The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Alice looked surprised. “Perhaps she is more generous than I thought.”

“I don’t know whether it was generosity which drove her.”

Alice leaned closer, curious, and then jumped back with a squeak. “Your husband returns. Adieu, Lily, until I visit you soon.” And with a quick kiss she disappeared into the press of people.

Radulf viewed her departure with raised brows, and the glance he gave Lily was weary and resigned.

A flare of protective anger lit her. Was he so used to people believing the stories told of him and fleeing whenever he approached? Could they not see, as she did, the man behind the tales? Lord Kenton had called him brutal, but Lily saw only a strong brave man who served his king, a man far from the mindless killing machine mothers described to frighten their children. He was intelligent, he inspired loyalty among his men and his people, and he found humor in the most unlikely situations. And he made love unselfishly and expertly, yet with a single-mindedness that made her believe that she was the only one. He had fascinated her, captured her like a wild creature in a snare. Besotted her.

And therein lay her problem.

When they left the castle that night, Lily was glad to return to the inn. The chill night and even the inn’s ale-sodden air seemed comforting after the noisy heat of King William’s court. Una had hurried to her side to help her remove her heavy cloak, and it was purely by chance that Lily happened to glance up at Radulf and spied the innkeeper handing him a letter.

Radulf inspected it, turned it over, and broke the seal. He read it swiftly, and his face tightened. As if suddenly becoming aware of her watching, he looked up and caught Lily’s eyes upon him. His own eyes were blacker even than usual, but there was a glitter in them that shocked her. Was it anger she saw there, or something else?

Before she could decide, he slipped the letter inside his tunic. “Bring me some wine!” he shouted, and striding to the fire, held out his hands to the warmth with an uncontrollable shiver. When Jervois joined him, Radulf leaned close so that he could speak privately with his captain. Their voices were too low to be understood, but Jervois nodded unsmilingly, his flop of fair hair fringing his green eyes.

Lily sighed. Whoever had sent the letter would remain a mystery. There was nothing to be done but retire. Una followed Lily to her room and helped to brush out her hair until it shimmered in the firelight. Lily smiled and answered the girl’s questions about the evening, but her mind was far away.

The letter was important to her; she sensed it. And Radulf did not mean to tell her whom it was from and what it contained. Otherwise he would have done so already. What if it was news of Hew and his rebellion? Lily knew she must find out for herself.

She had decided to pretend she was asleep when Radulf came to bed, but one touch of his hand and she found herself turning into his arms despite herself, her mouth hot and wanton on his. He responded as fiercely, rolling over and onto her, thrusting into her body as if he couldn’t wait any longer. But she was ready; nowadays she seemed always to be ready. With a groan, Lily arched against him and heard his breath ragged against her cheek.

Does he think he’s h

olding Anna?

The thought popped into her mind, and she wondered why she tormented herself with such questions. Wasn’t it enough that they were wed and that he desired her? Did she seek love?

Instantly she denied it. Even if she were foolish enough to do so, love had little place in a Norman marriage. It was a contract drawn up for reasons of wealth and power, and the children who came from it were important for the same reasons.

Love was not for her and Radulf.

It was true that all her life Lily had hoped to find a man who would complement her heart and soul, as well as her mind, even though she knew it was foolish to long for what she could not have. But in many ways she was lucky. She had a husband who seemed to value her and who would rule her lands and her people with a strong hand—she only prayed he would also be just and that he might, sometimes, be guided by her.

There was no point in howling for the moon; she must make the best of what she had. Maybe as the years passed the ache of longing would pass, too, and she would be content.

Radulf, as if sensing her lack of concentration, covered her mouth with his, his tongue seeking to tangle with hers. His manhood thrust into her, filling her completely. She forgot Anna and her fears and doubts as the tremors of pleasure grew stronger and the world dissolved into a hot, dangerous brilliance, leaving her stranded in Radulf’s strong arms.

Afterward, he slept. Lily crept from the bed and found his clothing, scattered on the rushes by the door. Pretending to fold them, she slid her hand inside the tunic and found the letter.

The firelight was fading, but there was enough flickering light to read the single page.

Beloved, I will wait for you tomorrow at the old Chapel of St. Mary between Vespers and Compline.

Her fingers shook. There was no signature, no name, yet Lily knew who had sent the message. It was Lady Anna. She wanted to rekindle the passion she had once had with Radulf. She believed that the spark was still fresh enough to do so. That she only had to send word and he would fly to her…

Did Radulf believe that, too? Would he go to her between the prayers of Vespers and Compline, when the sky was darkening and the air was sweet and still?

Lily shuddered. With fingers that were suddenly nerveless, she pushed the letter back into the pile of clothing.

What she had feared had come to pass. Radulf was going to seek out his old love, and leave his new wife behind.

Chapter 13

The following morning, Lily woke blearily to the smell of fresh baked bread and Una’s voice urging her to get up.

“Lady, lady, Lord Radulf has ordered you be ready this instant!”