Chapter 14 #3
But the bedchamber door opened before they could reach it, and Alice’s startled blue eyes peered out.
When she saw Radulf supported between his men and Lily at his side, dripping and wet and white-faced, she gasped and scuttled back out of the way.
Jervois shot her a furious glance as he passed but said nothing.
“Wine,” Radulf gritted as he sank down onto the bed.
Jervois’s tone was conspiratorial. “Best fetch it for him, lady. We have to remove his armor and clothing before I can tend his shoulder, and I fear it will hurt him a great deal.”
She nodded and forced herself to turn away. Alice caught up with her at the doorway.
“What has happened? My servant said that you sent him away. How could you be so foolish, Lily?”
Lily waved one impatient hand. “There is no time for that now. Radulf is hurt.”
“How was he hurt? You said it wasn’t going to be dangerous.”
“It wasn’t . . . at least . . . I can’t answer you now. I thank you, though, with all my heart. If I had not been there . . .” And she shuddered violently.
“Lily? Come, sit down. You are as much in need of wine as Radulf!”
“Lady?” Jervois said, looking less than his usual steady self. “The wine.”
Lily took a breath and nodded. “Yes. I will fetch it immediately.”
When she had gone, Jervois turned his green eyes on Alice.
The girl pretended to be unaware, but there was a flush in her cheeks and her mouth was all pursed up.
He knew he should be angry—he was angry—but something in her face made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her rather than rant at her.
“Lady Alice,” he began in his sternest voice.
“Oh, all right.” She turned and looked him straight in the eye. “Lily needed my help, and I gave it to her. I am sorry if I deceived you, Captain Jervois, but it was not done with any intention of causing harm.”
“And yet Lord Radulf is hurt and his lady was also in danger. They have enemies, a great many enemies, even here in York.”
Alice appeared chastened but refused to drop her gaze. “I see that now, but Lily asked my help as a friend. What sort of friend would I be if I had refused her, or had run to tell you?”
Her answer placed him in a quandary. She had plainly acted foolishly, yet if she had been a man he would have applauded her stand.
He wasn’t used to hearing women speak in such terms; he had always thought honor was the prerogative of men.
Was it possible that Alice of Rennoc understood the concept?
“I will send an escort home with you. It would not serve either of us if you were attacked by thieves on the streets of York.”
“Thank you,” Alice replied stiffly. “I am most grateful.” She turned away.
“Alice . . .” The word was out before he could prevent it.
She turned and stared at him coldly. She wasn’t going to help him, thought Jervois. She was going to make him work hard for every crumb.
“Alice, I would that I was a man with land and power, but I am nothing. A captain, that is all. I have nothing to offer you.”
Her expression softened. “Have you not some prospects?” she asked eagerly. “I . . . if I do not name a man soon, my father will marry me to Sir Othric, and he is old. I know you do not know me, and I do not know you, but I feel as if I do, Jervois.”
Jervois met her blue, blue eyes. “Sir Othric? The old man with the . . . the warts, who was at Rennoc when I came?” He swallowed, holding back a shudder. “Well, he is rich at least. I cannot compete with such as he. Your father would laugh if I tried.”
“Ask Lord Radulf to help,” Alice replied briskly. “If he looked favorably upon us, then so would my father.”
Jervois stiffened. “Ask Lord Radulf? I do not beg favors.”
Alice grew cold. “You are lucky you do not need to!”
Jervois wondered why she could not see that it was no use. “I have to tend Lord Radulf,” he went on in a more restrained voice. “And you must go home.”
Alice spun on her heel and stalked toward the door. Angrily, Jervois bawled out orders, sending men scuttling after her. Women! He was better off without one.
When Lily returned with the wine, Radulf had been stripped of his chain mail, his tunic and undershirt. He sat bare-chested and dripping with sweat, black hair plastered to his head. He took the goblet she held out to him and drained it, then returned it for more. Lily poured, hands shaking.
His shoulder appeared deformed and very swollen. She imagined that the longer it took for the deed to be done, the more painful it would be.
“Where is Jervois?” she demanded, her voice shrill with worry. “Jervois!”
“Here, lady.” The grim-faced captain stepped forward. He watched Radulf down another goblet of wine. “ ’Tis time,” he said.
