The Lily and the Sword

by Sara Bennett

  Lord Kenton shot Radulf a bitter and malevolent glance. Briefly, he struggled with words he knew were better left unsaid in the king’s presence. When he spoke, his voice was harsh with strain. “I thank you, sire. You will understand if I continue to pursue my wife’s destroyer in my own time…in my own way.” Before the king could answer, he turned and walked quickly from the great hall.

  William slapped a hand hard on the arm of his chair, and glared at Radulf’s impassive face. “You have placed me in a difficult position, Radulf,” he said softly. “I hope you appreciate it.”

  Radulf bowed his head. “I do, sire, and am grateful for your trust in me.”

  William nodded, watchful and a trifle sullen. “Kenton is a powerful man—almost as powerful as you, Radulf—and he has equally strong friends. England has only just found peace. I do not want two of my most important barons at each other’s throats.”

  “I have no grievance against Lord Kenton.”

  William frowned, obviously unhappy with the situation. Suddenly, as if he had had as much gloom as he could bear, he challenged, “Come! I am tired of all this darkness. We will go down to the training yard, Radulf, and see who is the better swordsman!”

  Radulf’s heart sank. Weakness would be looked upon as a mark against him, especially when William had staunchly taken his side, so he dared not mention his shoulder. William would also know if he fought with less than his usual skill and vigor, and probably accuse him of currying favor by losing on purpose. So he must fight hard and for a good long time, long enough to satisfy William, and only then lose convincingly.

  Still, this was a small thing when placed against the knowledge that he was safe again, warm in the favor of his king, free of Kenton’s raging grief and Anna’s lies, reaching out to him even from the grave. But despite all this, it was something more that gave a spring to his step as he followed William to what he knew would be an excruciatingly painful contest. Lily would not have to flee to Crevitch without him.

  Soon he would return to her, knowing that she would be waiting, that she would lift her cool gray eyes to his. Call him a fool, but Radulf believed that hidden deep within that gray was a spark, an elusive promise, which spoke of better things.

  A life, perhaps, such as he had only dreamed of. A warm, loving wife and children to follow where he led. A reason for doing what he did. A reason for being. Maybe that had been what his father sought, too.

  A reason to be.

  Alice had sent to her uncle’s house for needles and thread and shears. They had measured Lily with narrow tapes, and after carefully cutting the cloth, had begun the task of sewing it.

  Lily had forgotten how companionable sewing could be. When she was wed to Vorgen, she had been constantly tense with fear and worry. There had always been the fear that one of the women might carry tales to the Normans of what was said. She had forgotten the joy to be found in women gathered together. When Lily was younger, when her mother had been alive, there had been much gossip and laughter, and her mother’s soft admonishments had in no way extinguished the twinkle in her eyes, as she listened to the hopes and dreams of those under her care.

  Lily remembered now, and vowed that when she was settled in a proper home of her own, she would recreate those times. Surely Radulf would see the sense in the people beneath him being contented? Gudren, Lily recalled, had said that the inhabitants at Crevitch were strongly loyal to him because he kept them warm and well fed.

  I do not abandon mine.

  Well, it was only good sense to make certain one’s people were well cared for, and not only because they were less likely to rebel against one. If they were happy then everything ran more smoothly, there were fewer problems. Vorgen had lived in bitter chaos. But Radulf, Lily thought with a little smile, might just be a man who preferred harmony.

  It grew late and shadows filled the corners.

  Alice was chatting but Lily had long ago ceased to pay attention. She was listening for Radulf, though she did not realize it until the sound of approaching horses struck through her like an axe through wood. Her head jerked up, the needle and thread slipping from her fingers. Alice continued to chatter on for a moment or two and then, noticing Lily’s stillness, stopped in midsentence.

  Heavy footsteps thudded into the inn, voices rising one over the other, Jervois’s among them. Lily stood up, the piece of blue wool sliding to the floor. Alice caught it up, mindful of its value. She was startled by the white, waiting look on her friend’s face. Lily had been calm, if abstracted, until now, but that veneer had crumbled, and her slim body seemed to vibrate.

