Chapter 9 #2
He had been with Lord Radulf for nearly four years, and he had seen him angry before.
But never this mindlessly, boilingly angry.
And all over a woman! She was pretty, yes, but Jervois was never very comfortable in the company of women.
He rested his green eyes once more on the lady.
At least she was looking less white and strained, less like she might collapse.
Radulf had been forcing the pace, riding as if the devil were on his back, but it would not do for her to collapse before they reached the king at York.
Jervois had the uneasy feeling that despite Radulf’s own thoughtless haste, the man would have Jervois’s head if the lady suffered.
It made no sense, but then Jervois had found that when it came to the fair sex, sense went out the door. Give him a good battle any day! Man pit-ted against man. He was far more at home at war than faced with a lady’s smile.
And yet . . . a very pretty picture of golden hair and bright blue eyes leaped into his mind.
Alice of Rennoc. He had seen her, spoken with her, during his short visit.
His head had naturally been full of Radulf’s orders and Lily’s lies, but still he had retained the look of the girl and the scent of her skin.
“I am sure my lady Lily had good reason for her actions,” she had declared, when questioned.
Jervois admired loyalty. He had found himself remembering her words, and the inflections of her voice, ever since.
While Jervois puzzled over life’s inconsistencies, Lily was berating herself for being dim-witted.
For one so used to living in the constant danger of Vorgen’s keep, she had been very lax.
The fact that Radulf had not set a guard at her door should have alerted her at once to his trap.
Like a cunning wolf, he had been watching her, waiting, and when the time was right he had pounced.
Lily doubted Radulf had been born to a flesh-and-blood mother, rather he had been created by Olaf the armorer, wrought in fire and fashioned in iron.
He had no heart.
The glint of ironic laughter she had seen in his eyes just before he cut her ropes only went to prove her point. No sane man would find humor in such a situation.
Tears threatened, but again Lily held them back.
She had lost everything and she trusted no one.
She was all alone again, just when she had begun to allow herself to feel safe. Perhaps she would always be alone; perhaps it was meant to be.
Lily knew she should be using these moments to plot what she would say when she came face to face with King William. She did not fear that she would break down and sob for clemency; she had shown courage enough before when Vorgen had threatened her, and William could be no worse.
But she was numb, and the words would not come to her.
The sturdy wooden walls of York glowed warmly in the late afternoon sunshine, while roofs and spires appeared tipped with gold. The city had been fortunate in that none of its many occupying forces had sacked and burned it.
The Romans had long come and gone. The Vikings and Danes had known the city as Jorvic, and made it prosperous with their trade and their ships.
Then York had been the capital of the Angli-can kingdom of Northumbria.
Now the Normans were here, and William had proclaimed York his center in the north, the second city in England after London.
The rivers Ouse and Fos enclosed York, their watery arms a silver sparkle.
The Ouse was the larger, its banks crowded with ships loading and unloading, and seamen, merchants, and their minions conducting business.
King William’s castle, a wooden tower raised high upon an earthen mound, reared up beyond the walls.
He was in the process of building a second castle on the opposite bank of the Ouse, the unrest in the north having made extra fortifications necessary.
As Radulf’s band of soldiers drew nearer to the city, Lily could see an iron chain barring their approach. It was strung across the road, several yards in front of the gate through the city walls.
Guards were prominent at the bar, as well as on the walls behind it.
Lily sighed and managed to stretch her aching muscles without whimpering out loud. Compared to their previous manic pace, their travel over the past few days had been slow. Lily had overheard some of the soldiers muttering their relief that at last their lord had outrun his anger.
Lily disagreed.
Radulf’s anger had just seeped inside, where it would gather and ferment. Apart from his sense of betrayal, Lily had made him look a fool, and no Norman took well to that.
No, his anger was with him still, and Lily would suffer for it.
After Radulf had cut her ropes, he had left her untied and, as if by a silent and mutual consent, Lily had no longer refused food or water. Radulf’s reason for freeing her was not kindness; she knew that.
He wanted her alive and alert when he brought her before William. He wanted her to see and hear and feel every bit of her punishment. If she had not eaten, she was sure he would have forced her.
The things he had said to her that night at Trier!
And the arrogant way in which he had refused to listen to her explanations . . .
With difficulty, Lily swallowed down her grief and anger before they choked her.
She should have told Radulf the truth at the very beginning, from the moment he found her in Grimswade church. Then she would never have seen that glimpse of paradise, and would not now be suffering.
The soldiers bunched together as they passed beyond the bar and Bootham Gate.
A tattered group of alms seekers watched them clatter down Petergate, one of York’s main thoroughfares.
As the armed band passed by wooden houses and shops and a stone church, the smells of the city alternately attracted and repelled.
At any moment, Lily expected to be faced with the grim bulk of William’s castle, but instead Radulf led them down a narrower street.
The soldiers necessarily pressed even closer about Lily, their sweat competing with wafts of ale and pastries coming from the building directly before them.
Above the noise of the horses’ hooves, she heard Radulf call a halt.
The weary band shuffled to a less than precise stop, horses blowing and puffing, the soldiers’ tired faces stoic beneath the grime of their journey.
Lily looked about her in bewilderment. Instead of the castle, they were stopped before an inn.
Radulf had summoned Jervois to his side. His captain was listening carefully, and there was an air of tension about them. Radulf’s black war horse seemed to sense it too, edging away, ill-tempered, from Jervois’s mount, its huge feet stamping, its head tossing.
