The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Lily lifted her chin proudly. “If I did not need to ask, my lord, I would not.”

His finger brushed her cheek. Her pride seemed to amuse him. “’Tis you who keeps me from my duty, mignonne.”

Lily’s gray eyes had searched his, discovering the truth of what he said. Pleasure warmed her. Her lips curved into a teasing smile, but her words contained more than a hint of tartness.

“And how many days have you set aside for this distraction, my lord? And will you put me from your mind when they are passed?”

They were questions Radulf had been asking himself, and still he did not know the answers. “That depends, Lily,” he murmured, and made himself return her smile. “You are pensive today.”

Lily turned away, watching a hawk, solitary above a rocky crag. “I am thinking of Rennoc,” she said.

He rode beside her in silence, his eyes on the perfection

of her profile, the soft wisps of fair hair that had escaped their braid to dance about her face. She was like no other woman he had ever known. Such beauty should mean a certain vanity, an expectation of men’s besottedness, but Lily acted as if she was unaware of her looks. There was no coyness about her, nothing flirtatious.

If he had met her anywhere else but hiding in Grimswade church, Radulf would have been tempted to trust her. But the circumstances of their meeting and his instant attraction, as well as his past experience, made him suspicious and wary. It was only when they lay together that he was able to abandon such suspicions.

“Tell me of your father.”

The suddenness of his question surprised Lily, but she didn’t let it show. The hawk had dived, vanishing behind some scrubby trees, but she kept watch for its return.

“Edwin of Rennoc is kind but firm, a good father and a good vassal.”

“And are you a good daughter?”

Lily smiled. “Of course.”

“Obedient?”

“Yes.”

“Loving?”

“Yes.”

“Truthful?”

Lily glanced at him, still smiling. “Why do you question me, my lord? Do you intend listing my shortcomings to him?”

Radulf frowned. “I would not dare, lady. It is you who should list my shortcomings. I have treated you with far less honor than you deserve.”

Surprised, Lily saw repentance in his eyes, but a certain arrogance, too. “Do you mean you are sorry for taking me to your bed, or sorry for the way in which it happened?”

“You were a maid.”

“I was widowed, so how could you know I was still a maid?”

“I should have known it.” His look was wry. “Truth to tell, Lily, I was too hot for you even then. And no, I am not sorry for taking you to my bed, only sorry that it was done so rashly.”

“Nay,” she whispered, reaching out to rest her hand lightly against his thigh. “There was a fire between us, and neither of us could have doused it in any other manner.”

He looked down at her hand, and Lily felt his already hard muscles tense. She had spoken in the past tense but they both knew the fire had not been doused. The flames were as bright as ever.

“What will happen when we reach…when I am home?” she asked softly, and then wondered why she asked. She knew what would happen. Radulf would end it. But she wanted to pretend a little longer, fool herself that she really was Edwin of Rennoc’s daughter, and Radulf was taking her home. Then she could ask herself if his desire was strong enough for him to consider keeping her by him. Or would he visit her, when his duties permitted, riding swiftly to Rennoc to bed her and leaving an hour later?

Lily shivered. She did not want that. If she were to complete her fantasy as she really wished, then Radulf would be with her always.

But that was madness. An impossibility. A child might believe in such things, but Lily was no child. She desired Radulf, yes, but she must not give in to it, for if she did he would destroy her.