“You do well to fear me, lady,” he said in his deepest, most menacing voice. “You are the lamb to my wolf. I could tear out your throat.”
Lily gazed up at him, her eyes held prisoner by his. Oh yes, this was indeed her feared enemy, just as she had always imagined him. The terror of the north, the King’s bloody Sword! A shudder of fright ran through her body . . . and then faded.
Lily’s frozen mind thawed and began to work.
Why, if Radulf was so alarming, if his face was as hard and cold as his sword, was the expression in his eyes so achingly weary? As if his own infamy were a burden he could hardly bear.
“I am not afraid of you.” Lily heard the quiet certainty in her voice.
Surprise flickered in those dark depths. Slowly the cruel smile faded and became genuine. “No, lady?” He shrugged, winced, and dropped his deep voice to a husky rumble. “Then methinks you are very foolish. Everyone is afraid of me.” Radulf held her gaze a heartbeat longer before turning away, back toward Stephen. His next words were offhand, a deceptively negligent challenge. “However, if you speak the truth, and are brave enough, you may tend my wounds. Stephen usually does so, but his hands are more used to the serving of meat than the repairing of it.”
Radulf turned again to look at her, while Stephen appeared suitably shamefaced.
Lily slowly rose to her feet, smoothing the red gown where it had wrinkled over her hips. She could not help but notice how Radulf’s eyes followed her movements, their expression reminding her of a hungry wolf suddenly confronted by a plump lamb. Lily trembled as she used the same analogy as he, but in a very different context. She could not mistake such a look, and her need for self-preservation should send her fleeing from Radulf, and yet . . .
Lily raised her chin.
He was watching her keenly, searchingly, and her proud gesture made him smile. He bowed his head to hide it, but Lily saw the tug at the corners of his mouth.
Did he find her so amusing? Briefly, anger flared within her, but she could not afford to be angry.
“You do not frighten me, my lord Radulf,” she repeated firmly, “though for some reason you try. Besides, you forget, I am in your debt.”
“My debt?” If he had forgotten the circumstances of their meeting, she had not.
“For granting me your protection.”
“A damsel in distress,” he murmured, and once again amusement warmed his eyes. Lily waited patiently while he catalogued her features as thoroughly as before. She was not nearly as calm as she pretended. Inside she was asking herself what she hoped to accomplish by her acceptance of his challenge. His trust? Or was there more to it— some secret reason that made her heart flutter and her body weak? Perhaps tending him was just an excuse to touch that hard body and let her thoughts linger on impossible dreams.
When Radulf nodded his consent, Lily didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.
“Very well, lady. Stephen, fetch what needs to be fetched. And bring food. I am hungry, and the lady will eat with me before you take her to Gudren’s tent.”
When Stephen had hurried out, Lily dared a question. “You were hurt today?”
Radulf gave her one of his unreadable looks.
“No, lady. I was hurt yesterday when we fought what was left of Vorgen’s army. An arrow pierced my chain mail. ’Twas a slighting blow, not serious. I could ride out and fight now, if need be, without any difficulty.”
Lily was sure he could. Such a man as he appeared indestructible—part of Radulf’s legend stated he was unable to be slain—but Lily had begun to unpick that mythical tapestry.
Stephen returned with a bowl of warmed water, some cleaning cloths, and strips of linen for binding the wound. He also removed an earthenware pot of salve from a small chest in the corner, and placed it upon the trestle table with the rest.
At a nod from Radulf he bowed and slipped back out of the tent, leaving them once more alone.
Radulf eased himself down onto a stool and gave Lily a faint, mocking smile over one shoulder. “You say you are not afraid of me, lady. Prove it.”
Lily shrugged in pretended disdain. He turned away from her, and she was left facing a broad and unfriendly expanse of back. She sensed he was waiting; she also sensed his tension—it was a brave man who turned his back on a stranger in Northumbria. He was testing her. Lily took a step closer, and then another, until she stood directly behind him.
His big body gave off such warmth. It attracted her, an irresistible pull. Her inner voice was still protesting but Lily took no notice. There was something very strange happening to her, and Radulf was at its core. Her fingers trembled as she lifted them, and carefully rested her hands on his broad shoulders. Lily felt his muscles tense beneath her touch, and he shifted restlessly on his stool.
“Am I hurting you, my lord?”
He laughed wryly. “Aye, I hurt, lady.” Radulf glanced up at her and, seeing her incomprehen-sion, sighed. “Tend me then, Lily. You are not hurting me.”
With infinite care, Lily began to remove Radulf’s tunic and undershirt. The cloth was fine and well made, as befitted a great lord. Radulf lifted his arms to help her, and first the tunic and then the shirt slipped up over his head. Lily folded them neatly, placing them to one side before turning again to Radulf.
She bit her lips.
