Chapter 18 #2
The other two men rose promptly, bowing to Lily as they took their leave, and at last she and Radulf were alone. He held out his hand toward her, and she didn’t hesitate, tumbling onto his lap and into the warm strength of his arms.
“How long before you must leave?” she murmured, her face pressed to his neck.
“Three hours, maybe.”
Shocked, she started to rise. “You should sleep!
Lie down, Radulf.”
He looked down at her, his eyes dark with emotion. “Three hours may be all we have, mignonne. I won’t waste them in sleeping.”
“Radulf . . . you will win. I know that you will win.”
He laughed softly. “Aye, I’ll win. Now, kiss your husband.”
His sensual mouth plundered hers and she moaned, pressing closer, her arms clinging about his neck. She wouldn’t allow herself to imagine life without him; she wouldn’t!
He was hard against her thigh, and when she reached to caress him, he groaned. “I want you,” he whispered. “I always want you. Come, Lily.”
Radulf led her to the bed. With slow, gentle fingers, she removed his clothing, supplementing kisses with licks from her tongue, until he captured her against him, mouth hot and demanding, sapping what strength she had left.
It was his turn then, and he took full advantage, exploring her body, his tongue lapping at her breasts, then sucking on her nipples until she arched toward him with delight. He leaned over her, blocking out the candlelight, and without a word drove deep inside.
Lily cried out, for with each thrust he seemed to go deeper than ever before. His breath came fast, the perspiration damp on his brow, while Lily gasped and gripped him with her legs.
“You are mine,” he said, deep and low. “If I die tomorrow, you will always be mine.”
Tears shone in her eyes, but he kept thrusting slowly, so deeply, taking her with him. He began to move faster, plunging into her again and again, as if he would make her a part of him.
“Radulf . . .” she gasped, the choppy waves of pleasure beginning to peak. Only this time they simply grew and grew, tossing her about as he controlled her rise. She cried out and the pleasure broke over her, tumbling her headlong while she struggled to gain the surface.
Drowning in love.
They lay for a long time, bodies drained of strength, until the world steadied about them. Re-plete, calm, Lily could not think of a single reason that she should not trust Radulf with her heart. He already held her life in his hands, and had done so since their first meeting.
She would tell him about the babe soon. Maybe she would even tell him how much she loved him.
Radulf raised himself up on one elbow. He stroked her, curving his hand over her breasts, down to her belly. Her skin was so fine, so delicate, that his fingers felt big and rough against it.
Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, her eyes closed, the lashes dark against the flush in her cheeks.
Gradually he became aware of a cold sliver of doubt in his mind—the same unease that had come to him when he watched her earlier that day.
Like the prick of a splinter in soft flesh, it niggled and teased.
He remembered Lily stretching her back outside the tent, and the way she held her hands across her belly.
He remembered, too, her pallor and her lack of appetite before they left York.
Suddenly, frowning, his gaze slid over her body once more, searching .
. . Her breasts were lusher than ever, her skin glowing as if the moonlight shone down on her, while her hair gleamed.
The hand he had left resting on her belly pressed gently, as though sensing what lay beneath . . .
He went cold. She was having his child and she hadn’t told him.
She hadn’t told him.
“Radulf?” Lily had noticed his stillness and turned her head lazily, gray eyes searching.
The sated expression on her face vanished as her wits sharpened into watchfulness.
If he hadn’t known then, he would have guessed now.
He met her eyes and knew what she would see there, but he didn’t care. She had hurt him beyond bearing.
“You are with child.” He didn’t speak accusingly or angrily; it was a statement of fact. She was frightened, he could smell it, sense it. He knew enough about death to be well acquainted with fear.
“Yes.” It was so soft he could hardly hear her.
“How long have you known?” But he didn’t really need to ask; he knew the answer.
“I—”
“How long!”
Lily’s throat was dry and raw. There was a drip, drip of ice in her heart. From nowhere, Gudren’s voice said, Tell him, lady, before it is too late. Something in his stillness, his anger, made her wonder if it already was.
“I knew in York. I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t let me come with you!” She rushed the words out quickly, not knowing when he might stop them. “I had to come with you, Radulf, for the sake of my lands and my people. The king agreed with me—”
“You lie,” he bit out. “You knew before I was to come north.” His anger trembled in his arms and his voice, it shone in his black eyes and flushed his cheeks high upon the cheekbones.
