The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

She hurried forward, the hem of her cloak brushing softly over the straw-littered floor. Her mare thrust a soft nose over the length of wood that served as a gate. “Hush, my beauty,” Lily whispered. “Hush now. I’ll have you out of there in a moment. And then we must fly, silent and swift as night owls.”

Her fingers closed on the wooden ba

r, clumsy in her haste. It fell with a dull thud to the earth floor.

“Lily?”

The word was a whisper, but it may as well have been a thunderbolt. Lily jerked around, searching blindly for the dagger tucked into her girdle.

“Lily!”

Lily wrenched the dagger free, color draining from her face, her breath catching harshly in her throat. The torch threw monstrous shadows, turning the slender man into a giant.

“Stay back!” she ordered harshly. The horses, sensing her fear, began to shift nervously in their stalls.

The man ignored her command. As he strode forward, his long hair and mustache caught the torchlight with a glow like gold. The smile on his handsome face was achingly familiar.

Lily’s dagger fell from her nerveless fingers. She started toward him. “Hew? Hew! How can you be here?”

He caught her, his breath warm in her hair. His arms held her tight with a wiry strength. “Hush, Lily! ’Tis not safe. We must go quickly, before the Norman bastards wake.”

Lily shuddered. “Yes, of course, but—” Suddenly she pulled away. In her excitement she had forgotten so many things, and thought only of her sunny childhood when Hew had been a boy and she a girl. Now she remembered again the man he had become: ambitious, ruthless, and untrustworthy.

“Why are you here, Hew? I thought you long gone across the border into Scotland.”

He reached out to stroke her cheek, his handsome face softening. He was so familiar it was almost as if her father had returned to life. Once he had been almost as close to her as a brother, and Lily struggled against her instinctive need to believe in him.

“I have been in Malcolm’s lands, Lily, but now I’ve returned to raise an army in your name. And to do that, I need you.”

The warm sense of intimacy fell from her at last. Lily stared back at him, too numb to reply.

Hew smiled the devastating smile he had always used to such good effect. Now it left Lily cold.

“King Malcolm is willing to send us men, but must be cautious since he swore fealty to William the Bastard. Once he sends us his men, Lily, I can gather more. They’ll flock to us—but first you have to come to Scotland and promise Malcolm you’ll lead our army. That was Malcolm’s condition—and even if it were not his, I would have made it mine.”

Lily could speak now, and she did so forcibly.

“You’re lying, Hew. You would never agree to me giving you orders.”

He grinned, not the least bit ashamed of his deceit. “You’re probably right. I need you to look beautiful and tragic—Lady Wilfreda, her husband murdered, her proper place usurped by the invading Normans! You can look tragic, can’t you, Lily? You can smile and promise Malcolm whatever he asks? I’ll do the rest.”

No. The rejection was instant. No, I will never allow my people to be drawn into another war.

But Hew, she had learned from experience, was not very receptive to no. She could refuse him now, and be dragged out of here and forced into compliance. Or she could agree, escape with Hew, and then make her own plans once she reached Scotland. King Malcolm might listen; he was a clever man. So clever, she wondered he had allowed himself to be persuaded to back Hew in yet another rebellion.

Of course, Hew could be very persuasive.

“Yes, Hew, I will come with you,” she said, with as much assurance as she could master. In case he should see the lie in her eyes, she turned and walked back toward her mare. Her dagger lay on the ground where she had dropped it, and she bent to collect it, slipping it back into her girdle. Hew followed her, soft-footed and alert. When he touched her shoulder, his fingers caressing, Lily tried not to stiffen. It was probable Hew wanted more than a platonic partnership. Could she pretend an attraction for him she no longer felt?

Maybe she could have done it once…before she knew Radulf.

Lily shuddered, and disguised it by drawing her cloak more tightly about her body as if she were cold. Once she had thought she loved Hew, that she desired nothing more than to be his wife and lie in his arms. Now she knew how shallow and foolish her youthful feelings had been. She had never loved Hew. Her time with Radulf had given her a taste of what real love must be; a fiery dragon that set your blood ablaze. What she had felt for Hew was pitiable in comparison.

Lily glanced up and found Hew watching her, his blue eyes smiling but strangely cool, as if the good humor were but a façade behind which his devious mind was plotting. She forced herself to smile back, to pretend all was well.

“How did you find me?”

“The priest, Father Luc, sent word to me. He was always fond of you, Lily. We have been following you since Grimswade, hoping for an opportunity to free you, but Radulf kept you too close. How came you to fall into his hands?”