The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Her body ached, her head ached, but most of all her heart ached. And although she had known what would happen if he ever learned the truth, in some small corner of her being, she had hoped that somehow he would understand and forgive.

How could she have been so blind?

This was a Norman lord, to whom duty would always come first. He would take her to his king and sacrifice her at the altar of his own pride.

Better you had gone with Hew.

Lily shook her head. No, she could never go back to being the consort of such a man. And now Hew had escaped. Lily didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry about that; a little of both, maybe. She was glad that Hew had thwarted Radulf, but sorry that someone with Hew’s evil intent was again free in the north.

“Come, lady, you heard what Lord Radulf said,” a voice murmured bracingly at her side. “You must eat and drink; you must stay strong.”

A cup of water was pressed into her hands, and Lily sipped it without thinking. She allowed Jervois to lead her to a flat rock, and press her down onto the makeshift seat. A chill wind tugged at her cloak and her hair, stinging her eyes. Jervois removed the cup and replaced it with food. Lily chewed slowly, gazing at nothing.

“Good.” Jervois nodded, and eyed her a moment more before turning in Radulf’s direction. His lord and master stood stiff-backed, pretending an inordinate amount of interest in the surrounding countryside. Jervois shifted his shoulders, as if there was an invisible weight upon them. In truth, the situation he now found himself in was more

wearisome and worrisome than any battle he had ever encountered.

He had been with Lord Radulf for nearly four years, and he had seen him angry before. But never this mindlessly, boilingly angry. And all over a woman! She was pretty, yes, but Jervois was never very comfortable in the company of women. He rested his green eyes once more on the lady. At least she was looking less white and strained, less like she might collapse. Radulf had been forcing the pace, riding as if the devil were on his back, but it would not do for her to collapse before they reached the king at York. Jervois had the uneasy feeling that despite Radulf’s own thoughtless haste, the man would have Jervois’s head if the lady suffered.

It made no sense, but then Jervois had found that when it came to the fair sex, sense went out the door. Give him a good battle any day! Man pitted against man. He was far more at home at war than faced with a lady’s smile.

And yet…a very pretty picture of golden hair and bright blue eyes leaped into his mind. Alice of Rennoc. He had seen her, spoken with her, during his short visit. His head had naturally been full of Radulf’s orders and Lily’s lies, but still he had retained the look of the girl and the scent of her skin.

“I am sure my lady Lily had good reason for her actions,” she had declared, when questioned.

Jervois admired loyalty. He had found himself remembering her words, and the inflections of her voice, ever since.

While Jervois puzzled over life’s inconsistencies, Lily was berating herself for being dim-witted. For one so used to living in the constant danger of Vorgen’s keep, she had been very lax. The fact that Radulf had not set a guard at her door should have alerted her at once to his trap. Like a cunning wolf, he had been watching her, waiting, and when the time was right he had pounced.

Lily doubted Radulf had been born to a flesh-and-blood mother, rather he had been created by Olaf the armorer, wrought in fire and fashioned in iron.

He had no heart.

The glint of ironic laughter she had seen in his eyes just before he cut her ropes only went to prove her point. No sane man would find humor in such a situation.

Tears threatened, but again Lily held them back. She had lost everything and she trusted no one. She was all alone again, just when she had begun to allow herself to feel safe. Perhaps she would always be alone; perhaps it was meant to be.

Lily knew she should be using these moments to plot what she would say when she came face to face with King William. She did not fear that she would break down and sob for clemency; she had shown courage enough before when Vorgen had threatened her, and William could be no worse.

But she was numb, and the words would not come to her.

The sturdy wooden walls of York glowed warmly in the late afternoon sunshine, while roofs and spires appeared tipped with gold. The city had been fortunate in that none of its many occupying forces had sacked and burned it.

The Romans had long come and gone. The Vikings and Danes had known the city as Jorvic, and made it prosperous with their trade and their ships. Then York had been the capital of the Anglican kingdom of Northumbria. Now the Normans were here, and William had proclaimed York his center in the north, the second city in England after London.

The rivers Ouse and Fos enclosed York, their watery arms a silver sparkle. The Ouse was the larger, its banks crowded with ships loading and unloading, and seamen, merchants, and their minions conducting business. King William’s castle, a wooden tower raised high upon an earthen mound, reared up beyond the walls. He was in the process of building a second castle on the opposite bank of the Ouse, the unrest in the north having made extra fortifications necessary.

As Radulf’s band of soldiers drew nearer to the city, Lily could see an iron chain barring their approach. It was strung across the road, several yards in front of the gate through the city walls. Guards were prominent at the bar, as well as on the walls behind it.

Lily sighed and managed to stretch her aching muscles without whimpering out loud. Compared to their previous manic pace, their travel over the past few days had been slow. Lily had overheard some of the soldiers muttering their relief that at last their lord had outrun his anger.

Lily disagreed.

Radulf’s anger had just seeped inside, where it would gather and ferment. Apart from his sense of betrayal, Lily had made him look a fool, and no Norman took well to that.

No, his anger was with him still, and Lily would suffer for it.

After Radulf had cut her ropes, he had left her untied and, as if by a silent and mutual consent, Lily had no longer refused food or water. Radulf’s reason for freeing her was not kindness; she knew that. He wanted her alive and alert when he brought her before William. He wanted her to see and hear and feel every bit of her punishment. If she had not eaten, she was sure he would have forced her.