Radulf spoke again, urgently, and Jervois nodded slowly. Seemingly against his better judgment. The expression on the younger man’s face proclaimed him more than a little dumbfounded by his orders. Then the two men turned, Radulf stony-faced, Jervois with reluctance, and looked straight at Lily.
She held her breath. Something momentous was about to happen. Oh God, why did Radulf look so stern? He spurred his destrier toward her.
Lily refused to flinch, although her heart was thundering inside her chest and each breath was a struggle and she wanted to turn and flee . . .
Radulf reached her, pulling his irritable horse up at the last moment. His gaze was fastened on hers, and it took a few seconds for her to realize his words were not addressed to her, but to his men.
“Secure this inn. We will stay here tonight, and we want the whole house.”
Relief. A great, howling gale of relief. It threatened to demolish the flimsy walls of courage and pride Lily had constructed about her. She might have broken down completely, if Radulf had not been watching her. Instead she stared challeng-ingly back at him.
“This is an inn, lady,” he said, with a hint of mockery. “The only thing to be anxious for in this place is the state of the bedding and the cleanliness of the kitchen.”
He would have turned to leave, but Lily spoke quickly. “My lord, when am I to go before King William? I want a chance to speak to him.”
Radulf examined her face with the intensity she had come to expect. Suddenly she thought: He will deny me, because he can. He will smile and say no, just as it once pleased Vorgen to refuse the smallest of my requests.
Until now, Lily had not realized how much she was relying on a face-to-face meeting with the king.
Radulf must have seen her thoughts in her eyes, or perhaps he could read her mind. He smiled. “No, Lady Wilfreda,” he said in a soft, low growl. “I am neither a monster nor a tyrant. You will see King William soon enough.”
He paused as if expecting her to thank him, but Lily could say nothing.
“I will leave you with Jervois, whom I trust like a brother. Be assured he will keep you from harm.”
She was so close to tears that she chose sarcasm to mask her weakness. “Harm from whom, my lord? I am alone and friendless. Hardly any great danger to you or your king.”
He leaned closer. “Ah, but you are a danger to me, lady.”
Lily could not help but catch his meaning; his lust for her burned in his eyes. Her own gray ones widened, but Radulf had moved back, scowling black enough to terrify any lesser woman, as though his feelings infuriated him as much as they confused her.
“Do as Jervois tells you, Lily, and you will be safe.”
Her emotions were now so jumbled Lily doubted she would ever disentangle them. What did he mean? How could she possibly be safe with Radulf and his men?
He was her enemy!
Wasn’t he?
Radulf spurred his horse faster, ignoring the narrow, cluttered street and the shout of a man attempting to cross it. The man fell backward, rolling in the mud, cursing Radulf. Radulf was cursing himself. He was a fool, and he knew it. Yet he could no more stop himself than spread his arms and fly.
Radulf snorted in self-disgust. He had not forgiven her; he was not that much of a fool! The memory of her perfidy would live long in his unforgiving heart. But for now he had to put all that aside.
In obeying his king, Radulf had placed Lily in danger. And if he handed her over to the king, he would lose her.
William would imprison her.
And then he would either forget her, or marry her to some greedy lord in return for her lands— someone like Alan de Courcy perhaps, with his big belly and soft mouth, or Robert Pearmaine with his reputation for hurting women but leaving no mark . . .
Radulf shuddered violently; everything in him revolted.
No! He could not bear that. What she had done to him was a secondary issue, a separate issue.
Her safety, her life was his first concern now.
He could not bear to see even a single scratch on her, and he certainly would not be able to bear losing her to another man.
She was his, he thought fiercely, and if any punishment was due to her, then he would be the judge of it and provide the method!
Radulf rode on, staring blindly. How was he to convince William to let her go?
Even if he declared her innocent of the rebellion made in her name—which he himself was yet to be convinced of—Lily remained a danger to the peace and sta-bility of the north.
She was a figurehead for others, and William would see her removal and sub-jugation as a priority.
Radulf growled in frustration. If he were Henry, he would use smooth words to cajole and convince, but he was Radulf—and it was ever his way to speak his thoughts plainly, without flowery phrases.
Radulf shifted uncomfortably.
There was a way to save Lily. If, God help him, he had the courage to take it.
The idea had come to him on the journey.
At first he had dismissed it, amazed by his own lunacy, but it had returned again and again, like a prickle in his boot, until he had taken a serious look at what seemed utter madness.
And he’d grasped this was the perfect answer.
Indeed, it was the only way to keep Lily safe and under his watchful eye, and completely his.
Radulf’s grip tightened on his horse’s reins.
He would do it! He would put the whole matter before his king, and hope good sense and the firm ties of a long friendship would prevail.
Of course, he would not tell William that he had already given Jervois certain instructions.
The amazed expression in Jervois’s eyes showed he’d thought Radulf had lost his mind, but Radulf knew that if the message came from the castle that he had failed in his bid to sway the king, then his trusty captain would take Lily to immediate safety.
Unfortunately, Radulf would then have to face the consequences of his actions.
He was prepared for that.
He would give his life, or more probably his title and his lands, for her safety.
Radulf scowled, frightening several small children. He didn’t notice. Who would have thought the day would come when the King’s Sword would be willing to give up everything for a woman!
Truly, he was his father’s son.