The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Lily shook her head. Whatever he thought of her, she could disabuse him of that. “No, Radulf, I never meant to trick you. You cannot believe—”

He leaned closer, his breath hot on her face. His eyes glittered like onyx. His voice shook as he spoke, betraying the enormous self-restraint he was exercising upon himself. “I may have been a fool, lady, but you made me a fine whore!”

Lily flinched, and swayed. Could he not see the truth in her eyes? It seemed he could not…would not see. “I am no whore,” she answered dully. “You of all men know that.”

He dropped her hand as if it burned him. “No, you’re right. Whoring would be too honest a profession for one with your treacherous soul.”

Anger bit into her. Pain and fear and hurt all meshed together in a great, hard ball in her stomach, where the fire of fury consumed them. Why had she ever thought him kind? How could she have imagined there was anything soft between them? This was Radulf, her enemy. He hated her!

And she hated him.

Blinded by her anger, Lily fumbled at her girdle, finding her dagger. She would kill him, stab him through the heart—if he had one! She drew the dagger and struck at him, but Radulf grabbed for it and the blade sliced into his thumb rather than glancing off his mailed chest.

Warm blood dripped onto her gown and Radulf laughed in his fury. “Aye, here is the real Lily!” he declared, his eyes blazing.

Lily went even whiter, instantly releasing the weapon into his keeping. She felt sick and dizzy, as shocked by her action as by its result. Radulf slipped the dagger into his own belt, ignoring the shallow cut to his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers.

“No, my lady liar,” he mocked. “I am not ready to die yet. First, you will have your reckoning. Just as I promised.”

She opened her mouth, but there were no words left in her.

Radulf had already turned away. “Secure her!” he roared. “In the morning we ride to York—to King William!”

Chapter 9

Radulf was in the grip of an anger such as he had never experienced before. It tore at his flesh, churned his stomach, and shot molten arrows into his brain. He rode for hours turned inside himself, burning with the rage which had dug its talons into him at Trier.

That he had known she was lying, even before his man returned from Rennoc, did not help. Nor did the fact that he had deliberately set a trap for her to fall into. He had wanted, desperately wanted, to be wrong! As he had waited with his men outside the gatehouse, Radulf had prayed to suffer nothing more than lack of sleep. He had told himself, over and over, there must be an innocent explanation for all of this, and soon he would know it.

What an idiot he had been!

How Henry would laugh at him!

Radulf, the King’s Fool!

Smitten by the she-devil, Vorgen’s wife. The very woman he had been pursuing all over the north…

Radulf ground his teeth. His men edged away from him, but he didn’t notice. He was remembering how she had cried out beneath him, how her body had trembled, the tenderness in her eyes…She must be a witch indeed to wind such a charm about him.

What madness had possessed him, that he had trusted her despite all the warning signs? What madness possessed him still, that he wished she had trusted him enough to tell him the trut

h?

And what would you have done? Let her go? So that she could rejoin her lover, rejoin this…this Hew?

Radulf had sent Jervois to Lily to discover the escaped man’s name and identity—he had not dared go himself.

He had been too crazy with hurt and fury.

When Jervois had returned somberly from his bidding, it was to tell Radulf that Hew, Lily’s cousin, had come to rescue her.

“She did not try to hide it,” Jervois had informed him nervously, eyes watchful in case his lord finally lost that iron hold he had clamped on his temper. “She said to tell you that she wished with all her heart he had succeeded.”

Now Radulf’s eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. No doubt she was wishing she was with her lover at this very moment! Well, Radulf would make certain she never saw him again. He would kill her first, or…or lock her away at Crevitch forever. Ah yes, that idea held appeal. As his prisoner, she would be at his mercy. Better still, he could continue with his enjoyment of her body. Keep her for himself alone, far from her lover.

Only he isn’t her lover.

The cold thought pierced his hot madness.