  “Alice,” she whispered. “Will you go and see if Lord Radulf has returned?”

  Alice flicked her an uncertain look, then rose and did as she was bid. The outer room was full of men, their armor and weapons cluttering up the low space. At first she could see nothing but sweaty faces and the dull gleam of chain mail, but she could hear Jervois. Alice pushed her way awkwardly toward him.

  The captain stood by the fireplace, splashing wine from a jug into goblets. He turned, as if he sensed Alice’s presence behind him. His green eyes grew arrested, admiring, and then wary. “Lady?”

  Alice’s gaze glanced off him; she had still not forgiven him. Instead she looked to the large figure slumped on the bench, silhouetted against the flames. Radulf definitely looked the worse for wear. His face was damp and grimy, there was a livid scratch across his jaw, and his black hair was sticking up on end, as though he had just removed his helmet. As he reached for his goblet it was obvious he was favoring one arm.

  Despite all this he was grinning from ear to ear.

  “At last I see an end to the madness,” he growled to Jervois in a voice hoarse and scratchy. “First we go north and oversee this cursed castle, and then south. Home. To Crevitch!” he rasped, raising his goblet.

  The toast was taken up, ringing deafeningly throughout the room.

  Alice weaved her way back to the bedchamber. She found Lily seated on the bed white-faced and oddly calm.

  “He is arrested,” she said dully. “I am to go to Crevitch. I heard them all say it. I must pack some things.”

  She stood up, seemed to waver a moment, and then without a word, Lily fainted.

  Alice gave a small shriek and ran to her friend. “Lily!” she cried. “No, no, he is here! He is outside, drinking wine and laughing. It is all right, truly, Lily, it is fine.”

  In a little time Lily stirred, and with Alice’s assistance sat up. She listened, nodding, as Alice reassured her, and though her shoulders lost some of their rigidity, she still did not smile. She sipped the wine Alice poured her, the sour taste of it making her shudder. Lily thought then that she might vomit. She subdued the urge, swallowing and taking deep breaths until it, too, had passed.

  “I am all right now,” she replied to Alice’s concerned questions. “I have sat inside this room for far too long. I suppose I will get fresh air enough when I ride with my lord to his lands in the south.” She tried to smile as she looked up at Alice, and then stopped, suddenly stricken, tears gathering in her eyes. “Oh Alice, will I ever see you again?”

  Alice’s own heart was tugged by the question, but her nature was bubbly and resilient, and she smiled a reassuring smile. “Of course, why not? Radulf will need to oversee his northern lands…your lands. You will see me then. Or I could come to stay in the south, with you. I need a husband, remember? I am sure there are worthy examples to be found at Crevitch.” Jervois, whispered her heart, but Alice ignored that impractical organ.

  Lily smiled, as she was meant to. Her fingers clung to Alice’s a moment longer, and then her eyes widened as a heavy step sounded. The doorway was filled completely with a man.

  “My lord!”

  He laughed at the look on her face. “No, lady, I have not been set upon. I have had some friendly sport with my king…though some may claim it is one and the same thing.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. Why did men think it a matter of pride to be
bruised and battered?

  Radulf limped into the bedchamber. Jervois began to remove the chain mail, trying not to hurt Radulf more than necessary. Lily moved to help, giving Alice a distracted smile as she bade her farewell. Her mind was filled with the joy of his being safe. She had been so afraid…

  Radulf was in a lot of pain, and when they had finished, seemed content enough to lie back on the bed and let his wife bustle about him, tending to his hurts.

  Radulf had never had anyone but a squire or a servant tend to him before. A wife, he decided, was infinitely better, particularly when that wife was Lily. Her care of him made the beating he’d received at William’s hands almost worth it. Radulf all but purred beneath her ministrations, indulging himself as she sponged him clean and applied her medicines, and then tempted his appetite with cheeses and meats and red wine. When she had finally done, he lay watching her through half-closed eyes as she fussed about the chamber, folding clothing, tidying it away. Then she spent time combing the silver beauty of her hair before braiding it.

