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. Re-plete, 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.
