The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Una grinned back shyly. “Thank you, lady. Do you think I’d make a good lady’s maid?”

“Indeed, you would. I am only sorry I cannot offer you such employment.”

Una’s smile faded into a frown, and her eyes grew sly. “They say…the soldiers say that you are the Lady Wilfreda, the rebel Vorgen’s wife.”

“I am,” Lily replied softly, “but remember, I am also a woman, just as you. I will not hurt you.”

Una looked puzzled and then she laughed. “Oh, lady, I am not afraid of you! ’Tis him that scares me. The King’s Sword. Such a big, grim man. Are you not afraid of him?”

Lily looked at her in surprise. Then, remembering the night at Trier, she said, “Only sometimes.”

By the time Lily was ready, Jervois had the mare saddled and waiting in front of the inn, along with most of the soldiers. Lily mounted stiffly, silent in her anxiety and her mask of icy pride. The small band rode through the streets of York toward the castle, Radulf’s men clustered close about Lily, with Jervois at their head.

Lily twisted her father’s ring upon her finger, and the red hawk’s eye flashed fire. For some reason Radulf had left her the ring, the symbol of her lost power. Had he done that on purpose, or had he been careless? No, she would not be led down that path again. She would never again believe that Radulf acted with anything other than the most careful deliberation.

The thought of him opened again the hollow cave inside her, a place echoing with sorrow and longing. Those brief days and nights she had spent with him seemed dreamlike, a fantasy woven out of foolish dreams.

Now she must return to her cold cage, to become again the icy woman who had lived as Vorgen’s wife. How else could she survive this latest ordeal?

Jervois led them through the outer bailey of William’s new castle, picking his way around the workers who were still finishing the structure. He informed her in a colorless voice that it usually took the king two weeks to complete a wooden keep, while stone took a good deal longer.

Before she knew it, Lily was dismounting, all but smothered by her zealous guard as they bundled her through the castle door. Dazed, frightened, she could take in little. A large dark hall, the smells of smoke, roasting food and clean rushes, men’s voices, and hounds snuffling and barking. Then Radulf’s men stepped back, and Lily was alone, apart from the tenuous comfort of Jervois’s hand on her arm.

Faces and finery blurred about her. Stern-looking men-of-war, a number of William’s barons, and ladies in soft gowns and fine wimples, their fingers heavy with jewels. Feeling dowdy and insignificant, Lily raised her chin.

And saw Radulf.

He stood directly before her, a giant in his ruby-red tunic and dark breeches. Without even trying, he claimed her full attention.

He was frowning at her. It seemed his temper had not improved. As he strode forward Lily quailed inwardly, while her outer demeanor grew even more glacial. At his lord’s nod Jervois stepped back, and Radulf replaced his captain at her side. His grasp on her hand surprised her with its warmth and strength, and it would have been comforting had it not been tainted with disturbing memories of hot kisses and hard flesh. Radulf bent his head, and Lily’s unwilling eyes rose to meet his. She knew her own were cloudy with remembered passion, for her skin tingled and ached with longing, but she hoped he would think she was suffering from rage.

“Come and curtsy to the king.” His voice was low and husky, his lover’s voice.

Did he, too, have an all but irresistible urge to throw himself into her embrace? Lily drew a ragged breath. She must fight it. For her life, she must fight her body’s betrayal!

His fingers tightened. His dark eyes narrowed. “Do it, by God, or I’ll hold you down by the scruff of your neck.”

Unafraid, Lily glared back at him and finally noticed how his skin was tinged gray with weariness and his eyes were hollow and bloodshot. The smell of ale clung about him, and his hair was damp, as if he’d lately poured water over it. Evidently while Lily had been locked in her small dark room at the inn, worried sick, Radulf had spent the night carousing at the castle.

Anger built on the storm already brewing inside her. Her gray eyes darkened like thunderclouds about to burst. She opened her mouth.

He bent his head and kissed her.

In front of the king, his court, his men-at-arms, everyone. His wonderful mouth closed on hers in a kiss. It was not a gentle kiss, rather it was demanding, forcing Lily to respond whether or not she wanted to. It was the sort of kiss a man might give if he was starving for the woman in his arms.

The heat melted Lily’s treacherous bones. She wanted to moan with pleasure and scream with rage, both at the same time. Cheers and laughter swirled through the great hall, but Lily cared only for Radulf’s powerful arms and his hot, unrestrained mouth.

He released her as abruptly as he’d seized her.

Lily gasped, face flaming, and only just managed to hold herself upright. As she twisted her face away from Radulf, she had a brief, vivid glimpse of a woman with golden eyes and a face white with shock, then Radulf reclaimed her full attention.

“That’s better,” he murmured in her ear, the rumble of his voice sending tremors down her spine. “Now, come and curtsy to the king, lady.”

The king! She had forgotten the king!

Anger, pain, fear, and confusion…the wild tangle of emotions ran through her. Lily murdered Radulf with her eyes, even as she stepped forward and gave the curtsy he ordered. Radulf released a muffled sigh of relief, surprising Lily. Why was it so important to him that she appear compliant, obedient? And why had he kissed her? To show that he could! her mind replied furiously. Her heart was less sure.

“Lady Wilfreda!”