Chapter 17
The house Radulf found them belonged to one of York’s wealthier merchants, who was undertaking an extended trip to the East. The man was more than happy to vacate it and make way for the King’s Sword.
His servants remained, and all his linen and household goods, which meant there was little for Lily to do but give orders.
It was wonderful to have a house of their own after the cramped quarters at the inn. Still, Lily missed Una’s friendly face and the less formal atmosphere of life with Radulf’s band of men.
“Oh no, lady,” Una had replied, when Lily asked her if she wished to come with them.
“It’s been like a dream, with you and Lord Radulf here, and one I’m not likely to forget.
But it’s time for me to wake up now. There’s a boy who’s been too afraid to come calling on me these past weeks. He’ll be back now that you’re leaving.”
She smiled contentedly. “I thank you for asking me, but my place is here, making the best pies in all of York.”
Alice, however, visited constantly. She had purloined some sewing women, and Lily’s wardrobe was moving ahead in giant leaps and bounds.
Lily had worn the midnight-blue wool to court, and the water-green silk, and even King William had been struck dumb—briefly—by her beauty.
As the King’s Sword’s wife she already had some reflected glory, but now she began to gather it in her own right.
On Alice’s behalf, Lily had asked Radulf to look favorably upon a marriage between her friend and Jervois. At first Radulf had refused, still angry with Alice for helping Lily to follow him to the meeting with Anna, but Lily had persisted and eventually he promised to consider it.
“Perhaps Jervois does not want to wed the lady,” he said mildly.
“And still look at her in such a way?” Lily retorted. “As if he will pounce on her and gobble her up?”
Radulf chuckled. “And how does Alice look at him?”
“As if she would be glad to be gobbled,” Lily answered, as amused as he. “He is too proud to ask the favor of you, my lord.”
“He is young,” Radulf excused his captain. “He will learn.”
“So you will agree to further this marriage?”
“I will agree to think about it.”
Radulf’s shoulder had healed slowly, though no one would have believed he had a sore shoulder at all from the way in which he “flung himself about,” as Alice said. Only Jervois and Lily saw his pain.
Lily continued to rub her healing potions into his tender flesh at bedtime.
She found such pleasure in touching him, in running her hands over that magnificent body, that sometimes she prolonged her ministrations just so that she could continue to stroke him.
After she finished, it was Radulf’s turn to watch her as she undressed and brushed her hair, braiding it sometimes, or sometimes climbing into bed beside him with the silken cloak loose about her.
By then he was always aroused, his hands reaching up to cup her firm breasts or between her legs, teasing her until she begged him to push that hard, velvet-covered flesh deep within her, and climb with her to that peak of pleasure.
The wonder never seemed to grow any less.
Lily didn’t tell him about the baby. Although it was real to her now, not speaking of it allowed life to remain simple.
Once Radulf knew, things would change, become complicated in ways she hardly dared imagine.
She expected he would immediately send her south to Crevitch, where she would be watched over as carefully as his most precious broodmares.
Perhaps he would even stop making love to her, fearing it would harm the child.
No, she was right to keep her secret from him.
The longer she kept it, the more time they would have together.
Of course it couldn’t last. She knew that. Every morning as she quelled her nausea, she knew there would come a time when she could no longer hide it from Radulf, and he would realize.
But every morning she promised herself one more day—and night—with him.
King William was leaving the north. As if to celebrate the fact, he increased his demands upon Radulf, bidding him here and there.
Radulf wanted to start building his northern castle before the weather turned bleak—already summer was coming to its end, and soon the long golden days would fade, the trees turning red and orange with the colors of autumn. The wind was cooler, too, with a bite that spoke of darker days.
Lord Henry was to begin on the castle founda-tions, and Radulf sent him serfs and skilled men to do the work.
“Though I cannot expect him to remain in the north doing my bidding, when he has lands of his own in the south, awaiting his return,” Radulf told Lily.
He stroked the scar near his eye, watching as she put the finishing touches to her costume.
In honor of the king’s final evening in York, she was wearing the red velvet.
Her skin and hair were so pale against the deep, rich color that they appeared almost translucent.
