The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

It was a dress fit for a queen—or at least a Viking princess’s daughter. Speechless, Lily touched the cloth with trembling fingers. Una had no such trepidation, and lifted the dress up against her mistress. She gave a deep, heartfelt sigh. “Oh, lady, you will be an angel!”

Lily smiled, but her eyes were no longer dreamy. “This Lady Kenton is most generous, Una, but perhaps it would be best if I sent back her dress. Lord Radulf has not given me permission to wear another’s clothes. I can only think he wishes me to wear the clothes I have.”

Una narrowed her eyes, hearing the note of disappointment in Lily’s voice. She had become fond of Lily, admiring her courage and even more admiring her kindness to those of lesser standing than herself—in short, girls like Una. Her father, the innkeeper, said Lily was proud and cold, but Una did not believe that was so. It was all pretense, just as Una sometimes pretended to be what she was not.

She did not want to see Lily unhappy on her wedding day just because that surly giant Radulf had failed to buy her something nice for a bride gift. Last night Una had tried planting the thought in his captain’s thick ear, but to no avail. Now she must use more direct methods. “Send it back and insult her?” Her shrill cry at least gained her Lily’s full attention. “No, lady,” she went on more softly, “you must wear it.”

“Must I?”

“Oh yes. And you will see, Lord Radulf will not mind. Why, he will not be able to say a word, for he will be struck dumb at the sight of you!”

Una watched a glimmer of speculation light up Lily’s gray eyes. That Lily should care for such a frightening man amazed her, but it was obviously so. He would not be Una’s choice, goodness me, no! There was a boy in the next street who sold fish…but there was no time for such daydreams now. Una had decided Lily would be happy on her wedding day, and happy she would be!

Lily did not argue as Una helped her to don the gown. The thought of Radulf struck dumb by the sight of his bride was a temptation too great for her to resist. When she was dressed, Una combed out her hair so that it hung loose about her in a veil finer and fairer than any cloth. The gold brought a warmth to Lily’s pale skin, and with a touch of red at her lips, it was easy enough to overlook the shadows under her eyes.

Una stepped back to peruse her handiwork. “You are a wondrous fair bride, lady,” she breathed reverently.

“’Tis the dress,” Lily murmured. “Such a gown would turn any woman into a beauty.”

She hardly heard Una’s protests. Now that it was time to appear before her bridegroom, Lily was very nervous. She knew she must pretend at haughtiness, enclose herself once more in the ice cage, but such pretense was difficult on her marriage day.

Radulf had released her from the cage, but it seemed that he still held the key.

r /> “Lady?” Una was at the door, eyes bright, eager to show her off.

Lily gathered the stiff, heavy folds of her skirt in her hands, lifting the hem above her matching shoes so that she did not trip. You have faced Vorgen, she reminded herself, and you have faced King William. There is no need to be afraid of Radulf.

Radulf and his men had celebrated long into the night, and the common room was still smoky and untidy, and reeked of ale and wine. Lily stood in the doorway, noting one man holding his head and another green-faced in the light from the door. She could not at first see Radulf, and as she stood there, searching, one by one the soldiers’ voices fell silent.

Lily ignored their stares. She had found who she was looking for. He was such a tall and commanding presence, Lily did not know how she had missed him. He was standing by the fireplace, one booted foot resting against the hearth, a tankard in his hand, a smile on his mouth as he bent his head to converse with the innkeeper.

“My lady!” Jervois spoke the words softly, reverently, from his place by his lord.

Radulf turned, the amusement dying in his eyes. Despite the smoky gloom, Lily caught the flash of heat in that dark gaze. It was like sunlight, melting her flesh and bones, dazzling her so that for a brief moment she could not think at all. Then Una slipped an unobtrusive arm about her waist, fearing perhaps that she was about to faint. When Lily had regained her composure the heated look had gone, and Radulf’s eyes were unreadable.

He looked well, she admitted grudgingly. The tunic he wore was Lincoln green in color, and a short, dark, fur-lined cloak was flung across one shoulder and fastened with an ornate brooch. It swirled about his muscular legs as he turned to murmur some instruction to Jervois. A heavy gold chain shone dully across his breast, indicative of his position. Oh yes, he looked very well indeed.

Today they would be joined together as husband and wife, as close a union as was possible between man and woman. The knowledge sent prickles of fright and excitement across Lily’s skin.

Radulf was striding toward her, setting his tankard down on a bench as he passed. By the time he halted, he was too close. Why did he always stand too close? Lily longed to take a step back and create space between them, but he would consider it a sign of weakness.

“We ride to the castle within the hour,” he said in a formal voice. “Will you take some wine with me before we go to celebrate our marriage?”

The men stood silent and waiting, while Una held her breath at Lily’s back. That she didn’t slap his face, Lily told herself, was more for their sake than her own. Radulf threw a glance at the innkeeper, and the man hastened to pour wine into two of the finest goblets.

“It is a pleasure, my lady,” he began, but Radulf silenced him with a single glance.

“To the lady Lily!” Radulf declared. As the wine reached his lips, an uncomfortable thought occurred to him. “Or should I call you Lady Wilfreda now?”

Lily refused to look away from those dark questioning eyes. “It is my name, my lord,” she replied just as formally.

He drank half the wine. His men raised a ragged and subdued cheer, obviously afraid their heads would crumble if they yelled too loudly. “So who is Lily?” asked Radulf, his brows drawn together.

“My father called me Lily. It is the name I am called by those who love me,” she said very coldly, so he would know he was not one of them.

He stared down at her a moment longer, then shrugged indifferently. “Then I will call you Wilfreda, or perhaps vixen, for you have been as cunning as one.” He swallowed the remainder of the wine. “Drink up, lady! You will be tired and thirsty ere this day is done. The king tends to wring every drop of amusement out of these occasions.”

He did not speak to her again, but turned to thank his men and receive more of their congratulations. Making them, thought Lily crossly, even more his slaves than they already were. Vixen, indeed!