Chapter 5 #2
Henry was grinning, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Lily decided he did look rather like a cherub, albeit a wicked one. Then his eyes fell to Lily and he sobered.
Radulf had grunted in disbelief, but seeing the new direction of Henry’s curious gaze, he half turned and drew Lily firmly into his embrace.
With an irritable frown, he shoved down the hood of her cloak and freed her long hair, and with it the scent of flowers and spring rain. Lily felt her face turn a fiery red before Lord Henry’s bold stare.
“Perhaps the lady can tell you the truth of what I say, Radulf,” he said smoothly. “What think you of Lord Radulf, lady? Is he not a handsome and virile man?”
Henry was jesting, but still she felt Radulf’s arms tighten, felt him hold his breath as he waited for her answer. She should say something light and amusing in return, but Lily had led a life too fraught with danger to easily manage either.
As Vorgen’s wife her simplest pronouncement was inspected, dissected, and suspected. There was no room for levity, for funning. Lily had lost the ability.
“He is neither, my lord,” she answered at last, her voice soft and husky. “He is a god.”
Henry’s eyes widened and laughter flushed his face until Lily thought he would burst with holding it in. Radulf released his own breath in a sharp hiss. He chuckled softly and squeezed her tighter.
His breath tickled her hair as he bent over her, and his hand slid up to cup her jaw, lifting her face so that she was forced to meet his dark eyes.
The watchful expression was back, and with it some new, indefinable gleam. Lily knew she had pleased him, even as his next words reduced hers to insignificance. “The lady has difficulty telling the truth about anything; why should I believe her in this?”
Lily opened her mouth to argue, just as Stephen arrived at last.
“My lord, I beg pardon, I was—”
Radulf didn’t waste time with excuses. “Take the lady to Gudren’s tent,” he said gruffly.
“Now!”
Lily found herself given firmly into the squire’s care, hurried past Henry’s amused and admiring gaze, and out into the brightening day.
The air struck her chilly, warm as she had been in Radulf’s arms, and she blinked about her at the camp.
Tents blended into the hillside, the unmoving veil of smoke giving further camouflage.
Women were grouped about a cart from which one Grimswade entrepreneur was selling freshly baked bread, while men practiced their fighting skills in a meadow close by.
Radulf’s huge black destrier was being saddled and readied for its master.
Lily wondered anxiously how long Radulf intended to be away, and what would happen to her. Would she be safe? And then she smiled. If his jealous care of her just now was anything to go by, she was very safe indeed.
Her smile faded.
With Radulf gone, she could escape. Yes, she told herself, ignoring the shiver of regret that came from a well deep inside her being, that was what she would do.
“Come, lady.” Stephen gave her an impatient glance and led the way, trudging down the muddy track.
Lily followed, sniffing the unsettling mixture of animal manure, woodsmoke, and bread.
Her stomach alternately lurched and rumbled.
She hoped Gudren had something to eat; she had barely taken a bite of the food in Radulf’s tent before Lord Henry arrived.
And if the opportunity came to escape today, she preferred to do so on a full belly.
Radulf pulled on a clean pair of breeches and another shirt, while Henry sat down at the table and began to partake heartily of his friend’s breakfast. Radulf eyed him with fond disgust.
Fonder than the disgust in which he held himself.
Henry had been amused by his behavior with Lily, but Radulf hadn’t been able to help himself.
As soon as he’d seen Henry’s eyes fix on Lily, he’d experienced such a bolt of jealousy he was sure the soles of his feet were sizzling.
“And that lady is under your protection?”
Henry repeated after Radulf’s brief explanation.
“That being so, should you have . . . uhmm . . . taken advantage of her undeniable charms?”
Radulf splashed the now lukewarm water over his head and picked up the cloth to dry himself.
Lily’s scent was on it, and desire gripped him with hot, urgent fingers.
Her words were still ringing in his ears. Although he knew she must have been playing up to Henry’s teasing, she had not smiled when she said them. And she had spoken as if what she said was what she believed.
Radulf shivered.
Women had been known to lie. Anna had lied and lied again. It was wiser not to believe them, wiser not to become involved . . . no matter how much he yearned to.
“Radulf? Are you still asleep? Or are your wits addled?”
“She was hiding in the church,” Radulf said quickly, avoiding Henry’s knowing gaze. “I have been looking into her story.”
“Oh, ‘looking into her story,’” Henry echoed, nodding solemnly.
Radulf ignored the jibe and sat down, piling food high on one of the silver plates and pouring a generous quantity of ale into his mug.
