Chapter 13
The following morning, Lily woke blearily to the smell of fresh baked bread and Una’s voice urging her to get up.
“Lady, lady, Lord Radulf has ordered you be ready this instant!”
Lily sat up, her loose hair tangled and hamper-ing her movements. “Ready for what?” she demanded, her voice husky from sleep.
“Lord Radulf wouldn’t say and I wouldn’t dare to ask.”
It had taken Lily a long time to get to sleep. She had kept thinking of the letter she had removed from Radulf’s tunic. Beloved. She could no longer pretend her husband’s strange behavior over Lady Anna Kenton was anything other than love.
She tried to rationalize it. Other husbands dallied with other women; it meant nothing. Powerful men often married with their heads and did not expect to find physical satisfaction with their wives, so they looked elsewhere. Why should she fret over such a commonplace event?
And yet this was different. Radulf and Lily found infinite physical satisfaction with each other. Lady Anna was not a lowbred whore, she was the wife of a rich and important lord. And Radulf, so strong and indefatigable, had seemed suddenly weak before her.
Lily did not doubt that he would go to St. Mary’s Chapel.
She shivered and pressed suddenly damp palms against the bedcoverings.
Why was this happening? It was ridiculous; she had no time for it.
She should be considering how, in her new position as Radulf’s wife, she could best help her people.
She needed to be as she once was: calm and cold, using her situation to maximum benefit.
Why could she not turn herself back into the frozen woman she used to be when she was wed to Vorgen? Where had that woman gone?
Instead she had lain awake all night, tossing and turning and thinking of Radulf. She had raged and bitten back tears, all because the husband who had forced her into a marriage she swore she didn’t want, had dared to love another!
She only knew that if he did turn to Lady Anna, she would not be able to bear it.
Lily had had to live alone for so long—there were her people, of course, but that was different.
She had played Vorgen’s cold wife, she had accepted Hew’s perfidy. She had run for her life, hiding like a deer in the forest, and shivering with her loneliness. And then Radulf had found her.
He was like a huge, roaring fire in a room that had always previously been icy cold.
The heat, the attraction drew her closer, despite her mind telling her it was wrong, that it was a trick, that the fire could be extinguished just as quickly as it had been lit.
But instead of listening to good sense, she had held out her hands, she had crept nearer and nearer.
The warmth flushed her face and softened her rigid limbs, she grew drowsy and unprepared. She cared only for the flames.
She cared only for Radulf.
He had sapped her of her strength and purpose.
Now he was going to succeed where both Vorgen and Hew had failed.
He was going to break her.
“Lady!” Una was all but jumping up and down.
“You must rise!”
Lily gave a deep, heartfelt sigh and reluctantly climbed out of her warm cocoon.
Once again Una had worked miracles with her limited wardrobe, and her clothing was sponged and pressed.
She splashed water on her face before dressing, then twisted her hair over one shoulder before opening the door into the common room.
As Una had forewarned her, Radulf was waiting.
As always, the sight of him burst upon her senses, no matter how prepared she had thought herself, bringing warm color to her cheeks and sending her pulses into a stuttering flurry.
He was striding up and down the room, making his men nervous, but at the sound of the door opening he turned to face Lily.
He gave her his blackest frown as he came toward her.
She rearranged her face into an expression of calm disinterest.
It was not easy to appear disinterested when the man approaching her was so physically attractive. Those wide shoulders, that strong torso, the lean hips and long, well-muscled legs, those dark piercing eyes and the sensual mouth.
Inside, Lily trembled. Truly, she was besotted.
“Come, lady, do not tarry,” Radulf growled.
“I am not tarrying, my lord,” Lily retorted coldly. “Where do you take me?”
He must have read the flare of doubt in her eyes, although she tried hard to conceal it. There had been too many journeys of late, and none of them pleasant. His hand closed over her shoulder, fingers warm and firm and comforting. Lily resisted the urge to relax into his strength.
“Nay, lady, ’tis nothing to concern you. I intend to buy you materials for new clothing. The wife of the King’s Sword should not feel shame in the presence of her inferiors.”
