He was well named.
Lily shivered. She found it almost impossible to understand such behavior. Her own emotions were too much a part of her to switch them on and off. She had never been able to make decisions in such an emotionless manner, no matter how she tried. Her heart ruled her, sometimes tempered by her head, but if there was ever a conflict between the two, it was her heart that triumphed.
If women ruled the world, she told herself fiercely, there would be no bloodshed, there would be no wars. Women understood better the importance of life, for it was women who brought it into the world and then tended and cared for it. What could Radulf know of the suffering of the children? What did he care?
So deep in her bitter thoughts was she, Lily did not notice the terrain changing about her. The rocky outcrops and uneven ground had given way to gentler hills and a forest of tall beeches. Soon they were making a steady descent into a valley. She was surprised when she heard the cry to halt. As the command passed swiftly down the line, Lily craned her head to see up ahead.
/> A narrow stream, water flashing silver as it trickled over smooth stones. Moss-mottled tree branches overhung one side, while the ground was grassy and more open on the other.
Radulf threw out his orders, but everyone knew what to do. They had done it often, up and down the width and breadth of England, as the King’s Sword subdued the English and forced them to assume the Norman yoke.
Fires were soon lit and cook pots started. Men sprawled about, eating and drinking, taking their ease as if it were a holy day. But the relaxed air was deceptive. Lily noted the watches Radulf had set on the higher ground about them, and the weapons close to every man’s hand.
She sat in the middle of the camp, on a flat-topped rock beside a rowan tree. She had already eaten the bread and cheese brought to her by Radulf’s captain, and now sipped from a cup of cold stream water. Jervois sat close by, his old-young face tense and alert beneath his flopping fringe of yellow hair. Lily wondered a little at his diligence—she was surrounded by soldiers, after all. How could she escape? Only a fool would attempt it.
She removed her heavy cloak, took up her antler comb, and prepared to coax the knots and tangles from her hair. It was in an even worse state than it had been when she awoke in Radulf’s arms that morning. She had to comb each section several times, laying the gleaming silver strands over her back and shoulders, while shorter tendrils curled about her face. On the few occasions she happened to glance up, the men about her appeared to be studiously avoiding looking at her.
Apart from Radulf. He was looking, and frowning. Lily refused to let him intimidate her, turning back to her grooming.
A linnet sang in the rowan tree, competing with the blackbirds in the beeches to be the sweetest songster. Lily smiled as she listened, and stopped to finish sipping her water. The sun warmed her back, and although gray clouds hovered, the showers had eased. It seemed briefly as if everything that had happened to her during the past four years had faded, become a dream. Lily felt lighthearted, and young. For so long, she had been forced to carry a burden far beyond her years. Now, she remembered with surprise that she was young, barely twenty.
A faint chill breeze stirred her silken cloak, sending several gossamer threads across her face. As Lily lifted a hand to smooth them back, she became aware of Radulf once more. He had removed his hauberk and his tunic, and a breath of air flattened his sweat-dampened shirt against the hard, curving muscles of his broad chest, while his tightly cut breeches clung to his lean hips and thick, strong legs.
He was standing by one of the resting groups of men, but as Lily watched through her lashes he moved on, pausing here and there for a word, leaning down to listen with a frown to a complaint or with a smile to a joke. She had known his men were in awe of him, but now she saw that, more importantly, they loved him. Each and every soldier he spoke to lifted his chin higher and made his back straighter.
They would fight to the death for him. Gudren had been right: Radulf was loved just as much as he was feared.
Lily’s head cleared abruptly when Radulf glanced up, catching her watching him. He held her briefly but fiercely with the dark spear of his gaze, before continuing among his men as if nothing had happened.
But something had happened.
Lily held her breath, and released it very slowly. Her heart began to pound. Radulf might pretend he was randomly seeking out this man and then that one, but each and every step brought him nearer to Lily. Her heart told her it was she who was his true objective.
Why had she suddenly drawn his attention? He had barely noticed her except to order the guard on her tightened. Now, as he circled her, weaving among his men, stealthily, closer and closer, she thought she knew how a hunted animal might feel. Stalked, cornered…devoured.
A shudder ran through her as another eddy fanned her skin. The long gleaming strands of her hair stirred and she reached up with trembling fingers to straighten them, gather them, and begin to plait…
He was behind her. She knew it even before Jervois rose to his feet. Tiny prickles of awareness lifted the flesh on the back of her neck. His hand closed on hers, stilling her movements. “No,” he said softly, and in two steps was standing before her.
Instantly her dark lashes swept down to veil her eyes, afraid he would read the emotions he stirred in her. Her heart was drumming so fast she thought he must hear it, as she remembered what they had done last night in Radulf’s bed.
He stood before her, a dark giant against the threatening sky. Radulf, warrior of legend, whose name would be forever remembered. But it was not that Radulf Lily yearned for. She wanted the Radulf who had held her tenderly in his arms, lavishing his body upon hers until she no longer belonged to herself, only to him.
“My lord?” Jervois was looking from one to the other, uncertain what was required of him.
“Go and change the watches,” Radulf said quietly.
His captain went without argument.
Lily blinked, trying to collect her wandering wits. He was so close. She could smell the clean, masculine scent of him. She could see the hard satin and the dark silk of his chest where the shirt gaped at his throat. Her eyes were drawn inexorably down, over his flat stomach, to the ties at the waist of his breeches, and finally to linger on the bulge between his thighs. His manhood appeared to grow under her attention, and in direct response Lily’s breasts swelled, the nipples tightening, until they were outlined clearly against the wool cloth of her gown.
Shocked by her body’s betrayal, Lily glanced swiftly up at Radulf, color staining her cheeks, praying he hadn’t noticed.
He had.
His dark gaze was fixed on her jutting nipples, and when he lifted his eyes to hers, she was scorched by the smoldering fires in their depths.
She did not know that the sight of her combing her hair, the unbound glory of it, had heated his blood beyond bearing.