by Sara Bennett
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 hatc
hing? 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.
“I saw the letter.” Lily lifted her chin. “I needed to know what sort of man I had for my husband. Whether he would take a wife in name and then spend his seed elsewhere. I have been a sham sort of wife already and I did not like it.”
He went still, only his eyes moving as they searched her face. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him, for at last he nodded tersely. “If you ever do such a thing again I will turn you over my knee and use my hand on you. Do you understand me, Lily?”
Lily had a sudden uncomfortable vision of her bare bottom beneath that broad, flat palm—uncomfortable because it was not entirely disagreeable. She flicked him an angry glance. “As you say,” she murmured stiffly. “I won’t follow you again…unless I feel I must.”
Feel? thought Radulf. Why were women always following their feelings rather than their minds? Despite her cool gaze and proud demeanor, Lily was very much a woman, and her words softened his anger rather than adding fuel to it.
He forced a frown in case she might think he had forgiven her too easily. “You test me, wife. I will not spend each day worrying over whether you have decided to obey me. I ask your obedience for a reason. I need to know you are safe.”
Lily blinked. This was no heavy-handed husband demanding that his wife jump to his slightest command. This was a man who was concerned for her safety.
It made a big difference.
As if taking a step in a new and untried direction, Lily replied, “And I need to know you are safe.”
They gazed at each other in silence, hoping, and yet not daring to give voice to those hopes. Then Radulf nodded and, as if the strength had suddenly gone out of him, gave a deep, heartfelt sigh.
“Lie down.” Lily slipped out of his arms. “I will fetch the drink and poultice.”
When she had made him comfortable beneath the coverings, Lily went to see to her tasks. The ingredients she required were easily found in Una’s kitchen, and when Una had stopped clicking her tongue and hinting that Lily would catch a cold if she didn’t dry herself, she helped in stirring and heating and testing the brew. By the time Lily returned, she half expected to find Radulf sleeping, but he was still awake and watchful. With gentle fingers she applied the poultice, wrapping a clean binding about his shoulder and upper arm to hold it firm. The drink was bitter, but he swallowed it without complaint. When Lily went to rise again, however, his hand snaked out, fastening on her wrist and holding her with ease. Despite his weakened state, Radulf was still formidable.
“Wait,” he said. “Come and lie beside me a moment. The feel of you soothes me.”
For Radulf to admit to such a thing concerned her; was his fever worse than she had thought? With a grimace, she touched her skirts. “I am wet, Radulf.”
Surprised, he caught a fold of the cloth, and felt the cool dampness for himself. “You take better care of me than of yourself, lady,” he said, his voice low and deep. “Take off your clothes and climb under the covers with me. I will keep you warm. I have some things I want to say to you.”
He expected her to argue, but after only a brief hesitation she nodded wearily. He watched her as she untied laces and peeled down the various garments that made up a woman’s dress. Her body was alabaster, and she shivered as she stood at last naked, her arms folded before her breasts. Radulf held out his hand, moving more to one side to allow her room, groaning when the movement hurt his shoulder.
As if the sound spurred her on, Lily hurriedly slipped beneath the covers, gasping in pleasure at the sudden heat of his body when he reached out and hauled her against him. The hair on his chest rasped against her skin, and his strong hand molded over the curve of her hip, anchoring her in place. The hard jut of flesh against her belly reminded her that, hurt or not, Radulf was a passionate man.
“I have thought of what you said, the reason you followed me.” He was resting his face against the top of her head, his voice a husky murmur. “You are right when you say a wife needs to trust her husband. Women do not see things as clear-cut as men do; they tend to weave their own feelings and imaginings into matters. I do not want you to spin fantasies where there are none, Lily. And I have grown tired of the stories they tell about me. For these reasons, I will explain to you why I went to meet her, and what passed between us.”
Lily nodded, silent apart from her anxious breathing.
“But first, I forgot to thank you for saving my life. I do that now, Lily. I think Anna would have killed me tonight if she could, and perhaps I deserve to die. But not by her hand, and not yet. I have a great deal more to do before I face the grim reaper.”
