by Sara Bennett
Did Radulf believe that, too? Would he go to her between the prayers of Vespers and Compline, when the sky was darkening and the air was sweet and still?
Lily shuddered. With fingers that were suddenly nerveless, she pushed the letter back into the pile of clothing.
What she had feared had come to pass. Radulf was going to seek out his old love, and leave his new wife behind.
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 hampering 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 cer
tain 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.
“You have come to buy, my lord? I am Jacob, and you are in luck. This day a ship has arrived from Flanders with silks and linens and fine wools, our own good English wool made into cloth. What is it you wish to see?” His eyes were bright and eager, and Lily was certain they noted how his list of wares made her heart beat faster. It was long since she had chosen from fine cloth. Despite her determination to remain aloof, she gave Radulf a hungry glance.
“We wish to see everything,” Radulf replied mildly. “And my lady may have whatever pleases her.”
Jacob’s eyes popped. “You are generous indeed, Lord Radulf! My lady!” He gave Lily an equally low bow, his gaze sweeping over her on the way down and then again as he rose, taking in her coloring, size, and measurements. “My lady’s beauty is beyond price,” he said smoothly. “I doubt any of my wares could match it.”
Radulf retorted with a hint of impatience. “Show us what you have anyway.”
Determining Radulf had reached his limit where flattery was concerned, Jacob clapped his hands and the heavy wooden doors of his establishment were swung open. Radulf dismounted and lifted Lily to the ground beside him. “He considers me a fool now,” he murmured in her ear. “No sensible man allows a woman to dictate the opening and closing of his purse.”
Before Lily could answer, Jacob had returned, leading them inside.
The interior had an exotic scent, musky and heavy, like a foreign land. Jacob unfastened the shutters on his windows, letting in the sunlight. He began to choose bolts of cloth, unwrapping them from their protective coverings and rolling them out on the long tables set beneath the windows.
Wools in rich shades of blue, red, and green, and a roll of pure white, the most difficult of all to obtain. Linens, fine and soft to the touch, and silks that were shot through with a myriad of colors wherever the sun touched them. And then Jacob spread out a bolt of velvet in a red so deep and luscious, it made Lily gasp.
Vorgen had never cared what she wore, and certainly he had never bought her gifts. To him, her importance was in being the heiress to her father’s lands and the daughter of a Viking princess.
It is just that Radulf does not want his wife to shame him by appearing in rags, Lily reminded herself.
“How many new gowns will I need, my lord?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice indifferent. “One, two, or three?”
Radulf was watching her, but his face was in shadow, hidden by the brilliance of the day framed by the open doors behind him. “As many as you wish,” he said carelessly. “I am a wealthy man, Lady Wilfreda. Let our friend here decide for you. I can see he is well practiced at his craft. Only the rich of York can afford him, and he knows what is best for them.”
Lily nodded slowly, her eyes very wide, hiding her confusion. Why was he being so generous? Did he feel guilty because of Lady Anna?
“Very well, my lord,” she whispered. “I will be guided by him.”
Jacob swallowed, but did not allow his shock to silence him for long. “The blue wool, certainly, my lady, and this fine linen to go beneath it.”
He continued pointing to various rolls of cloth, and the list grew until he came to the red velvet, so deep it was almost purple. “My lady would look very fair in a gown of this,” he said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Which meant, thought Lily, the price was exorbitant.
She began to shake her head, but Radulf spoke first. “Then we must have the red, Jacob.” He laughed at the amazed look Lily threw him. “You will indeed look very fair, lady,” he mocked. And then, leaning closer, his breath tickling her ear, “Almost as fair as you do when I have you naked in my arms.”
She turned her head sharply, finding his face almost touching hers. Briefly she felt herself to be drowning in the darkness of his eyes, and then one of York’s church bells rang, loud and strident in the still, warm air, and the moment was gone.
The bell seemed to remind Radulf of other, more pressing matters. He shifted restlessly. “We have finished for now,” he said. Arrangements were made for the materials to be delivered and Jacob was given the direction of the inn. Leaving the man goggle-eyed at his good fortune, Radulf strode outside where his men were gathered, his grip on Lily forcing her to quicken her pace.
Correctly reading his lord’s expression, Jervois hurried to remount, calling to the others to make haste. The sun glinted off their chain mail and the puddles in the street. Radulf led them at a brisk pace, as though he had something to outrun. Or, thought Lily miserably, as if he had some urgent appointment.
The memory instantly spoiled her naive pleasure in her new garments. Of what use were lovely new clothes when the man she wanted to admire her, admired another?
Radulf was angry, and that anger was directed at himself. What had he hoped to achieve by heaping such generosity upon Lily? Did he think she would turn to him with dazzled eyes and fling herself into his arms? She already gave him her body willingly; what else did he want?
The question startled him, and he twitched his shoulders uncomfortably. You are a fool, Radulf, he thought bitterly. You are your father all over again. You buy the girl pretty clothes, shower her with riches, and think that will endear you to her. Instead she will want more and more, and in the end, when you have no more to give her, she will betray you with another who can.
She hates you, face the truth, and hates you all the more for enslaving her body to yours. She is a Viking temptress, a she-devil; she destroyed Vorgen. Beware!
But he couldn’t quite believe it. There had been an expression in her eyes when he ordered the red velvet, as though she were touched beyond words. It had been enough to send his heart soaring, until reality crashed him back to earth. Did he really want a wife who valued him only for the pretty baubles he could give her?
When they reached the inn, Radulf swung Lily down without thinking. Her hair, which she had been unable to plait because of their earlier haste, spilled free from her cloak. Before he could stop himself, Radulf reached out and took a strand between his fingers and thumb, fascinated by the look and feel of it even as he despaired at his own weakness.
Lily cleared her throat, her hands clasped tightly together. “Thank you, my lord; you are very generous.”
Radulf cocked an eyebrow, measuring her words. She appeared uneasy, as if gratitu
de was not something with which she was familiar. “A wealthy man does not lose much by being generous. You are my wife, Lily. Besides, I have not finished yet. I will take a house here in York, and you will choose your servants.”
He had not called her Lily of late, preferring the more formal Lady Wilfreda or lady. And it was this, as much as his statement about the house and servants, that undid her. Lily’s heart gave an unexpected jolt, and a shudder ran through her. She would have turned away, but Radulf caught her chin in his strong fingers and forced it up again, so he could see into her eyes. They were glittering with unshed tears.
Some emotion lit his own eyes, surprise maybe, or suspicion. He frowned. “You are unhappy?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
Lily bit her trembling lip and shook her head, struggling to control her uncharacteristic display. “No, my lord,” she replied huskily. “I am very happy.”
He frowned a moment longer, trying to pierce the secrets in her stormy eyes. “We are wed now. We must both make the best of it.” Impatience flared in his face. “Come. You are tired and this nonsense has made me hungry.”
Suddenly Lily decided she would not sit idly by while Radulf went off to meet Lady Anna. She would follow him and watch, and then she would know exactly what she was up against. Surely that was only good sense? A soldier going into battle spied out the land on which he would fight, and the enemy he would face. So would she.
After their meal, each member of Radulf’s party became immersed in his or her own affairs. For the men, there were weapons and equipment to inspect and clean and repair, as well as horses to groom. All those little matters upon which their lives might depend. Radulf and Jervois discussed at length the possible site for the northern castle they must build. Jervois was prepared to remain in the north and oversee the work after it had begun, which would allow Radulf to return to Crevitch for a brief time and check on matters there.
