The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Slowly, tentatively, Lily ran her hands up under Radulf’s shirt, raising it to his shoulders. The hard muscles of his chest rippled under brown skin. She leaned forward to press her lips against him, the strands of dark hair tickling her nose. Her tongue flicked over his nipples, then down his breastbone, to his hard, flat stomach. Radulf groaned, and Lily stopped.

Uncertainly, her gaze lifted to his.

Her own blood was on fire from simply touching him, and she was amazed to see that Radulf, too, was burning. From her touch, her kisses! The realization gave her courage. Her fingers found the ties.

She was slow at first, clumsy, but as Radulf leaned forward to press hot little kisses over her face and down the line of her throat, she quickened, tugging eagerly at the laces.

The waist of his breeches loosened suddenly as the knot came free. Quickly Lily pushed them down so that she could see…She sighed. Ah, this was what Vorgen had lacked. She hadn’t then understood what could happen to a man who desired a woman. Radulf pulled back slightly and Lily hesitated, her fingers cool against his stomach. Again she remembered Vorgen—she couldn’t help it.

“Go on, lady.” Radulf’s voice was husky, sending deep tremors through her. “Touch me.”

Lily’s hand slid down, and tentatively, wonderingly, she closed around the hard length of him. He was so smooth, so big. Velvet-covered iron. At the tightening of her grip, Radulf groaned again, closing his eyes. Lily instantly relaxed her fingers, moving to withdraw, but his own hand closed over hers, giving her back her courage.

“I want you so much. Touch me, mignonne, feel me. This is all for you. I am yours.”

Flushed, her eyes bright, Lily obliged. “You like me to do this, my lord?” she whispered.

Radulf heard the surprise in her voice, and dismissed it as a virgin’s qualms. “Aye, Lily,” he managed, with a half laugh, half groan. “I like it very much. But we have not finished yet.”

If she kept on with her petting and stroking, Radulf knew he would explode. Gently, he took her hands in his, placing them about his neck. He leaned forward to kiss her, and at the same time clasped his hands about her waist. He lifted her up from her cozy spot on his lap.

Lily gave a startled squeal, clinging to his shoulders. He smiled into her uncertain eyes, his own like a night sky in July, so hot. Slowly, slowly he lowered her, until the tip of his manhood just nudged the blond curls between her thighs. Looking down, Lily held her breath. He lifted her again, then lowered her, and then again, each time sliding deeper into the welcoming sheath.

Radulf’s mouth found her breasts, pulling at the nipples, sucking hard. Lily gasped and arched them toward him, head thrown back, hair spilling about her. As he settled himself deeply and entirely within her, Lily leaned forward, brushing frantic butterfly kisses over his face and throat. Radulf gripped her hips more firmly, then thrust up deeply. Lily’s palms slid over his chest. She trembled, gasping, as he seemed to reach the very core of her being. The pleasure pooled between them, heavy and hot. Lily dug her fingers into his shoulders, holding on tightly, fearing she might be torn apart and flung to the four winds. When the convulsing climax took them, Radulf’s dark eyes stared into hers.

He spoke no words, yet it was as if Lily heard his vow: Whatever happens after, in this moment you are mine.

The strength went out of her body and she collapsed against Radulf, her cheek on his shoulder, his breath warm in her hair. “Whatever happens after,” she murmured.

Chapter 7

Lily lifted her face to the sun, easing her aching back and legs. The constant riding was tiring, and she had discovered sore spots in surprising places all over her body. Although, she thought, hiding a smile, there could be other reasons for her tenderness.

Last night they had camped on a sheltered hillside. Radulf had taken Lily to his tent, his arms all the warmth she needed as they lay together in the darkness. He treated her as if she were as necessary to him as food and water. Already her body had learned his so well that merely standing close to him caused a tremor of anticipation, her nipples hardening, warm moisture pooling between her thighs.

And Radulf felt it, too, she was certain of that.

She looked up now, sensing his eyes upon her, and noticed that he had indeed turned his head to seek her out. His expression might be deeply shadowed beneath his helmet, but she knew the emotion that would shape it.

Desire. Need.

Radulf wanted her.

Lily understood completely, for she wanted him, too.

She sighed and shifted uneasily in her saddle. How could she have allowed the Norman into her blood? It was madness to want such a man! It was not safe to want any man. Lily’s beloved father had died making war. Her childhood sweetheart had betrayed her for his own ambition. In her albeit limited experience, she had found men such as Radulf were not to be relied upon. Not to be trusted. Certainly she had never meant to get this close to one of them.

Especially not an enemy!

Radulf was a man of pride and honor, a Norman lord sworn to obey his king. Yet he was also a man of contrasts, light and dark, much more complex than the tales about him had led her to believe. Intellectually and emotionally, Lily found the combination of strength and vulnerability, of mastery and humor, irresistible. Physically, her body craved his as parched ground craved water.

She was caught in a terrible bind. She was tied by the fiery ropes of desire to a man who, if he knew her true identity, would be required to hand her over to his king. Already two days had passed, and with each hour that crept by, they drew closer to Rennoc.

And to discovery.

Radulf had slowed their pace after the first day. They dawdled, stopping often, enjoying the fine weather. When Lily asked Radulf why he was in no hurry to reach Rennoc, he laughed and bent closer, his warm breath sending tingles over her skin.

“Need you ask, lady? Or do you look for flattery?”