The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Lily blinked, amazed by his willful blindness. Anger bubbled inside her, and with it a swirl of memories of her life with Vorgen. The pain and humiliation, the damage to her body and mind. But somehow she forced all emotion down, using her cooler mind to subdue her eager heart.

Remember that Radulf could not have known Vorgen as he really was, or he would not speak so. Vorgen must have changed, or he had hidden his true self well. Or was it just that Radulf, being a Norman, could not denigrate another Norman when there was an Englishwoman handy to take the blame?

For her sake as well as his, she must try to make him see, wake him from his sleep. It was foolish, perhaps, but when she was gone she wanted Radulf to understand.

“I understand what you say,” she said gently, “but men change. Perhaps the Vorgen you knew changed. Greed is like an illness that can afflict any man. Vorgen came north on the king’s business and saw he, too, could be a king. At least…that is what I have heard.”

“We must all be vigilant against the sin of greed,” the abbot murmured perfunctorily. He was losing interest, his head nodding.

Radulf played with the stem of his goblet. He preferred to believe Wilfreda had caught Vorgen in her spell like an evil, alluring spider might catch a helpless fly. He had a picture of her in his mind: raven-haired, amber-eyed, smiling into men’s eyes and saying one thing while she meant another. Wilfreda had become Anna, and he hated her.

“Who have you heard speak on this matter?” he demanded, a growing anger coloring his deep voice. “Does your father indulge in treason, lady?”

Lily shook her head, startled at the expression in his eyes—black and furious, like the storms that boiled over the hills near Vorgen’s keep.

“But you plead Wilfreda’s case?” he went on, leaning toward her, crowding her.

Again Lily shook her head, refusing to be intimidated. “Nay, Lord Radulf. I merely offer you my thoughts. Are women not allowed to have opinions under King William’s rule? I had heard he is very fond of his wife, and listens to her advice.

“Matilda is different—”

“And how is that?” Lily searched his face, very aware of this new tension between them. And the danger in his eyes. A combination of desperation and determination drove her on. “Matilda is a woman, the same as Wilfreda, the same as I am. Should a woman not be given the same fair and just treatment as you have given Vorgen?”

Radulf’s frown grew blacker. “You know not of what you speak, lady. These are men’s matters. Stay with what you understand, Lily. I have made my judgment. Vorgen’s wife is a scourge upon the north and will be captured and brought before the king for just punishment.”

A chill ran through Lily, freezing any reply she may have made.

Radulf’s voice had wakened the old abbot from his doze. He sounded quite hearty but clearly had heard nothing of their conversation.

“I knew your father, my lord! A fine man. He was most generous to our order. I heard he requested prayers be said for him after his death, to shorten his stay in Purgatory. Aye, a fine man. You must be proud to tread in his footsteps!”

Radulf turned and looked at him. Whatever the abbot saw in his face startled him so that he jerked back, his lips working.

“My lord…” he muttered. “My lord, I meant no offense.”

Radulf had already turned away, and a heavy silence ensued while the abbot struggled to regain his composure.

Radulf’s anger dissipated slowly, and with it went the red mist from his eyes. He reminded himself that the old abbot could not know of the rift between him and his father. He should apologize, make all right, but he found the words difficult. The wound inside him had still not healed; perhaps it never would. But it was his wound and he did not share his pain with many. Over the years, the hurt had become an old, familiar companion.

No, it was Lily’s quiet argument that had really infuriated him. All but accusing him of lacking fairness in his decisions, instructing him on how to deal with the rebels! No woman had ever dared meddle like that before, and he would not allow it now. He might desire Lily with a raging, insatiable hunger, but she was a woman.

He could not start trusting her now, especially not after what Jervois had discovered.

And what if she is right?

The voice in his head was very like Henry’s. Teasing, questioning, the devil’s advocate. Radulf stiffened. How could she be right? he argued silently. He had known Vorgen; he did not know Wilfreda. Should he slander the man he believed loyal for a rebellious, treacherous woman?

So you are not biased in your thinking?

Of course not!

Then…why did Lady Wilfreda resemble Anna in his thoughts? Had he allowed his hatred for the one to cloud his judgment of the other?

He tried to remember Vorgen more clearly, pushing past the knightly bravado and comradeship they had shared at Hastings.

A memory came to him, sharp and somewhat unpl

easant.