Chapter 5 #3
“To reinforce you. Perhaps he thinks his Sword is weary.” Henry smiled to take some of the weight from his words. “I am to take up stewardship of Vorgen’s lands until William decides who will have them.”
“ ’Tis poor, wild country,” Radulf muttered.
“The people struggle to grow their crops and feed their beasts. Such hardship breeds discontent; Vorgen would not have found it difficult to draw supporters for rebellion. They are so far from London here, they think William’s long arm cannot reach.”
Henry yawned. “The country is all very well, my friend, but I prefer to spend my time at court.”
Radulf shook his head. “You fight battles with your tongue, Henry, while I use my right arm. That is the difference between us.”
“The difference is that I was up while you were still abed!” Henry retorted, and watched Radulf smile.
His eyes narrowed with sudden interest.
Radulf had a sated look to him that Henry had not seen for a long time.
The lines about his eyes had smoothed out, and the rigid set of his mouth was softer.
Perhaps this mystery woman was what Radulf needed.
He deserved some happiness. If she was what she claimed to be, Radulf could keep her by him.
And if she was not . . . ?
Quite suddenly, Henry understood the reason that Radulf had not pursued the matter further.
His friend was afraid of what he might find! And yet was not the truth, however hurtful, better than living a lie? Radulf had seen his father suffer in a fool’s paradise; did Radulf intend to take the same misguided path?
“You say you are riding south today,” Henry said thoughtfully.
“How far are Morcar’s lands?Twenty . . .
twenty-five leagues? Two . . . three days’ riding?
Why not take the lady and return her to her doting father?
Rennoc is probably worried; you will be doing him a favor.
Then, if she is as she says, you may continue your dalliance.
There is not a man in England who would dare withhold his daughter from Radulf, the King’s Sword. ”
Radulf grunted.
“Come, Radulf, it is a good scheme. I will continue your hunt for Vorgen’s wife and guard her lands. It will take only two days to get to Rennoc, and your mind will be set at ease.”
He was right, Radulf knew. Best to discover once and for all the truth about Lily. Then why this sense of deep reluctance? As if he knew the truth might not be something he wished to hear?
Just as the truth had been something his father had refused to acknowledge . . . Nay! he could not go down that road.
A feeling of calm settled over him. Lily might well be any number of things: a liar, a straying wife, an English spy, a follower of Vorgen’s wife.
There was a myriad of unpleasant possibilities.
But whatever she was, Radulf had two days—
three or four if he took his time—in which to enjoy her before they reached Rennoc.
Curtly he nodded his agreement, but Henry noted the tension had returned to his face.
Back once more in Gudren’s tent, Lily reacquainted herself with the smell of smoke and the taste of goat’s cheese. Gudren appeared pleased to see her, chattering away in her own language.
Lily had only to nod occasionally to keep the conversation going.
In truth, she was too caught up in her own thoughts to pay Gudren much attention.
He is a god.
Why had she said such a thing? Though they had thought her jesting, the words remained to Lily a betrayal of the depth of her feelings. And she knew Radulf had sensed their truth, just as he sensed her lies.
Soon he would be gone, soon she could plot her escape. There would not be another chance like this. Once Radulf returned, he would send for her again. And with each moment the leaving would grow more difficult, and the danger more intense.
She could not risk it.
“You are far away, my pretty one.”
Gudren was watching her with pale eyes, her round face made even broader by her smile.
“There are things to be considered, mother.”
Gudren nodded wisely, as if she understood.
“Lord Radulf has a fiercesome reputation, lady, but you should not believe all you hear.”
Lily smiled despite herself. “Is he a lamb then, to follow meekly? I think not.”
“That would depend on who called,” Gudren retorted.
“They say,” Lily began thoughtfully, “he is without a heart or a soul, that he kills to feed the lust within himself. That he knows nothing else, except the authority of his king. That he is as cold and hard as the sword he wields.”
“The legends would have it so. He is a great warrior, ’tis true, but he is also a wise and just lord.
I cannot speak for others, but I know that my Olaf is well paid for his work, and has a dry, comfortable place to live and sleep, and that our table groans with food.
At Crevitch, the people do not talk of his lack of heart.
Their bellies are full and their bones are warm, and they cheer him when he rides home. ”
Lily shifted uneasily. “You almost make me believe him to be a great man, mother.”
“And so he is, lady. So he is. He is also a fine lover . . . so I have heard.”
Color flooded Lily’s cheeks.
Did everyone in the camp know of last night?
Life here was close-knit, necessarily so. The Normans were strangers in a foreign land and clung together for safety as well as the familiarity of their own kind. They would know if their lord coughed, and why. They must know about Radulf and Lily.
“You do not under—” Lily began, when a deep voice from outside interrupted her.
“Lily?”
Her gray eyes widened on Gudren’s. Briefly she considered remaining silent, pretending she was not there, but dismissed the idea as cowardly and foolish.
Radulf would simply come in and drag her out.
She nodded stiffly in Gudren’s direction.
“Thank you once again, mother. I will not forget your kindness.”
Gudren watched her go, a knowing smile in her eyes.
Radulf stood outside, a giant in chain mail, his dark hair damp and sleek to his skull, his face cleanly shaven. A tightness gathered in Lily’s chest, a breathlessness. Truly, it was just as well that he was leaving. He was more dangerous to her than all the Normans in the land.
“I have come for you, lady,” he said, and held out his hand.
Without thinking, Lily gave him hers, and felt his hard fingers close tightly.
A tingle of anticipation ran up her arm.
He felt it, too, she was certain of it. She could see those fires, banked now, in his dark eyes.
She resisted the urge to sway against his body like a feeble sapling, forcing herself to remain aloof.
“Olaf says you speak the language of the far north.” Radulf’s frowning eyes searched hers.
She blinked back at him, her eyes stinging from the smoke and the cold clear air.
“How do you speak that tongue?” he went on.
“Where did you learn it?” His voice was hard now, and demanding.
You could tell him the truth, the treacherous voice whispered in Lily’s head. Remember what Gudren said? He is a wise and just lord. He will listen to you; he will understand. Tell him now. Now!
Angrily, she shook her head.
Radulf thought she shook it at him. “Lady,” he groaned in exasperation. “You try me too hard. I will have answers.”
Above them, on the rise near Radulf’s tent, preparations to leave were almost complete. Lily noticed that her own mare was saddled and waiting, her small bundle of possessions strapped in place. She turned in wide-eyed astonishment to the man scowling down at her.
“Why are you taking me with you?”
“Give me your answer.”
Lily’s eyes searched his dark ones, but could not read them. She sighed, surrendering. “I had a servant who spoke the language and she taught me.”
It was only partially a lie. Lily had had a Norse servant, but she had learned the language from her mother.
Radulf was still frowning, unconsciously rubbing his sore shoulder. Lily refused to allow the possibility of his pain to distract her.
“I am taking you home to your father,” he told her at last, and watched as she stilled, her pale skin turning a shade paler. But the next moment she was smiling as if she had never heard better news, and he convinced himself he had mistaken her pleasure for shock.
“He will be glad to see me,” she murmured prettily. “It has been long.” A strand of hair blew across her cheek.
Radulf reached out and secured it, smoothing the soft tress behind her ear.
“My blood burns for you, lady,” he said harshly. “Even now I can only think of when next I can have you in my bed.”
Lily knew he expected her to complain of his manners, or run like a frightened doe.
Her fingers lightly brushed the back of his hand, tracing a thin white scar on the brown skin.
“I, too, burn, my lord.”
Radulf’s hand turned and gripped hers fiercely, his face tight with desire. “Then God help us if you lie, lady. God help us both!”