Lily tilted her head so that she could see his face. Her husband was more often than not a puzzle to her, but she sensed his honesty. Apart from the pain he must be feeling, there was a weary acceptance in his voice, as if he had come to the end of a journey and was simply glad it was over.
Words and questions fizzed in her head, but finally she elected to say simply what was in her heart.
“Tell me what it is that troubles you, my lord.”
Chapter 15
“You asked me once about this scar.” His voice was surprisingly strong.
“And you said it was given to you by a brave man,” Lily replied, watching him closely.
Radulf smiled, but there was pain in the twist of his lips. “’Twas my father who gave me that scar.”
Startled, she sought for words while those black, gleaming eyes delved into hers. Judging her. Debating whether to open himself up to her.
“Were you not…close?” she managed at last.
Radulf shifted, as if to ease his shoulder. “Once. My mother died when I was but a child, and I looked to my father to supply both roles. He was a warrior like me, but there was a gentleness in him and great patience. Aye, we were close.”
“Then why…?”
“My father was a friend to King William’s father, Duke Robert, and when Duke Robert set out on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, my father promised to watch over young William. Duke Robert did not come back; he died far from home. I was a babe then, but as I grew from a child into a boy, I was often in William’s company. We wrestled and trained together, and my father watched over us both. William was never a lusty lad when it came to girls. For me, it was different. I was already taller and stronger than my friends, and I was not so ugly then. The girls of the castle and the village began to follow me about. I tried to fix my mind on bold and brave deeds, like William, but my body told me differently. When I was fourteen I had my first girl. It was…pleasant, but it meant nothing.”
Lily’s mouth twitched. She could see the young Radulf training in the castle yard, stripped to the waist, black hair longer then, loose about his face. No wonder the girls watched him.
“And then I fell in love, and it was as if everything changed overnight.”
Lily’s heart gave a jolt. “You fell in love so young?”
“I was young in years, perhaps, but not in experience. At fourteen, boys like me are considered men. I already had the body of a man, but my heart and mind were innocent. I was…romantic. A dreamer with the face of a warrior. I fell hard in love. Sometimes it hurt me just to breathe.”
Now Lily did smile. “First love is like that. When I thought myself in love with Hew, I believed I heard angels’ voices.”
Radulf stroked her hip, but did not smile in return. “Why did you stop loving him?”
She gave him a long, cool look. “He betrayed me.”
Radulf nodded. He understood how that would kill love, no matter how strong. “Your Hew is a weak
man. He abandoned you to Vorgen, then again when I defeated them in battle, and finally he left you at Trier. I would not have done that, mignonne. I do not abandon mine.”
Something liquefied in her chest, trickling down into her stomach and her limbs. She had an unbearable urge to lean her head against him and give up all she had fought and struggled for and against. His strength was so great. Instead she took a shaky breath and reminded him, “You fell in love?”
He had read her confusion in her eyes, but he didn’t pursue it.
“The woman—for she was no girl—was older than me. She was very beautiful—as you say, an angel, Lily. An angel of goodness, I thought.” He laughed with bitter irony. “We struggled, but I think I always knew that was just part of the game. One night she came to my bed and said she could struggle no longer. After that, I was lost.”
Lily read his reluctance. “It was Anna,” she answered her own question.
“Yes, it was Anna.”
“She was one of the women who lived at the castle?”
Shame brought color to his cheeks, and he bowed his head as though he were too embarrassed to meet her eyes. “Nay, Lily, she was my father’s second wife. And the fact that each time I was with her, I was betraying him, did not stop me. I could not stop.”
For an older, more sophisticated woman to seduce a boy was repugnant enough—it would be like Lily taking Stephen the squire to her bed—but that the woman was married to the boy’s father was beyond disgrace. “She tricked you into her bed,” Lily said hopefully.
But honestly, reluctantly, Radulf shook his head. “No, it was no trick. I was more than willing to find my way there at every opportunity. I was a young stag in rut, and she was my ever-willing doe.”
Lily felt sick with the bitter shame and regret she read in his eyes, but there was also a stab of jealousy. She did not want to think of that fine young heart and body squandered on such a woman.
“And then your father discovered you?” she asked swiftly, to block out the pictures in her mind.
