by Sara Bennett
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 Anglican 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 challengingly 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 sh
uddered 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 stability of the north. She was a figurehead for others, and William would see her removal and subjugation 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.
Chapter 10
Lily woke to half darkness and the sound of movement beyond her door. There was laughter, and voices rising and falling. She knew most of those voices; she had traveled with these men for many days now. She felt comfortable with them, which was odd since they were her enemies.
Where was Radulf?
The question spurred her to turn her head, examining the room. She had seen little of it last night. After she arrived at the small chamber, tears, so long restrained, had filled her eyes and run down her cheeks. Alone at last, all hope gone, she had cried herself to sleep.
Voices again, closer now, murmuring at her door. Lily thought one of them was female, probably the innkeeper’s young, shy-eyed daughter. Last evening, while Lily sat by the fire in the steamy warmth of the main room of the inn, the girl had served her ale and a pie straight from the oven. The other guests had been sent packing by Radulf’s soldiers, some of them ejected quite violently with their belongings tumbling after them. Their loud complaints faded only when Jervois handed out coins from the leather purse at his belt.
It was the Norman way to take what they wanted, Lily thought bitterly. Although, she admitted grudgingly, Vorgen would not have bothered to appease them with money…
A hard knock on the door, and then again.
Lily sat up—she hadn’t dared to undress—and pushed back untidy hair that badly needed washing and brushing. Her skin was still gritty from the journey, and her clothing stiff with dust. It was long since she had bathed at her leisure and dressed in fine clothes. Another place, another life. All gone now.
“Who is it?” she called out in a voice hoarse from disuse.
“My lady, ’tis Jervois!”
Lily got up and opened the door. The morning sun was glinting through the open door of the inn, while the smells of bread and ale lingered, mixed with pungent woodsmoke.
It was obvious from Jervois’s pallor and dark-circled eyes that he hadn’t slept much. Yesterday, while she ate her pie and drank her ale, Lily had noticed how the captain’s green gaze had ranged continually about the inn, cataloguing its strengths and weak points.
Lily wondered if there was more to his orders than she perceived—she had assumed from what Radulf said that Jervois was to keep her safe. Maybe her assumptions were wrong.
As if he had read her thoughts, Jervois said, “Lord Radulf has sent word, lady. You are to accompany me and the men to the castle as soon as may be.”
“Rather a large escort for one woman, Jervois. There is no need; I do not intend to run away. I want my audience with the king.”
Jervois looked uncomfortable. “You must ask Lord Radulf those questions, lady. I am his captain, that is all.”
“I think you are more than that, Jervois. He has told me he trusts you like a brother.”
Jervois’s tanned cheeks flushed a dull red at the compliment Radulf had paid him.
Lily shot a glance past him into the smoky room. “Where is Radulf?”
“He is still at the castle, lady. But before you join him there, he has instructed me to have water brought for your bath and…and your other matters attended to.” He flushed again at Lily’s wide-eyed look, and added in a voice made prim from discomfort, “Lord Radulf orders you to look your best for the king.”
Lily continued to stare in astonishment. Look her best? Vorgen would have dragged her before William bleeding and in rags. “I see,” she managed, but saw not at all. Yet did it matter whether she understood? She was very likely about to be imprisoned for the rest of her life. This might be the last bath she ever had.
Jervois was waiting for her reply, respectful and attentive as always. She managed a smile. “I want to thank you, Jervois. You have been kind to me.”
He did not smile back; there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. “I only obey my orders, lady. ’Tis Lord Radulf you should thank.”
Lily raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
Jervois hesitated, as if struggling with some unfamiliar emotion. He cleared his throat. “It is not my place to speak of such matters, lady, but…you wrong Lord Radulf if you think him the brutish warrior of legend. Aye, he is a powerful man, with much wealth and large estates. This…this bounty makes him more wary than most, and indeed he has many enemies. But beneath the fable, he is a man like any other. Do not believe the tales that are spun of him.”
Surprised by his words and the earnestness with which they were delivered, Lily replied, “I do not believe them. Well”—when Jervois in turn raised his eyebrows at her vehemence—“not now, I don’t. But what have those stories to do with aught?” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Radulf hates me.”
For a moment her haughty demeanor fractured, and she sounded young and unsure. The proud ice princess sounded like a frightened maid, struggling in desire’s sticky toils.
Jervois shook his head and almost laughed aloud. Of course he did no such thing, but an uncharacteristic glimmer of humor filled his eyes. Ever since Radulf had given him his orders, he had been beside himself. He well understood what his lord was risking, but for what? A woman! Beautiful, yes, but still a woman, and a rebel at that. Now, suddenly, Jervois saw Lily through new eyes.
“Nay, lady,” he said quietly, “Lord Radulf does not hate you.”
“Please, Jervois, do not take me for a fool! I understand your loyalty to your lord, but Radulf and I are enemies.”
The look on his face infuriated her—as if he knew a secret and was not about to tell. Her gratitude forgotten, Lily dismissed him, and when he had gone, she dismissed his words, too.
I betrayed Radulf, and a man like him will never for
give such a transgression. He will take me to his king and be rid of me without having to soil his own hands further.
Chilled, she played out the scene in her mind. The king calling for guards, their brutal grip on her arms as they dragged her away. She would not sob or cry out, she vowed. No, she would maintain her pride to the last. And Radulf would stand, his face a cold and indifferent mask, watching her go…
Angrily, Lily shook her head. No, that was not how it would be! She would not be taken like a lamb to the slaughter. She must fight, and her tongue would be her weapon. She had words to speak to the Norman king, words that might well move him…bend him. Lily would not beg; such lack of pride was abhorrent to her, and she knew it would draw William’s scorn rather than his pity. Instead she would argue her case, reminding him she was still useful to him if he truly wished for a lasting truce in the north.
Lily did not fool herself into imagining he would be compassionate. And it was said William had a strong sense of justice, of right and wrong. He would look upon her first and foremost as Vorgen’s wife, remembering that Vorgen had been a traitor who caused him endless trouble. Now Hew, her cousin, was set to stir more rebellion, and all in her name. William would consider her a danger to himself and his new realm.
He would want her gone.
Somehow she must persuade him otherwise. Impress him with her genuine desire for peace, show him she was willing to live and work with the Normans to bring that peace about. She must be eloquent. Radulf had claims on William that Lily could not possibly match, but perhaps she could sway him with her calm good sense.
She must try, and memories of Radulf would not stand in her way. For that was all they were, she told herself sternly, memories—that part of her life was over.
While Lily’s mind was busy delving for the right words to sway a king, Una, the innkeeper’s daughter, arrived to supervise her bath.
Lily soaked in the steaming scented luxury, lathering herself with a knob of soap while Una washed her hair. By the time Lily climbed dripping from the bath, she had decided the direction her speech would take. Her only remaining doubt concerned Radulf.
