The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

And it was in her power; she was almost sure of it. Whatever ill-feeling might exist between Radulf and herself, their bodies were perfectly in tune.

Slowly, her eyes fixed on his, Lily began to slip one sleeve of the chemise over one bare shoulder. That was all it took. In an instant he was on his feet and reaching for her. His hands twined in her hair, tipping her face up to his, and he plundered her mouth with the rough desperation of a man starving for kisses.

Was he pretending she was Anna?

No, he desired her, Lily, and had since the first moment they had seen each other. At least she had his lust, even if his heart was elsewhere.

Lily gasped as his hands smoothed over her back and hips, reacquainting himself with her soft curves, before closing on her rounded bottom. He pulled her closer against his body, until she felt the hard length of him jutting against her belly, and groaned. Lily felt a hot, melting joy. Radulf wanted her, just as much as she wanted him.

Lily’s breasts were full and heavy, and now his hands were upon them through the gossamer cloth. He bent his head to scrape his teeth across her nipples, and Lily gave a soft cry, arching her body while her hands clung to his broad shoulders.

Radulf laid her down upon the bed, the scent of flowers and passion mingling in the air. He tugged impatiently at the laces of his breeches, shrugging them down over his heavily muscled legs before kicking them off. Lily slipped her hands up under his tunic and shirt, her cool fingers seeking and finding the many battle scars. He was a warrior feared by many, but tonight he was hers.

As impatient as he, Lily tugged his fine tunic up over his head, followed by his shirt, and then looked her full upon him. She would never tire of looking. The firm, curved muscles of his chest, the mighty shoulders and arms, the thick column of his neck. His belly was flat and hard, and lower surged the proud evidence of his manhood.

Lily ran her hands over him, unable to help herself, not wanting to stop. Bending, she began to ply her warm mouth to his chest, her long hair a silver waterfall, shielding her, tempting him.

Radulf bore her caresses until her tormenting tongue dipped lower and made him groan. Then he lifted her from him, dragging the flimsy chemise over her head and tossing it onto the floor. With a grunt of satisfaction, he leaned back to gaze upon her naked body. His face was taut and set with desire, his chest was rising and falling in hard, short pants. He looked up and met Lily’s eyes.

The gray irises had darkened, and her eyelids were heavy. Her lips parted as her breath whispered out, and she trembled, little frissons passing over her heated skin. She was a mare ready for her stallion, and she saw him smile.

Slowly, torturously so, Radulf reached out one hand to her lips, his thumb rubbing over the soft flesh. Next he touched her breasts, carefully weighing each one, gently pinching the rigid nipples. Then his hands dipped lower, seeking out the curve of her waist, the soft warmth of her belly, the smooth length of her thigh. And with every touch he looked to her face, into her eyes, and read there the effect he was having upon her.

Lily could not hide her wild desire, so no wonder his smile grew. But she thought he had a right to smile. He was a god among ordinary men, he was her Thor.

By the time Radulf’s attention had settled on the blond curls between her thighs, Lily was ready to burst into flames. When he slid his finger slowly inside her, she cried out involuntarily, so sensitive was she, her body rippling and clenching about him, her arms reaching to cling about his neck.

Radulf lifted her, his big hands warm about her hips, and sheathed himself fully inside her. Lily gasped out his name, and then he was thrusting deeply, his voice a low, husky chant. “You are mine, lady. Mine.”

Lily had thought herself beyond more pleasure, but now a trembling began deep within her, dissolving skin and bone and sinew, causing her to cry and moan into his shoulder. Radulf followed her, his big body shuddering violently against hers.

After a time their breathing slowed and their bodies cooled. Radulf lay down, turning on his side and pinning Lily to him. He dragged the furs over them both. He knew he should pinch out the flame in the horn lamp, but he was too comfortable to move. He also knew he should take the cursed golden gown out to his men and send one of them back with it.

The wild fury that had overcome him at the feast threatened him again with sharp claws, but he beat it down. Tomorrow. He would deal with that tomorrow. Gradually, his body relaxed again. He had Lily warm and compliant in his arms, and he would enjoy her while he could. For who knew what the future might bring?

As if she had heard his thoughts, Lily stirred, her breasts brushing against the hair on his chest, her long slim leg thrown over his hard-muscled one. He thought her asleep, until her fingers lightly tested the stubble on his chin before wandering up to the old wound near his left eye. She moved her fingertips back and forth over the raised scar, again and again, as if somehow her touch could erase it.

Her gentle fingers soothed him, even as the touch of her body against his stirred awake the passion he thought sated. Radulf, monster of legend, had taken a beautiful wife. Perhaps she would yet turn him into a handsome prince.

/> “Am I truly yours?” Lily whispered, her breath sweet against the hollow of his throat. There was an urgency in her voice, a trace of fear.

He didn’t know what she wanted. Was it reassurance or denial? He simply spoke what was in his heart.

“Aye.”

Evidently she was happy with that, for soon her breathing slowed and he knew her to be asleep. Memories of the night returned to him: Anna’s beautiful, evil face, and Kenton, that wordy fool. He had made Radulf seem like a brutal, fornicating monster, and although it was not so, Radulf had been afraid Lily might believe Kenton. Yet she did not seem to. When she had looked upon him just now it was as if she saw another man entirely, and it puzzled him, even frightened him a little. For what if one day the mist cleared from before her eyes and she saw the real Radulf, and he was every bit as brutal and despicable as the legends had claimed? What then?

Radulf shifted, settling his arms more comfortably about her and easing her head against his shoulder. Such thoughts were best left alone. Enjoy the here and now, and let the future remain hidden. Soon he would make love to her again. Already he felt that traitorous flesh between his thighs hardening as he dreamed of penetrating deep to her womb.

But first he would watch her sleep.

His wife.

The day seemed to resurrect all that had been put to rest in the night’s darkness. At first light Radulf sent one of his men to return the dress to Lady Kenton, only to have it back again with her good wishes. Seething, blind with temper, he rent the priceless cloth with his bare hands and flung it into the fire while Lily watched, white-faced.

“You will never again wear anything of hers!” he shouted at her, his eyes reflecting the fury of the flames as they ate her golden wedding dress.

Lily’s confidence and belief in herself had long ago been undermined by Vorgen’s twisted cruelty. Instead of recognizing Radulf’s anger as being against Lady Anna and himself, she believed that it was she he was displeased with. Did he think her unworthy of Lady Anna? Did he, despite last night, long to hold Anna in his arms? The burning of the dress could only be the frustration and misery of a man who loved a woman he could not have.