Chapter 6 #2
Lily rejected that explanation. Olaf had said the rebels were watching the camp, and had been seen and then trapped by the Normans.
Had they been watching for her?
Lily stilled, her mare slowing, until one of her guards edged close. “Lady? You must keep up.”
How could they be watching for her? Lily urged her mare forward once more.
They did not even know she was at the camp unless Father Luc had told them.
Was that what he had meant when he’d assured her she would soon be among friends again?
Were these men attempting to rescue her from the Normans so they could use her as their own figurehead?
The idea was frightening. She had no intention of being the leader of another futile rebellion that would only further harm her people. Lily wanted peace, and the only way to find it was to talk with the conquering Normans, to win their trust, to work with them.
You’ve made a good start then, the voice sneered in her head. Does sleeping with their leader count?
That just . . . happened. I would never do such a thing in an attempt to win Radulf’s trust!
Trust? the voice mocked. How can you speak of trust, when your every word to him is a lie?
And the alternative? Lily demanded. If she had told Radulf the truth, he would have taken her captive and delivered her to the king!
She stared blindly ahead. If Hew’s men had been trying to rescue her from the Normans, to prop her up as the head of their depleted rebel band in the hope more recruits might swell their ranks, then her escape became even more imperative.
Lily began to listen closely to the soldiers’ conversations, hoping to hear something to her advantage.
At first the men appeared stilted and uneasy, but as the journey dragged on and Lily’s presence among them became more familiar, they tossed comments among themselves.
Nothing extraordinary, just normal concerns—the chafe of their chain mail, the rub of a boot, the suitability of the country they were passing through for hunting or an ambush, their longing for the women who might or might not be waiting for them at home.
As the hours passed, Lily noticed that Radulf’s captain, Jervois, was also keeping an eye on her.
He would ask if she was thirsty or hungry, if she was weary and might prefer to ride before him.
Lily did not know whether he was acting under Radulf’s orders, or whether he was making her comfort his concern for other reasons. Maybe he thought to gain her favor, and therefore Radulf’s.
So it had been when she was Vorgen’s wife— Vorgen’s men vying for her notice, until they understood how little power she had to wield on their behalf.
Probably it was Radulf’s orders, for several times Jervois rode up to speak with his master, and occasionally he would ride into the surrounding country, always reporting back to Radulf.
Radulf rode in front of his men. Sometimes he would turn to look back, his face a blur beneath his helmet, his gaze sweeping over them, check-ing each detail.
Once he ordered the soldiers nearest her—her “guard”—be changed, but he didn’t seem to notice Lily in particular.
She was just another task, another detail to be dealt with.
Perhaps he had already forgotten the night they shared, and his words of that morning. The warm generosity of his lovemaking had turned, in an instant, to cold calculation. Did he have the ability, like Vorgen and Hew and even her father, to shut off his emotions when the situation demanded it?
His tall helmeted figure, bulky with armor, astride the huge destrier, was every inch that of a cold, heartless warrior. A fighting machine.
Radulf, the King’s Sword.
He was well named.
Lily shivered. She found it almost impossible to understand such behavior.
Her own emotions were too much a part of her to switch them on and off.
She had never been able to make decisions in such an emotionless manner, no matter how she tried.
Her heart ruled her, sometimes tempered by her head, but if there was ever a conflict between the two, it was her heart that triumphed.
If women ruled the world, she told herself fiercely, there would be no bloodshed, there would be no wars. Women understood better the importance of life, for it was women who brought it into the world and then tended and cared for it.
What could Radulf know of the suffering of the children? What did he care?
So deep in her bitter thoughts was she, Lily did not notice the terrain changing about her. The rocky outcrops and uneven ground had given way to gentler hills and a forest of tall beeches.
Soon they were making a steady descent into a valley. She was surprised when she heard the cry to halt. As the command passed swiftly down the line, Lily craned her head to see up ahead.
A narrow stream, water flashing silver as it trickled over smooth stones. Moss-mottled tree branches overhung one side, while the ground was grassy and more open on the other.