“She is the daughter of one of the Earl of Morcar’s vassals, Edwin of Rennoc.
She had been visiting in Scotland, and when they heard that Vorgen’s rebellion had ended, she was sent home with some men-at-arms. They were attacked in the wood north of Grimswade.
She fled and took shelter in the church, which is where I found her. That is what she says.”
Henry paused in his eating, eyeing Radulf curiously. “You sound as if you doubt her story.”
“Because I do. I sent some men to search the wood and they found nothing.”
“Is it a big wood?”
“Not particularly. There should have been something to prove her story. Where are the bodies, the signs of battle? Could they have been hidden so cleverly, and if so, for what purpose?”
“For fear of your reprisals?” Henry replied promptly. Radulf only grunted. “Other than the question of the wood, she appears to be what she says? A vassal’s daughter? Come, Radulf, you are used to reading people! What do you see when you look at this lady?”
Radulf hesitated. When he looked at Lily his thoughts were more erotic than analytical.
How could he explain to Henry the joy he had found last night in Lily’s arms?
The deep, gut-wrenching satisfaction he had experienced every time he entered her, made her his?
When he felt her tremble beneath him, and heard her soft cries of pleasure—
Radulf shook his head sharply, angrily, clearing his mind. Henry was right—his wits were addled.
Too many lives depended on Radulf’s decisions; it was time to unscramble them.
“She is a lady,” he said. “Gently reared. Yet I have learned to mistrust appearances, and there is something about this girl that knocks a sharp warning.”
“What is this ‘something,’ Radulf? Come, tell me.”
Again Radulf hesitated. He had sensed a restlessness about Lily, a fear she was eager, nay, desperate, to disguise. Yet that fear could well be of Radulf himself. Most feared him; he had come to expect it. Why not her, too? And yet . . . and yet . . .
“She is proud for a mere vassal’s daughter,” he admitted at last, “but I have known many proud ladies with little to back their high opinions of themselves.”
Henry guffawed.
“I have questioned some of the villagers here at Grimswade, and they tell me that Edwin of Rennoc has a fair-haired daughter, young and pretty.”
“Ah, then, it cannot be she! This girl is beautiful!”
Radulf ignored him. “They did not mention Rennoc’s daughter had been wed, but Lily tells me her husband is dead, so perhaps it was not well known.”
He was making excuses for her now, inventing reasons to believe her.
“She had only one small bundle on her horse, and her clothing is serviceable rather than richly made,” he continued.
“A sensible girl would not dress in her best for such a journey, and perhaps she had more belongings on another horse which was taken in the wood. Have you asked her these questions?” Henry asked.
Radulf frowned, avoiding his friend’s eyes. He had not asked because he was wary of the answers. “What does it matter? I will hold her tightly until I know the truth.”
“And while you hold her, you will enjoy her?” Henry took a swallow of his ale.
Radulf shrugged as if the subject no longer interested him. “She is comely.”
Henry grinned, and Radulf knew that his pretended indifference wasn’t fooling his friend.
Henry had known him far too long. Since they were boys, and Henry had come to Radulf’s father’s house in Normandy to be trained as a knight. Now, as if homing in on his deepest troubles, the secrets Radulf kept hidden, Henry said, “I saw my Lord of Kenton on my way north.”
Radulf froze.
“He was present at the king’s table in York, where I stayed while traveling to you. He is an odd fish. Smiling with his mouth while his eyes stay cold. He hangs over his new wife like a lovesick boy.”
Radulf, barely aware of the scorn in Henry’s voice, forced himself to continue with his meal, biting into a slice of apple. He made himself ask the question. “And how does his wife?”
Henry hesitated, eyeing Radulf’s shuttered face. So the pain is still as great, he thought.
Would Radulf ever forgive himself, or would his bitterness and self-reproach continue to corrode that possibility?
Henry shrugged. “His wife is in York with him. She is still fair, and she is still adept at drawing a veil over her true nature when she is in the company of others.” He glanced at Radulf’s blank face, and then said swiftly, “She asked after you. She said she wished to be remembered to you. She told me so twice, so she must have meant it.”
Radulf gave a savage laugh. “The woman’s vanity knows no bounds!” For a moment he saw her face, beautiful, beneath him, and watched as her amber eyes widened, shifted beyond his shoulder . . . Then disgust filled him for himself and her, and he shut the door on his memories.
“I have heard enough of bad tidings, Henry. Tell me instead why the king has sent you.”