“I can bear it if you can, mignonne.”
Lily gasped softly as he thrust up into her, his body turned slightly to the side to protect his shoulder. They moved slowly, the need that drove them as intense as ever and yet subdued because of his shoulder and the story he had told. Lily arched in pleasure, feeling his hands on her breasts, her tangled hair a curtain about them.
Only a fine, strong man could rise from such a beginning without becoming twisted and weak. Like Vorgen, like Hew. Like Anna. Any woman would be proud to call such a man husband. To desire such a man, to love such a man…
I love you. The realization filled Lily with wonder. I love you for who you are, and for what you are. Radulf was the man she had dreamed of all her life.
The tremors pulsed through her body from the place where they joined, rippling upward and outward. Lily’s senses were sharper, more attuned than ever before, as if the realization of her love had changed her in some fundamental way. The world she had known until now was spinning away from her, and there was only Radulf to cling
to, and his hold upon her was strong and sure.
Somehow as she collapsed, Lily remembered to mind his shoulder and slide to his other side, a boneless tangle of hair and limbs.
Radulf slept almost immediately, and while he slept, Lily listened to him breathe. He didn’t love Anna. The words formed a song in her mind, a lively jig for drum and whistle. It seemed frivolous to be so happy when he had told her a tale so sad. She had been warned that Radulf did not trust, and now she knew why. What man could believe in the basic goodness and honesty of women when he had been so callously betrayed by the first woman he’d ever loved?
He was a strong-willed man, but perhaps that will would work against his ever properly healing. He would hold a part of himself back, stop himself from trusting and loving completely, in case he, like his father, was betrayed.
It came to Lily then that, although he had opened himself up to her tonight, she might never win all of his trust. She and Radulf had come together in a hot flood of desire, and then he had learned that she was not who she said she was. She had tricked him, lied to him, although her reasons had been sound. But the similarities between Radulf and Anna, and Radulf and Lily, were there: the passionate beginning, the—in Radulf’s eyes—betrayal…
Lily recalled his fury at Trier when he saw the hawk ring and established who she was. Then the forced marriage. The fact that she was no Anna, that she loved him, would make no difference. Oh, Radulf enjoyed her body, but that was all he would ever give her—his skill and his lust. Maybe it was all he could give any woman. The change in her feelings would not change his.
He did not want her love; her declaration of it would make him even more suspicious.
And yet Lily hugged her newfound knowledge to herself. She loved Radulf. True, she also had difficulty with trust because of Vorgen and Hew, but still, she loved him. And would continue do so, if necessarily secretly, forever.
Radulf’s breathing soothed her. Lily dozed, and found herself in a gray place between sleeping and waking. She wandered, and for a time was back in Vorgen’s stronghold, a cold unwilling wife, captive and afraid, longing above all else to be free. And then time moved on and she was running like a hare before the Norman hounds as they pursued her across what had been her land. She was free of Vorgen now, yet still a captive of her birth and Vorgen’s machinations and the lies others told of her. Radulf chased her, riding his black stallion, and although Lily was terrified of capture, in her heart she longed for it.
The half-waking dreams shifted. She was in the rain and standing before the dark, abandoned bulk of St. Mary’s Chapel. Radulf lay dead upon the ground, his blood leaching away, his face white and still, like her father when his body was carried home upon the makeshift bier. Lily screamed out in her loss and pain, running to Radulf’s side. But the scene changed again, and Anna was there. She and Radulf stood together, arms entwined, heads close. As if sensing Lily’s presence, they looked up at her. Anna was smiling with a savage mockery. “Did you really think I would let him go?” she asked Lily in that melodious voice. “He is my beloved. Forever.”
“No!” cried Lily. “He is not! He is mine!”
And Radulf stood and smiled as they fought over him.
Lily woke with a start. Her heart was hammering very loudly, but even as it calmed and slowed, the noise went on. It was then she comprehended someone was banging upon the door.
Stiffly she rose, pulling one of the blankets about her nakedness, her toes curling against the cold floor. In the bed Radulf stirred, fumbling for his sword. He rose, cursing as he jarred his shoulder, and stood huge and naked behind her.
Lily met his eyes and, at his nod, called out, “Who is it?”
“Jervois. Lady, open the door.”
Radulf frowned. “Jervois?”
Outside, Jervois’s weary face loomed from the shadows. “Forgive me, my lord, lady, but…There is a messenger come from the king.”
Lily pushed her hair out of her eyes with one hand, holding on to the blanket with the other. She tried to focus, her head still muzzy with dreams. Radulf had no such trouble. “What does he want?”
Jervois hesitated as if seeking the best way to answer, and then decided upon brevity. “Lady Anna Kenton is dead.”
Lily shuddered. “Sweet Jesu.”
Whatever Radulf had been expecting, it was not this. He was good at hiding his feelings, but this time he was not quick enough to disguise from Lily the shock and bewilderment.
“It is beyond belief,” he whispered, and lifted his hands to cover his face, before shoving his fingers through his short black hair. “When did this happen?”
It was Jervois who answered. “After she left you. Her body was found near a candlemaker’s shop. Lord Kenton had sent his men out to find her when she did not return from her meeting with you. He is saying now that her death is your fault.”
“He is blaming Radulf?” Lily gasped. Her blanket slipped, exposing the plump curve of one breast. She didn’t notice, though, wondering if Radulf was to suffer Anna’s lies even in death. “Jervois, you must send the messenger back to say Radulf had nothing to do with Lady Anna’s death!”