” he went on. “Where did you learn it?” His voice was hard now, and demanding.

You could tell him the truth, the treacherous voice whispered in Lily’s head. Remember what Gudren said? He is a wise and just lord. He will listen to you; he will understand. Tell him now. Now!

Angrily, she shook her head.

Radulf thought she shook it at him. “Lady,” he groaned in exasperation. “You try me too hard. I will have answers.”

Above them, on the rise near Radulf’s tent, preparations to leave were almost complete. Lily noticed that her own mare was saddled and waiting, her small bundle of possessions strapped in place. She turned in wide-eyed astonishment to the man scowling down at her.

“Why are you taking me with you?”

“Give me your answer.”

Lily’s eyes searched his dark ones, but could not read them. She sighed, surrendering. “I had a servant who spoke the language and she taught me.”

It was only partially a lie. Lily had had a Norse servant, but she had learned the language from her mother.

Radulf was still frowning, unconsciously rubbing his sore shoulder. Lily refused to allow the possibility of his pain to distract her.

“I am taking you home to your father,” he told her at last, and watched as she stilled, her pale skin turning a shade paler. But the next moment she was smiling as if she had never heard better news, and he convinced himself he had mistaken her pleasure for shock.

“He will be glad to see me,” she murmured prettily. “It has been long.” A strand of hair blew across her cheek.

Radulf reached out and secured it, smoothing the soft tress behind her ear.

“My blood burns for you, lady,” he said harshly. “Even now I can only think of when next I can have you in my bed.”

Lily knew he expected her to complain of his manners, or run like a frightened doe.

Her fingers lightly brushed the back of his hand, tracing a thin white scar on the brown skin.

“I, too, burn, my lord.”

Radulf’s hand turned and gripped hers fiercely, his face tight with desire. “Then God help us if you lie, lady. God help us both!”

Chapter 6

The horses stamped restlessly. Lily, flanked by two of Radulf’s men, waited as the group of soldiers prepared to leave. They were traveling light; Radulf was leaving most of his army at Grimswade, awaiting his return. In the meantime, Lord Henry would begin his stewardship of Vorgen’s lands.

My lands, Lily thought bitterly.

She pretended at a light heart. Her stomach roiled and churned like a stormy sea, but the Normans must not know it. Lily knew she had to effect her escape before she reached Rennoc, but how? Radulf watched her as if he knew her secret already, and when he was not watching, his men were.

Still, there must surely come a time when they would be distracted. A moment would do. There were hills and woods and streams aplenty between Grimswade and Rennoc, time for plotting and planning and taking advantage of any opportunity that might present itself. Lily would be ready.

“My lord!”

Lily glanced up as two soldiers appeared, huffing and puffing. They were carrying something between them, and as Lily watched in horror, they tossed the body of a man to the ground before Radulf.