“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, dredg-ing 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!
