by Sara Bennett
Gudren watched her thoughtfully, as if considering her question. “Radulf has a spell upon him. He cannot be defeated. That is what Olaf believes.”
“Yes, I have heard such things myself.”
“But you do not believe them,” Gudren answered for her. “You doubt, because you are afraid for him. We always fear losing what we love most, pretty one. But Radulf is strong and clever. He will not take risks with his life. You will see. He will return to you and your babe.”
When Lily stared at her, eyes wide, Gudren laughed in delight.
“You thought I would not know! Me, Gudren, who has borne five babies and helped to birth many, many more? You have a look, my pretty, a softness. I am never wrong.”
Lily swallowed, pressing her hands over the slight rounding of her belly. “No, mother, you are not wrong.”
“You have told him?”
“No.” Lily gave the other woman an appealing look. “I thought he had enough to worry about. Will you keep my secret, Gudren? Just for now.”
Gudren smiled and patted her hand. “Sometimes it is better to wait…to see how things turn out. I understand that. But Radulf will not be pleased when he learns you have kept this from him. He will see it as betrayal. And he has known much betrayal.”
Gudren was watching her expectantly, so Lily nodded. “I know about Anna,” she said quietly. “He told me.”
Gudren beamed. “That is good! That means he begins to trust you, my pretty one. Do not put that trust at risk, even if it is…easier to do so.”
Lily closed her eyes against the smoky haze in the tent. “Yes, mother,” she agreed reluctantly, “but I fear he will send me to York. I need to be here.”
Gudren leaned forward. “Tell him, lady, before it is too late. Lay all that you are open to him. It is the only way.”
Lily felt an instinctive rejection. Let Radulf search with that knowing black gaze into every corner and crevice of her heart and mind? How could she bear for him to know all there was to know about her when, like Hew or Vorgen, he might use her weakness against her?
Lily had spent too many years keeping herself safe behind barriers. Radulf had already broached them at some points, and weakened them at others, but she had not opened those gates to him of her own free will. Not yet.
Lily looked up, doubts on her lips, but Gudren appeared to have gone to sleep.
There was much preparation for the morrow’s fighting. Lily glimpsed Radulf now and again, usually at a distance, overseeing some detail large or small. Gudren was wrong, Lily decided. Radulf had enough to do without his wife running after him, tugging at his arm, demanding attention.
She did not allow herself to question the relief that filled her at her decision.
But as darkness swept down over the camp, and silence fell, her doubts returned. She heard an occasional raised voice, a woman weeping, a child laughing, but mostly there was silence and hushed voices. Everyone was aware of the importance of the battle in the morning, and although Radulf had made certain there was enough ale for a drink or two, that was all he would allow. Too many soldiers spent the night before a battle in a drunken stupor and then found it impossible to fight. If there was drinking to be done, then it would be to celebrate their victory rather than preempt it.
All knew that many would die. Radulf’s force was still smaller than Hew’s, but that did not seem to give them pause. His men trusted Radulf to get as many of them as possible home to Crevitch.
Trust, thought Lily irritably. There was that word again. She paced about the tent, her mind agitated, her body tense. If only tomorrow were over!
And still Lily waited.
She knew he had much to do. She knew how his men looked to him. But Lily wanted to speak with him, hold him, kiss him. She wanted to give him a respite from his heavy burden as leader, she wanted him to be her Radulf, just for a short time, before he stole some well-deserved sleep. There was an aching longing in her heart that would not be satisfied until he was there.
He came to her at last, but Jervois and Lord Henry followed. They talked as they ate the food and wine Stephen brought, plotting and planning, discussing the merits of this tactic and that, dredging up other battles and skirmishes to prove their point.
Lily had sent Stephen to bed. Though the boy would have liked to remain listening to the men talk, he was asleep on his feet.
“We need to take the hills to the north of the valley.” Radulf chewed as he spoke. “Remember at Hastings, how Harold held the ridge and we had to fight uphill? We were fortunate to win the day.”
Jervois nodded, remembering. “We lost many good men.”
“And many good horses.” Henry stretched and yawned.
Radulf poured more wine, and gave Henry a fond glance. “You didn’t have a mark on you. I remember thinking that the blood and dirt must have rolled off you rather than spoil your new armor.”
Henry grimaced. “I pray the same happens tomorrow, Radulf. Get your Viking wife to cast her runes.” He stopped, suddenly aware of Lily’s still form in the shadows. “I beg pardon, lady,” he said contritely, “but I did not speak in jest. If you can protect us with a spell, I, for one, would be grateful!”
Lily stepped forward, a slender figure in her blue wool gown, her silver braid spearing down her back. “I wish I knew one,” she replied coolly.
Radulf glanced from one to the other and gave a jaw-cracking yawn. “I can’t think anymore. Enough. We have done all we can tonight.”
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. Replete, 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.
Somehow she had to find her way to Radulf. She had seen the map; she knew which way to go. Filled with determination, Lily ran back into the tent and donned her shift and gown, tossing her hair over one shoulder, not caring how she looked. She slipped on her stockings and shoes, and then her cloak, grateful for the enveloping warmth.
“Stephen!”
Would the boy be there, or had he gone with the soldiers? As she waited, she snatched up a few blackberries left from the morning repast and sipped a half-filled mug of milk.
“Lady?”
He sounded and looked sullen; he had clearly been instructed to remain there with her while the others went to fight. Despite the tenseness of the moment, she hid a smile.
“Stephen, I must find Lord Radulf. Will you come with me?”
He stared a
t her as if she had gone mad. “L-lady?”
“You heard me. Is my mare still here, or has she been taken to the fighting?”
He shook his head, still watching her carefully. “No, lady, your mare is still here.”
“Good. Then the sooner you fetch her, the sooner we can go to Lord Radulf.”
He stared at her a moment more and then quickly turned away, but Lily noticed a jaunty little skip to his step as he hurried to where the horses were stabled.
The mare was all that remained. The other animals, no matter how old or hobbled, had gone to be used by the cavalry, or to carry the wounded home again at the end of the day. Lily’s mare had been left, perhaps because she was Lily’s.
Whatever the reason, she was grateful. She must find Radulf and speak with him before he went into battle. He treasured her; he had said so. Surely, even in his anger, he would be pleased to know that she loved him?
Or would he?
Memories of his face and his voice and his words last night returned to deflate her. Was she better off keeping her feelings safely contained? Should she cling to those last shreds of her dignity, and deny him? Lily rejected the safe course. This time she would say what was in her heart, even if it killed her. What if it was her last chance?
“They’ve probably started already,” Stephen grumbled, as he brought the mare and helped her to mount.
“It is not yet dawn,” Lily retorted. “Hurry up! Climb up behind me, Stephen, and hold on.”
The boy did as she asked, and Lily kicked the mare into a trot, then a gallop, and turned her head toward the valley where the battle was to take place.
She prayed that she would make it in time.
Jervois leaned forward over his galloping horse’s neck, cursing under his breath, the cold wind stinging color into his face and tears into his eyes. He had not wanted to return to camp; he was ready to fight. But neither was he a man to disobey his lord, especially after that lord’s generosity in regard to Alice of Rennoc.
“Bring my lady here,” Radulf had told him, his voice harsh with some tightly contained emotion. “I believe her Englishmen will fight better if they see her beside me.”
