The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Radulf poured more wine, and gave Henry a fond glance. “You didn’t have a mark on you. I remember thinking that the blood and dirt must have rolled off you rather than spoil your new armor.”

Henry grimaced. “I pray the same happens tomorrow, Radulf. Get your Viking wife to cast her runes.” He stopped, suddenly aware of Lily’s still form in the shadows. “I beg pardon, lady,” he said contritely, “but I did not speak in jest. If you can protect us with a spell, I, for one, would be grateful!”

Lily stepped forward, a slender figure in her blue wool gown, her silver braid spearing down her back. “I wish I knew one,” she replied coolly.

Radulf glanced from one to the other and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “I can’t think anymore. Enough. We have done all we can tonight.”

The other two men rose promptly, bowing to Lily as they took their leave, and at last she and Radulf were alone. He held out his hand toward her, and she didn’t hesitate, tumbling onto his lap and into the warm strength of his arms.

“How long before you must leave?” she murmured, her face pressed to his neck.

“Three hours, maybe.”

Shocked, she started to rise. “You should sleep! Lie down, Radulf.”

He looked down at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “Three hours may be all we have, mignonne. I won’t waste them in sleeping.”

“Radulf…you will win. I know that you will win.”

He laughed softly. “Aye, I’ll win. Now, kiss your husband.”

His sensual mouth plundered hers and she moaned, pressing closer, her arms clinging about his neck. She wouldn’t allow herself to imagine life without him; she wouldn’t!

He was hard against her thigh, and when she reached to caress him, he groaned. “I want you,” he whispered. “I always want you. Come, Lily.”

Radulf led her to the bed. With slow, gentle fingers, she removed his clothing, supplementing kisses with licks from her tongue, until he captured her against him, mouth hot and demanding, sapping what strength she had left.

It was his turn then, and he took full advantage, exploring her body, his tongue lapping at her breasts, then sucking on her nipples until she arched toward him with delight. He leaned over her, blocking out the candlelight, and without a word drove deep inside.

Lily cried out, for with each thrust he seemed to go deeper than ever before. His breath came fast, the perspiration damp on his brow, while Lily gasped and gripped him with her legs.

“You are mine,” he said, deep and low. “If I die tomorrow, you will always be mine.”

Tears shone in her eyes, but he kept thrusting slowly, so deeply, taking her with him. He began to move faster, plunging into her again and again, as if he would make her a part of him.

“Radulf…” she gasped, the choppy waves of pleasure beginning to peak. Only this time they simply grew and grew, tossing her about as he controlled her rise. She cried out and the pleasure broke over her, tumbling her headlong while she struggled to gain the surface.

Drowning in love.

They lay for a long time, bodies drained of strength, until the world steadied about them. Replete, calm, Lily could not think of a single reason that she should not trust Radulf with her heart. He already held her life in his hands, and had done so since their first meeting.

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She would tell him about the babe soon. Maybe she would even tell him how much she loved him.

Radulf raised himself up on one elbow. He stroked her, curving his hand over her breasts, down to her belly. Her skin was so fine, so delicate, that his fingers felt big and rough against it. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, her eyes closed, the lashes dark against the flush in her cheeks.

Gradually he became aware of a cold sliver of doubt in his mind—the same unease that had come to him when he watched her earlier that day. Like the prick of a splinter in soft flesh, it niggled and teased. He remembered Lily stretching her back outside the tent, and the way she held her hands across her belly. He remembered, too, her pallor and her lack of appetite before they left York. Suddenly, frowning, his gaze slid over her body once more, searching…Her breasts were lusher than ever, her skin glowing as if the moonlight shone down on her, while her hair gleamed. The hand he had left resting on her belly pressed gently, as though sensing what lay beneath…

He went cold. She was having his child and she hadn’t told him.

She hadn’t told him.

“Radulf?” Lily had noticed his stillness and turned her head lazily, gray eyes searching. The sated expression on her face vanished as her wits sharpened into watchfulness. If he hadn’t known then, he would have guessed now. He met her eyes and knew what she would see there, but he didn’t care. She had hurt him beyond bearing.

“You are with child.” He didn’t speak accusingly or angrily; it was a statement of fact. She was frightened, he could smell it, sense it. He knew enough about death to be well acquainted with fear.

“Yes.” It was so soft he could hardly hear her.