“I . . . maybe I did know, but I was afraid to tell you. I thought . . . I . . .” Her voice drifted off.
She thought he would love her only for the children she could give him, and she had wanted more than that.
Now, starkly, she saw that by not telling him, she had not trusted him—and that was the way he would see it, also.
“You were afraid,” he mocked. “The she-devil, the Viking witch, was afraid? What were you afraid of, Lily? That I might kill you with kindness? That I might lavish even more of my kisses on you than I do already?”
He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
Outside in the darkness, an owl called. Lily trembled. Her Viking mother would have said the owl was a sign, an ill omen. Lily refused to believe it. An owl was a night bird, that was all. It meant nothing. And yet the childhood superstition slipped under her guard, taunting her with possibilities.
“I thought of telling you when we reached Grimswade—every day I thought of it, but I didn’t want to add to your burden.” She moved a little, trying to see his face where it was turned from her.
“Radulf? If I have wounded you, then I’m sorry.”
The Viking ice queen had gone, and in her place was a frightened girl.
“I have opened my heart to you,” he said quietly, “and you have taken what I gave and kept your own counsel. You were wrong, Lily. You should have told me.”
“Radulf, please—” Her voice broke and she couldn’t go on.
“Was that story about Vorgen true? Yes, I see it was. I already knew most of it, but it kept me happy, didn’t it? Kept me from wanting more. With it, you drew me down even deeper. I am drowning, Lily, and you won’t even hold out your hand to save me.”
“That’s not true! I have tended you when you were hurt, I have seen that you are fed and have wine to drink, I have—”
“These are things any woman could have done. A servant could have tended my wounds and seen me fed. I wanted a wife, Lily. I wanted more . . . I want more. I treasured you.” He glanced at her swiftly, as if the words shamed him now.
“Like my father, I am a fool for a pretty face, and like him I will suffer. Maybe I will forget what has happened between us. Probably I will forget . . . he always did. But not now, not yet.”
“Radulf,” she whispered. “I . . . I have had to guard my heart to survive. It is . . . difficult for me to open it after so long, to offer to you freely that which has been locked away.”
He drew a deep, shaken breath and touched her hair, lightly, so that she barely felt it.
“Perhaps it is as you say. Maybe I have been as guilty as you, lady. I will try to forgive you, but just now that is hard for me. Perhaps you should sleep. We will talk tomorrow, when all this is over . . .” Then, remembering that he might not be alive to speak to anyone, he added, “In the morning I will consult with Lord Henry. If anything happens to me, you and the child will be safe. Lord Henry will probably marry you himself.”
“No!” she gasped in horror, but Radulf didn’t look at her. He had turned away again, his eyes closed, and she could see by the hard line of his mouth that he had no intention of debating the matter further.
I treasured you.
The realization made her dizzy. She had been a coward, safe behind her barricades.
She had found excuses not to take the final step and open up her heart to him.
What could he have done, after all? Laugh?
He would never have hurt her; he was not that sort of man.
But she had remembered Vorgen, and Hew, and she could not take the chance.
So now she would be sorry.
Lily turned away, curling herself up tightly, as if she could disappear into nothing. Gudren had been right. She should have told him, no matter what else was happening, no matter how much she feared his reaction. She should have shown him her trust, and then he would have forgiven her.
Quietly, still proud enough to hope he couldn’t hear her, Lily cried herself to sleep.
The birds woke Lily. Not an owl this time, but blackbirds singing their melodious song.
She sat up, knowing even before she found her feet and stumbled to the door of the tent, that he would be gone.
The light was still very faint, creeping across the deserted camp.
The blink and flicker of lanterns and campfires shone in the half dark.
Lily stood barefoot and swaying in the chilly gray predawn. She had wept for a long time, and at last, exhausted, had slept deeply. Radulf had risen, donned his armor, strapped his sword to his side, taken up his shield, and left to fight Hew. He had not even awakened her to say goodbye.
“Oh, Radulf,” she whispered.
A tiny child ran by on shaky legs, and was caught by its young mother. That was all that remained in the camp now: women and children, and the men who were either too old or too infirm to fight. And Lily.