The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

There would be no escape this morning.

A

flutter of relief somewhere in the region of her heart caught her by surprise. By God, she must stop this madness!

“Is he up, Stephen?” came a voice from outside.

Lily peeped out again, more cautiously this time. A thickset man of medium height was walking toward the tent, his gleaming chain mail and the decorated hilt of his sword proclaiming him a knight as surely as his confident manner. The squire hurried forth to meet him, looking rather like an eager, half-grown puppy.

As Lily watched, Stephen gave Radulf’s tent a nervous glance. “No, he’s not awake yet, Lord Henry. Think you I should wake him? He said we would search to the south this morning, and his men are already waiting. Will he be angry if I wake him?”

The knight laughed, tipping back a mop of short chestnut curls. He was almost as handsome as Hew. “Angrier if you do not! Come, boy, let me do the deed for you. I am used to his scowls.”

Lily stepped back swiftly, the piece of bread dangling from her fingers.

She came up against something very large and hard and warm…and naked. She froze. Radulf! Thank God she had not been able to attempt her escape, he would have caught her as easily as a hound a rabbit.

“Careful, wench,” his voice rumbled in his chest. Bending his head, he began to nibble at the soft, sensitive flesh between her ear and neck.

“My lord!” Lily gasped as her willing senses were aroused all over again. “You have a visitor.”

At that very moment the visitor in question appeared in the tent doorway. Radulf’s hands closed over Lily’s shoulders and, startled, she looked up at him. Radulf blinked in the sudden shaft of light from beyond the door, and then he smiled broadly. Lily stared in amazement as his hard face was transformed into that of a younger, more carefree man.

Her heart seemed to dive like a hunting falcon, so fast it made her giddy.

“Henry!” he cried, releasing Lily with one arm, and slipping her behind him with the other. Puzzled, Lily stood in the shelter of his big body, hidden from view. Was he embarrassed by her? Ashamed of her presence? Then, as he glanced over his shoulder and gave her a questioning look, she decided Radulf was too arrogant to care what others thought of him or his actions.

“Your boy here tells me you’re riding south, Radulf?” Henry peered sideways around the other man, trying to catch a glimpse of Lily, but Radulf moved to block his view. The fact that he was stark naked didn’t seem to bother Radulf as much as Lily’s fully clothed presence.

“That vixen, Vorgen’s wife, still eludes me.”

“’Tis a pity that, with the north more or less peaceful once more, you cannot return home to Crevitch.”

Radulf shrugged. “I’ve left behind enough men-at-arms to guard my lands from greedy eyes. I can do no more than that. The king needs me here and here I stay.”

“And this, my friend?” Henry lifted his chin in the direction of the invisible presence beyond Radulf’s broad shoulder. “Does she help to make your exile from Crevitch the sweeter?”

Radulf tensed and shot his friend a dark look. “All the wenches fall for your cherubic looks, Henry. This one is mine. Stephen!” he shouted.

Lily stilled. Mine? Was she really his? Was that why he had tucked her away behind him so possessively?

“They may fall for me, Radulf, but they gaze at you as if they had been lightning-struck. If you would learn to scowl less and smile more, you could have your pick.”

Henry was grinning, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Lily decided he did look rather like a cherub, albeit a wicked one. Then his eyes fell to Lily and he sobered.

Radulf had grunted in disbelief, but seeing the new direction of Henry’s curious gaze, he half turned and drew Lily firmly into his embrace. With an irritable frown, he shoved down the hood of her cloak and freed her long hair, and with it the scent of flowers and spring rain. Lily felt her face turn a fiery red before Lord Henry’s bold stare.

“Perhaps the lady can tell you the truth of what I say, Radulf,” he said smoothly. “What think you of Lord Radulf, lady? Is he not a handsome and virile man?”

Henry was jesting, but still she felt Radulf’s arms tighten, felt him hold his breath as he waited for her answer. She should say something light and amusing in return, but Lily had led a life too fraught with danger to easily manage either. As Vorgen’s wife her simplest pronouncement was inspected, dissected, and suspected. There was no room for levity, for funning. Lily had lost the ability.

“He is neither, my lord,” she answered at last, her voice soft and husky. “He is a god.”

Henry’s eyes widened and laughter flushed his face until Lily thought he would burst with holding it in. Radulf released his own breath in a sharp hiss. He chuckled softly and squeezed her tighter. His breath tickled her hair as he bent over her, and his hand slid up to cup her jaw, lifting her face so that she was forced to meet his dark eyes.

The watchful expression was back, and with it some new, indefinable gleam. Lily knew she had pleased him, even as his next words reduced hers to insignificance. “The lady has difficulty telling the truth about anything; why should I believe her in this?”

Lily opened her mouth to argue, just as Stephen arrived at last.