Yet despite her un-earthly air, there was a voluptuousness about her tonight, a flush on her cheeks and her lips, a glitter to her eyes, while beneath the smooth gown her body swelled full and opulent.
Radulf felt his pulse quicken, though he continued to speak as if it had not. “When I go north you will remain here in York. As soon as I return, we will go south, to Crevitch. I have been away too long.”
Lily turned her head to look at him. She was like an idol, he thought.
Some Viking fertility god-dess, luring him into lustful madness with her cool beauty.
He felt his manhood twitch and almost groaned aloud.
She would probably kill him with overuse, but he had no complaint.
He was more than happy with the manner of death.
“I would rather come with you, lord,” she said quietly.
Radulf blinked, trying to remember his words of a few moments ago. Crevitch, was that it?
“You are coming with me, mignonne.”
“No, I don’t mean to Crevitch. I mean north, to my lands, to my people. They need me. I thought that was why the king ordered us to marry, so that I could help bring peace to the north. I should be with you.”
He frowned, his head clearing with a jolt.
“Should you? Or do you want to run for the border and join Hew and his bloodthirsty Scots?” He spoke before he could stop himself, but the fear was real enough.
He often wondered, in some dark corner of his mind, if she might try and run away from him again.
Was all of this but an interlude, a pretty memory to take out and examine when he was an old, embittered man?
For a moment Lily looked as if he had struck her, then she was herself again. The ice queen, her gray Viking eyes daring him to show weakness.
“Why would I do that, Radulf? My running to Hew would not help my people. They will starve this winter if you do not see to food and shelter for them. I believe you will do that, if I can persuade them to trust you.”
Radulf raised his eyebrows. “You are very sure they will listen to you.”
Lily smiled, her red lips curving very slightly, her eyes downcast. Radulf clenched his hands on his thighs in case he grabbed her and kissed her to silence. A man of his stature, he thought irritably, should have more control.
She lifted her gaze and fixed it on his. “Oh, they will listen, Radulf. They have always listened. It was just that Vorgen would not allow me to speak.”
He let his gaze run over her, slowly following the curve of her breasts, her narrow waist, the flare of her rounded hips. His eyes returned again to her face, the full moist swell of her bottom lip, the dark brows slanting above her pale eyes, the fairy-silver of her hair.
He could not risk losing her.
He shook his head.
“No, lady, I will not take you with me.”
Something sparkled briefly in her eyes, but it was gone too swiftly for him to read. Sorrow? Anger? He could not tell. He did not care. The thought of his beautiful Lily in the harsh north, possibly in danger, possibly kidnapped by her cousin or tempted to run . . . No, everything in him rebeled.
“Come.” He stood up and held out his hand. “It is time we went to say our goodbyes to the king.”
Lily rose and placed her fingers obediently in his.
He drew her to him, enjoying the feel of her body, the taste of her mouth.
She softened against him, allowing him his pleasure, and yet .
. . She was distant. It was nothing he could isolate, but she seemed to have removed a part of herself.
Because he had refused her what she wanted.
It made him angry. As they rode off, he wanted to spur his black horse into a gallop, but he restrained himself.
He was Lord Radulf and therefore above such petty vengeance.
If Lily thought she could make him change his mind by sulking—which was what she was doing, more or less—then she was sadly mistaken.
Radulf would travel north, but Lily would remain here in York.
Safe.
The king eyed Radulf’s wife appreciatively. “If all the women in the north are like you, lady, I will have no difficulty in fulfilling my command that single men find English wives!”
Radulf smiled without humor. “Lily is unique, sire. It is I who am fortunate.”
Lily flicked him a look, the anger making her eyes darker, stormier. He smiled to himself. Ah, so the frigid distance was in danger of cracking already. Like ice under the warm sun.
“Well, Radulf, you and your men will soon be able to put that to the test,” the king went on, shifting from foot to foot, as if he wanted to be doing something more than standing, talking. “A rider has come from Lord Henry. He arrived an hour since.”
Radulf stilled. “An hour ago? Why wasn’t I told?”
William waved an impatient hand. “An hour matters not, Radulf. Lord Henry sends word that there is an army marching in his direction from the southwest. I think you had best make haste to meet it.”
Lily gasped, the sound distracting Radulf briefly.