Radulf threw out his orders, but everyone knew what to do. They had done it often, up and down the width and breadth of England, as the King’s Sword subdued the English and forced them to assume the Norman yoke.
Fires were soon lit and cook pots started. Men sprawled about, eating and drinking, taking their ease as if it were a holy day. But the relaxed air was deceptive. Lily noted the watches Radulf had set on the higher ground about them, and the weapons close to every man’s hand.
She sat in the middle of the camp, on a flat-topped rock beside a rowan tree.
She had already eaten the bread and cheese brought to her by Radulf’s captain, and now sipped from a cup of cold stream water.
Jervois sat close by, his old-young face tense and alert beneath his flopping fringe of yellow hair.
Lily wondered a little at his diligence—she was surrounded by soldiers, after all.
How could she escape? Only a fool would attempt it.
She removed her heavy cloak, took up her antler comb, and prepared to coax the knots and tangles from her hair.
It was in an even worse state than it had been when she awoke in Radulf’s arms that morning.
She had to comb each section several times, laying the gleaming silver strands over her back and shoulders, while shorter tendrils curled about her face.
On the few occasions she happened to glance up, the men about her appeared to be studiously avoiding looking at her.
Apart from Radulf. He was looking, and frowning. Lily refused to let him intimidate her, turning back to her grooming.
A linnet sang in the rowan tree, competing with the blackbirds in the beeches to be the sweetest songster.
Lily smiled as she listened, and stopped to finish sipping her water.
The sun warmed her back, and although gray clouds hovered, the showers had eased.
It seemed briefly as if everything that had happened to her during the past four years had faded, become a dream.
Lily felt lighthearted, and young. For so long, she had been forced to carry a burden far beyond her years.
Now, she remembered with surprise that she was young, barely twenty.
A faint chill breeze stirred her silken cloak, sending several gossamer threads across her face.
As Lily lifted a hand to smooth them back, she became aware of Radulf once more.
He had removed his hauberk and his tunic, and a breath of air flattened his sweat-dampened shirt against the hard, curving muscles of his broad chest, while his tightly cut breeches clung to his lean hips and thick, strong legs.
He was standing by one of the resting groups of men, but as Lily watched through her lashes he moved on, pausing here and there for a word, leaning down to listen with a frown to a complaint or with a smile to a joke.
She had known his men were in awe of him, but now she saw that, more importantly, they loved him.
Each and every soldier he spoke to lifted his chin higher and made his back straighter.
They would fight to the death for him. Gudren had been right: Radulf was loved just as much as he was feared.
Lily’s head cleared abruptly when Radulf glanced up, catching her watching him. He held her briefly but fiercely with the dark spear of his gaze, before continuing among his men as if nothing had happened.
But something had happened.
Lily held her breath, and released it very slowly. Her heart began to pound. Radulf might pretend he was randomly seeking out this man and then that one, but each and every step brought him nearer to Lily. Her heart told her it was she who was his true objective.
Why had she suddenly drawn his attention? He had barely noticed her except to order the guard on her tightened. Now, as he circled her, weaving among his men, stealthily, closer and closer, she thought she knew how a hunted animal might feel. Stalked, cornered . . . devoured.
A shudder ran through her as another eddy fanned her skin. The long gleaming strands of her hair stirred and she reached up with trembling fingers to straighten them, gather them, and begin to plait . . .
He was behind her. She knew it even before Jervois rose to his feet. Tiny prickles of awareness lifted the flesh on the back of her neck. His hand closed on hers, stilling her movements.
“No,” he said softly, and in two steps was standing before her.
Instantly her dark lashes swept down to veil her eyes, afraid he would read the emotions he stirred in her. Her heart was drumming so fast she thought he must hear it, as she remembered what they had done last night in Radulf’s bed.
He stood before her, a dark giant against the threatening sky.
Radulf, warrior of legend, whose name would be forever remembered.
But it was not that Radulf Lily yearned for.
She wanted the Radulf who had held her tenderly in his arms, lavishing his body upon hers until she no longer belonged to herself, only to him.