  Radulf watched her long, nimble fingers and the cool, distant beauty of her face. He could not fault her care of him, yet now she was removed, shuttered against him. He might even have thought her afraid of the heat that lay between them; Lily, too, had her secrets. His eyes slipped over her rounded shoulder, to the breast hidden by the clothes she wore, and his gaze sharpened. Was that soft curve heavier, fuller?

  He smiled. His beautiful Lily had put on some flesh now that she was safe. No more running and hiding, no more living like a wild animal in the thickets of the north. She would grow plump and contented at Crevitch.

  “Come to bed,” he said.

  Her hands stilled at the sound of his voice, and he half expected her to refuse. Instead, she quickly finished with her hair, tugged off her clothing, and climbed under the covers beside him.

  Her feet were cold; he caught them between his legs, warming them.

  “You were worried for me, Lily?” he murmured, his voice even huskier than usual, his hand resting in its customary place on her hip.

  She shifted restlessly, as though the question troubled her, but her eyes were cool. “Naturally I was worried for you. You are my husband, Radulf. Without you I would once again be at the mercy of your king.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I had forgotten for a moment why it is you value me so.”

  There was a note in his voice Lily had not heard before—a sort of wry self-mockery—and it startled her. She gave him a suspicious look.

  “What should I say?” she retaliated. “That I love you?”

  Silence, as if they both held their breath. Lily’s throat was dry; she licked her lips. Beneath Radulf’s dark lashes, his eyes were gleaming black. He leaned closer, his mouth so close to hers that she felt the heat of it.

  “Love was never a consideration,” he said.

  “Of course not,” Lily whispered.

  He kissed her, tongue thrusting hot, the palm of his hand filling with that fine, soft flesh he had just been admiring. She was bigger—the knowledge nearly drove him over the edge. Radulf rose above her, forgetting his aching body, only knowing he had to have her. But even as his manhood eased into the tight, welcoming sheath between her thighs, he knew to his delight and despair that it would never be enough.

  After a time, when their breathing returned to normal, he said, “Sleep now,” in a voice that was almost gentle.

  Obediently Lily closed her eyes.

  Radulf continued to watch her in silence. His head was so light with weariness, he felt as if he were floating. Love was never a consideration. He had taken her, married her, and it still wasn’t enough. He wanted more, but with that “more” came the temptation to trust her, to place himself entirely in her hands. And Radulf doubted he could ever do that.

  What would she do if he did? Despise him for his weakness, pity him? Or make his life a living hell, as Anna had made his father’s?

  It was better not to take the risk.

  Lily listened to her husband’s breathing steady and deepen. He slept so easily, and woke swiftly and completely refreshed. Like a child. Only he was no child; the pleasant ache between her legs reminded her of that. Lily wished her own thoughts were as easily stilled, but they gripped her vitals, making her feel hot and cold in turns.

  She was going to have a babe.

  For the past few days the question had been there, flitting about in her head like a bright, erratic butterfly, teasing and taunting her by turns. She had dismissed it—her monthly time was more than likely late because of the traumas she had suffered, both physical and emotional. And so what if she seemed to weep and worry more than usual? A great many women wept and worried—perhaps Lily was just becoming more womanly.

  It was the fainting that convinced her. Lily’s mother had fainted when she was carrying Lily. She had often said so during those companionable sewing afternoons, adding her story to the stories of other women who had borne their children safely and lived to tell the tale.

  I am carrying Radulf’s child.

  The knowledge should give her joy, but all she could remember was how the thought of a child had caused Radulf to take extra care with her, when he feared he might be prevented from returning to her. He wanted an heir. Well, of course he did! Just like Vorgen had desperately wanted an heir, a son to step into his shoes as tyrant of the north.

  And Radulf had far more to lose.

  Lily closed her hand into a fist and pressed it to her belly. Somewhere deep within her there was a singing gladness—she loved a man and he had given her his child—but just now the sorrow and disappointment were greater.

  She loved a man, and he did not love her.

  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 shoulde
r 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.