What followed made Lily feel sick, and Radulf sicker. After one abortive try, Jervois popped his shoulder back into place. Everyone sighed with relief. Radulf was white-faced, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips a thin, pale line.
Jervois wiped his own dripping brow. “You must rest now, Lord Radulf,” he said, as if Radulf could do else.
Radulf grunted. Then, rallying himself, he said, “My thanks yet again, my friend.”
At the door, Lily placed a gentle hand on the captain’s arm. “Thank you, Jervois.”
Jervois managed a smile. “Keep him here, lady. If he moves that arm too rigorously too soon, it will slip out of its socket again. He might listen to you.”
But would he? Lily asked herself wryly, as she closed the door.
Even in his weakened state, Radulf was still Radulf.
She felt immeasurably weary; her wet clothes hung heavy upon her and her tangled hair dripped.
She wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath or crawl into bed and close her eyes.
But there was still much to do, and no one to do it but she.
Radulf was hunched on the side of the bed.
His head was bowed, and the bare expanse of his back gleamed in the firelight.
Instantly Lily’s own discomforts were swept away on a wave of longing.
Her fingers itched to touch. Her cautious voice told her to restrain them, to hide her need, but she ignored it.
Radulf had been hurt, and as his wife, she had the right to tend him.
To touch him. Certainly she had more right than Lady Anna Kenton!
She drew closer. Just this once she would touch him, pretend that all was well between them. He was hurt and distracted. Perhaps he would not notice. Carefully, gently, Lily slid her hand down the long, smooth planes of his back.
Radulf started, a little jolt of movement. Lily stilled her hand but kept it where it was, waiting.
He did not speak, and after a moment some of the tension eased out of him.
Slowly, hesitantly, as if she were approaching a wild, untamed creature, Lily leaned closer.
Wild and untamed he might be, but Radulf’s body was everything she had ever dreamed of in her Norse god Thor.
Powerful and graceful, and yet the skin so sleek over those hard, curving muscles.
She cupped her other hand around the column of his neck, her fingers exerting some pressure as she began to rub the knots from rigid muscles.
Radulf closed his eyes with a grateful groan.
She stood behind him, yet he had never been more aware of her.
The stroke of her fingers on his flesh had grown firmer, more insistent as she gained confidence.
His body, bruised and battered, went limp.
And still, that part that made him a man more than any other tightened with the desire that was never far away.
“Lily,” he gasped.
She stopped. “Did I hurt you?”
Radulf shook his head. “No.” Suddenly he moved, catching her about the waist with his good arm and tumbling her down into his lap.
Lily cried out breathlessly, turning wide eyes upon him when her hip brushed against the hard ridge of his manhood.
He stared down at her, his chest rising and falling heavily. Her clothing was damp, but he did not notice; instead he felt the soft body beneath her garments and experienced the full power of those stormy gray eyes.
“Do not think to distract me. What were you doing at St. Mary’s Chapel?” His tone was deceptively mild. When she didn’t answer he leaned his face closer to hers, his breath warm and redolent of the wine with which he had fortified himself, his eyes glittering with determination and fever.
Fever!
Lily sat up straighter, touching her hand to his cheek. He turned his head slightly, so that he could press his lips into the hollow of her palm.
Lily didn’t notice. She was thinking how very warm his skin was, and how it had that parched quality that speaks of fever.
“You are unwell.” She forced her voice to remain cool and firm, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety. “I will make you a soothing poultice for your shoulder and a drink that will help ease your fever. Let me up, Radulf.”
He shook his head slowly from side to side, dark gaze never leaving gray. “Not yet. Not until you give me a truthful answer.”
If Lily could have stamped her foot she would have, but her feet were dangling several inches above the floor. “You are ill, Radulf. Let me up!”
A smile twitched the corners of his mouth—even at such a time, he could find humor in the situation!
“It pleases me that you are concerned for my health, wife, but I want to know why you were out at night. And do not say you were at your prayers, because St. Mary’s Chapel is abandoned.
Come, Lily, what plot were you hatching? Tell me, before I become delirious.”
Her eyes grew big and she gave a gasp of distress. “How can you jest about such a thing?”
“I am not jesting.”
A moment longer she searched his eyes, and saw the implacability there. What was the use of lying to him? His imaginings were probably far worse than the truth—and she could tell him the truth in such a way as not to disclose the extent of her possessive feelings for him.