The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Slowly, Radulf lowered his goblet and let his gaze settle on Lily.

He forced his mind to be cold, objective. She was only a woman…Only a woman…

She was standing near the wall of the tent, her fair hair neatly plaited, her hands clasped at her waist. He wondered how old she was, and then dismissed the thought—she was old enough. He let his gaze run over her breasts, where the curves were clearly outlined beneath the red gown. Her waist was so trim he could span it with his hands, and her hips were rounded despite her slenderness. The long line of her thighs was clearly visible, and before he could prevent the thought, Radulf was wondering if the curls nestling between those thighs were as wondrous fair as her hair, or as dark as her lashes and brows.

She was only a woman.

Beads of sweat stood out on his broad brow. Slowly his eyes lifted to Lily’s, the banked fires in their depths alight and burning out of control. She would run now, he thought. Run screaming from his tent.

“My lord?” Lily managed. He realized, in shocked surprise, that her voice was as constricted as his. Could she possibly be feeling something of what he was feeling? He didn’t know and in another moment wouldn’t care. One thing was certain: she was not running, and if she did not run soon, then he would have her.

She was only a woman and he was the King’s Sword. Had he not the right to take what he wanted?

“You are wondrous fair, Lady Lily,” he whispered, his voice deeper even than usual. He watched her lashes flicker, her breath quickening between her lips. Could she…was it possible that she was caught up in the heat of a passion just as great as his?

The thought gave him just enough strength to control the powerful urge coursing through him. He would not grab her and take her like a wild animal. Instead he would woo her, turn her willingness into submission. He knew—that damned ache in his chest again!—that he wanted her to want him. To take her and afterward see nothing but fear and loathing on her face would be worse than dying.

“Come here, Lily.”

He held out his hand and she stared at it as if she didn’t understand what he meant.

“Please?” he murmured thickly. His fingers flicked softly, beckoning. The great Radulf, begging! Yet in this moment he was no more than a man, and she was only a woman.

It was the please that drew Lily to him. Hesitantly she gave him her fingers. Slowly and with infinite care, Radulf drew her forward until she stood in the space between his knees. Lily’s eyes half closed until they were nothing but a silver-gray gleam through her thick lashes. Her breath quickened.

But she did not move away.

Radulf leaned closer and lifted his other hand, again so slowly that Lily had more than ample time to tell him no, or to run away. His hand trembled. Again she waited, her breasts rising and falling as though each breath were a labor. At last his fingers brushed her lips, hardly a touch at all, and then slid quickly down over her throat, fingertips callused against her softness, and closed over her left breast.

Lily gasped, her body stiffening, a heat rising in her such as she had never experienced before. In the befuddlement of her mind she wondered at the power Radulf had over her. His touch was certainly magic. Her breast seemed to swell in his hand, the nipple growing taut. He brushed his thumb against it. The movement caused a new rush of hotness, and Lily’s skin felt flushed all over, from her head to her toes.

With a groan, Radulf swept her off her feet and onto his lap. His arms closed about her, encircling her in a warm, safe cave of flesh and muscle. Yet Lily knew the feeling of safety was an illusion.

Halfheartedly she pushed her hands against his chest, thinking he would ignore her feeble attempts at self-preservation, not really wanting him to stop. But Radulf stopped as if she had struck him with his own sword. There was a moment of heavy breathing silence, and then he lifted her chin and searched her eyes with his own. His face was taut with desire, his mouth a thin, hard line.

“Lily?” The question was a husky rasp.

Lily sighed languidly. Her body felt warm and liquid, awakening to sensations so new and exciting, she did not want him to stop. She hardly recalled the reason she was there. Whatever happened later, she would savor this moment.

He must have read her answer in her eyes, because abruptly, as if he had lost his slender grip on self-control, Radulf bent his head and claimed her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. Lily heard her own soft groan.

She ran her hands blindly over his face, tracing the scar across his cheek, and then up into his hair, tugging him closer. Beneath her thighs his hard muscles tightened, while his manhood jutted boldly against her hip.

And still the kiss went on, as if it would never end.

Lily allowed Radulf to open her mouth with his, to taste of her as if she were his goblet of wine. His tongue slid inside to tangle with hers, and brought with it a vivid impression of her body catching fire from his. And burning.

When at last he drew away, he looked dazed, as dazed as she. “It is too late to run now. You are mine,” he breathed against her throat. His mouth began to move downward in soft, quick kisses, seeking the sweet flesh beneath the neckline of her chemise, while his hand reached up to once more encircle each breast. The feeling of his hot mouth closing over her nipple catapulted Lily to a place she had never known before. How could she have imagined such sensations were possible? How could she have known from Vorgen’s frustrated, angry fumbling, or Hew’s boyish kisses, that passion such as this existed? Radulf reached a place inside her that she hadn’t even acknowledged was there.

It frightened her. If Radulf could so easily turn her from the woman she had always been, how could she stand against him? How could she leave him?

Lily pushed at his head, as if to force him away from her breasts, but, contrarily, when he lifted his gaze to hers, she felt the loss of him. He was watching her again, his tanned cheeks flushed. What was he always seeking in her face?

Worried and afraid, Lily tried to stand, saying in her most censorious voice, “No, Radulf. Is this how a knight cares for a lady under his protection?”

Radulf grinned. He stood up, following her cat-footed as she backed toward the bed. “If the lady is willing, yes.”

“What if the lady is wed?” she burst out.