The Lily and the Sword (Medieval 1)

Anna dragged up the reins, forcing her horse onto its back legs. Lily gasped, thinking that the emotion had been too great for her and that she meant to ride wildly from the scene. But no, Anna gave another cry and dug her heels viciously into her horse’s sides. It sprang forward, straight at Radulf.

He leaped to the side, probably saving his life, but the horse still knocked against his shoulder. He was spun around by the force, falling to the ground. Lily screamed and, stumbling over fallen debris and splashing through the downpour, ran out of the cottage.

Anna had wheeled her mount around. Another lightning flash showed her face. Her lips were drawn back, her jaw rigid. She clearly intended to set her horse at the prone man, to ride over the top of him.

“Radulf!” Lily cried as she picked up her skirts and sprinted.

Anna hesitated, looking around. The mounted men waiting at the head of the lane pounded to the rescue, muddying Lily as they passed. Before Anna could finish what she had begun, they had cut her off and surrounded her.

She was panting, cornered. “Let me go!” she screamed. “I am the wife of Lord Kenton and I demand you release me!”

The armed men hesitated, clearly not wanting to let her go after what they had witnessed. Then Radulf’s voice rose from among them. He had struggled into a sitting position and stared up at the woman who had tried to kill him.

“Let her go. I have done with her.”

Reluctantly, they released Lady Anna’s reins. She took a moment to arrange her cloak. As she pulled up her hood she caught sight of Lily’s bedraggled figure, standing just beyond the circle of armed men. When their eyes met, Lily had the impression that Anna might ride her down, too. Then she looked fixedly beyond Lily, her face shiny with rain and tears, and kicking the horse into a sedate trot, she rode past Lily as if she didn’t exist.

“What do you here, girl?” A gruff voice spoke in Lily’s ear, a hard hand fastening on to her arm. Before she could tell him to release her, the man peered down into her face and recognized her. “Lady?” He gave voice to his bewilderment.

Lily was already shaking off his grip and brushed past him, hurrying toward where Radulf was hidden by his guard. Perhaps Anna had had some weapon! Perhaps she had struck at Radulf as she rode at him! Panicked, blinded, Lily moved the men by screaming, “Let me through!” when her fists made no impression.

They shuffled back and revealed their fallen leader.

He was still seated upon the wet ground, his back bent over awkwardly as he grasped his right shoulder with his left hand. His face shone with a pale sheen, sweat as well as rain. He was wounded. Radulf, the immortal warrior of legend, was hurt.

As Lily dropped to her knees beside him, she was more terrified than she had ever been before in her life. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands over his body, to heal him. But she was also afraid…afraid of what she might find.

Radulf lifted his head, his eyes dull in his pain-twisted face. He blinked, as if to clear his sight. “Lily?” he rasped. “What the devil do you here?”

Trembling, she reached out one hand and gently rested it upon his shoulder. He winced, but did not pull away. “’Tis not like to kill me,” he said with a hint of his old humor. “I’ve grown lax, and it serves me right. I had forgotten a woman could be as dangerous as any man.”

“Is it broken?” Lily asked. Broken limbs could be mended, but often they were never as strong or straight again, and sometimes the patient took a fever or the flesh rotted inside, and death then followed. The lane seemed to swirl about her and she shivered violently.

“Lily,” he murmured, and his voice seemed to come from a long way away, “what are you doing here?” Then, when she would not answer, “No, it is not broken. ’Tis out of its socket. Jervois can put it back in; he’s done it twice before. ’Tis not a comfortable procedure, but I can bear it. Lily?” His voice grew anxious. “Catch her, someone, she faints!”

But Lily had no intention of fainting. “No, no, I am all right,” she said, pushing away the eager hands. “I…we must see to Lord Radulf,” she added, her voice growing more authoritative. “Help him onto his horse. We must return to the inn. But slowly, for the ride will be painful for him.”

Radulf gave a laugh that turned into a groan as his men raised him to his feet. “I am used to a little discomfort, lady. I will not break.”

But perhaps something in her eyes showed him what she had suffered when she saw him fall, because he gave her a long, searching look. “Did you ride here?” he asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him, and looked around him for a horse.

“Yes.” She shook, bereft when he took his eyes from her. “In the cottage, hidden…It is Alice’s.”

A flare of anger lit his face, swiftly followed by resignation. “Fetch my lady’s horse,” he instructed, “and see her safely upon it. I do not wish to find her missing when we reach the inn. And as for you, my lady…” He paused, making her wait. “I will have an explanation very soon.”

“You will soon be too feverish to hear it,” Lily retorted with spirit.

The journey home was difficult, but no worse than many others Radulf had made in his life. And he had much to ponder. Tonight he had made a great change. He had finally opened that painful wound that he had merely prodded occasionally over the years. It had always been there, poisoning him, but tonight he had faced Anna, and the poison had spilled free.

Just now he felt too tired to be glad, but he had faced his past. It was done, over. Lady Anna was no viper, just a beautiful and selfish woman who had carelessly, heartlessly destroyed the lives of a father and his son. It was not her fault alone; Radulf accepted his portion of the blame. But soon he would be able to remember her without that familiar, grinding ache. And perhaps he would be able to remember his father without that final, shattering scene between them.

His shoulder jolted and the pain was so intense that it required all his concentration to stay in his saddle. When it had subsided and his vision had cleared, he noted Lily riding quietly at his side. She had not spoken since they began their journey. No doubt she was working at spinning a fine tale, lies tangled with just enough truth to make it plausible.

Radulf sighed. When he had first seen her standing in the rain he had thought she was a dream, some fancy of his tormented mind and throbbing body. And then he had seen that it really was Lily, and his heart had swelled with joy at the sight of her.

Until the doubts began.

Was she in league with Anna somehow? Two she-devils together? But that made no sense. Lily and Anna were not at all alike—the one so full of her own concerns and the other willing to sacrifice herself for her people. What then? And why, when she had escaped the vigilance of Jervois, had she not simply run north to the border, to her cousin Hew?