The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

“I think you are more than that, Jervois. He has told me he trusts you like a brother.”

Jervois’s tanned cheeks flushed a dull red at the compliment Radulf had paid him.

Lily shot a glance past him into the smoky room. “Where is Radulf?”

“He is still at the castle, lady. But before you join him there, he has instructed me to have water brought for your bath and…and your other matters attended to.” He flushed again at Lily’s wide-eyed look, and added in a voice made prim from discomfort, “Lord Radulf orders you to look your best for the king.”

Lily continued to stare in astonishment. Look her best? Vorgen would have dragged her before William bleeding and in rags. “I see,” she managed, but saw not at all. Yet did it matter whether she understood? She was very likely about to be imprisoned for the rest of her life. This might be the last bath she ever had.

Jervois was waiting for her reply, respectful and attentive as always. She managed a smile. “I want to thank you, Jervois. You have been kind to me.”

He did not smile back; there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. “I only obey my orders, lady. ’Tis Lord Radulf you should thank.”

Lily raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

Jervois hesitated, as if struggling with some unfamiliar emotion. He cleared his throat. “It is not my place to speak of such matters, lady, but…you wrong Lord Radulf if you think him the brutish warrior of legend. Aye, he is a powerful man, with much wealth and large estates. This…this bounty makes him more wary than most, and indeed he has many enemies. But beneath the fable, he is a man like any other. Do not believe the tales that are spun of him.”

Surprised by his words and the earnestness with which they were delivered, Lily replied, “I do not believe them. Well”—when Jervois in turn raised his eyebrows at her vehemence—“not now, I don’t. But what have those stories to do with aught?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Radulf hates me.”

For a moment her haughty demeanor fractured, and she sounded young and unsure. The proud ice princess sounded like a frightened maid, struggling in desire’s sticky toils.

Jervois shook his head and almost laughed aloud. Of course he did no such thing, but an uncharacteristic glimmer of humor filled his eyes. Ever since Radulf had given him his orders, he had been beside himself. He well understood what his lord was risking, but for what? A woman! Beautiful, yes, but still a woman, and a rebel at that. Now, suddenly, Jervois saw Lily through new eyes.

“Nay, lady,” he said quietly, “Lord Radulf does not hate you.”

“Please, Jervois, do not take me for a fool! I understand your loyalty to your lord, but Radulf and I are enemies.”

The look on his face infuriated her—as if he knew a secret and was not about to tell. Her gratitude forgotten, Lily dismissed him, and when he had gone, she dismissed his words, too.

I betrayed Radulf, and a man like him will never for

give such a transgression. He will take me to his king and be rid of me without having to soil his own hands further.

Chilled, she played out the scene in her mind. The king calling for guards, their brutal grip on her arms as they dragged her away. She would not sob or cry out, she vowed. No, she would maintain her pride to the last. And Radulf would stand, his face a cold and indifferent mask, watching her go…

Angrily, Lily shook her head. No, that was not how it would be! She would not be taken like a lamb to the slaughter. She must fight, and her tongue would be her weapon. She had words to speak to the Norman king, words that might well move him…bend him. Lily would not beg; such lack of pride was abhorrent to her, and she knew it would draw William’s scorn rather than his pity. Instead she would argue her case, reminding him she was still useful to him if he truly wished for a lasting truce in the north.

Lily did not fool herself into imagining he would be compassionate. And it was said William had a strong sense of justice, of right and wrong. He would look upon her first and foremost as Vorgen’s wife, remembering that Vorgen had been a traitor who caused him endless trouble. Now Hew, her cousin, was set to stir more rebellion, and all in her name. William would consider her a danger to himself and his new realm.

He would want her gone.

Somehow she must persuade him otherwise. Impress him with her genuine desire for peace, show him she was willing to live and work with the Normans to bring that peace about. She must be eloquent. Radulf had claims on William that Lily could not possibly match, but perhaps she could sway him with her calm good sense.

She must try, and memories of Radulf would not stand in her way. For that was all they were, she told herself sternly, memories—that part of her life was over.

While Lily’s mind was busy delving for the right words to sway a king, Una, the innkeeper’s daughter, arrived to supervise her bath.

Lily soaked in the steaming scented luxury, lathering herself with a knob of soap while Una washed her hair. By the time Lily climbed dripping from the bath, she had decided the direction her speech would take. Her only remaining doubt concerned Radulf.

He had planned her downfall, and her mind accepted that. Her heart was another matter. Her heart had a tendency to soften and sigh, like a lovestruck maiden. You are mine and I am yours! it cried.

Her heart, she decided coldly, was a traitor. Her heart was in league with her flesh, which was prone to grow heated and achy every time Radulf drew near. Both required careful guarding, needed reminding that Radulf was her enemy and could never be anything else.

“Such fine hair. Like silver thread.” Una’s reverent voice broke in on Lily’s anguished thoughts.

The girl was combing Lily’s hair, while Lily sat wrapped in a drying cloth. Her clothing had been hastily sponged and brushed, but was still a sad sight. Lily would have preferred to present herself before the king in rich cloth, weighed heavy with jewelry. The Normans respected show. Would they see this poorly dressed young woman as the rightful ruler of much of Northumbria, someone deserving of their respect? Or would they see her as a weak pawn in a man’s game?

Lily made herself smile. “My hair has not had care such as this for many a long week, Una.”