Lily’s eyes flashed. “Feel shame?” she bristled.
“ ’Tis not my fault if I am in rags, ’tis yours! You have harried me from one hiding place to another for weeks, and then dragged me across the countryside to York. Should I have had gowns of silk for such a life? It would be better I wore sackcloth!”
Radulf laughed, his dark eyes alight with humor.
“And when someone gives me a fine gown you burn it!”
The smile wiped from his face, Radulf glared down at her, pressing closer so that she smelled the clean, male scent of him and saw the dark shadow on his clean-shaven jaw. She began to feel breathless. Had she gone too far?
“Have a care, lady. I may change my mind about your new clothing.”
Lily tossed her head, pretending not to care.
“As you will, Radulf. If William the Conqueror asks why I am still wearing rags, I will tell him it’s because Radulf mislikes my conversation.”
He looked at her a moment longer and then snorted. “He is your king, too, lady, whether you will it or not. Best accept the defeat. The Normans rule here now.”
Lily’s eyes flared. “Oh, I accept defeat, Radulf. I will even persuade my people to accept their conquerors as their rulers. I can give you my mind, my powers of reason—but my heart is still my own, and in my heart the Normans will forever be interlopers in my father’s land.”
There was a silence so deep, it had a presence of its own. Radulf’s men held their breath and awaited their leader’s response. Again, he surprised her.
“Well said, lady. You are proud, and I will take what you offer.” He reached for her hand, and all she could think was how well it fitted to his.
“Come, now. The horses are waiting, and I have much to do.”
York sparkled from an early morning shower.
The streets were clean, washed free of their habitual dirt and refuse, and water ran through the lanes, draining away towards the swollen Ouse.
By the time Radulf’s party set out the rain clouds were already clearing, leaving a soft blue sky and a warm yellow sun. Builders were up and working about the city, constructing the stone edifices commissioned by the Normans.
The Normans were great builders, and they built to last. As well as William’s two castles, a great church was taking shape, and with it, many smaller and less important buildings.
There was a sense of change in the air; the Normans were there and they had come to stay.
Radulf was right in that, thought Lily. She must accept; there was no going back.
York’s narrow, twisting streets were filled with various tradesmen and those buying from them.
The city had always been a port, and therefore much of its trade, and new citizens, arrived from other countries.
York had swallowed them up without fuss.
Many of those citizens turned now to stare at Lily and her entourage.
She supposed some of them knew who she was; certainly many of them would know the great Radulf.
And fear him.
Lily glanced sideways and thought that he did look rather fearsome in his chain mail tunic, his great sword strapped at his side.
Too little sleep gave his face a certain pallor and caused gray shadows in the hollows under his eyes, and he looked both grim and dangerous.
Yes, Lily could see that many would fear him.
But to Lily he was the man who held her warm and safe in his arms at night, whose wonderful mouth made her sob with pleasure, and whose dark eyes evinced a hundred years of weary experience. Sometimes the need to reach out and soothe him was well nigh unstoppable.
In the beginning, Lily had prevented herself from doing so by remembering that Radulf was her enemy. Then, when he discovered her secret, she had been too angry. Now, she reminded herself that he loved another, and that although he welcomed her body, he would not want more from her.
Irritably, Lily thrust aside her unhappy thoughts and found that Radulf had turned to look at her. He raised his brows when she simply stared back. “Is there something that catches your eye, lady?”
Lily shook her head. What could she say?
Radulf had an appointment before Compline with someone else. Even if she wanted to, she would not risk her pride by revealing her softer feelings toward him.
Maybe pride was all she had left.
“This is the place.” Radulf drew up, and his men surrounded them.
The stout wooden building before them was of two stories: a storage area secured by heavy doors onto the street and living quarters above.
There was a bulky cart drawn up to one side and several men unloading.
One of them, a thin streak of a man, started toward Radulf and his party, his rich yellow tunic proclaiming him one of York’s wealthy merchants and a Jew.
“Lord Radulf!” He bowed so low he threatened to scrape the ground. “You do me great honor!”
Radulf nodded somberly but amusement for the extravagant welcome made his eyes gleam.