But none of this altered the fact that she must escape before they reached Rennoc. The truth would be out as soon as she rode through Rennoc’s gate.
The soldiers guarding her had increased their watchfulness. For every step Lily’s mare took, there were now several soldiers right beside her.
Grim-faced and eagle-eyed, they did not allow her out of their sight. How could she possibly elude so many men? Lily’s tension increased, her neck and shoulders beginning to ache. Her gray eyes were underlined with faint shadows of tiredness as she constantly searched the surrounding countryside for a way out.
They stopped again at midday, but this time when Radulf sought her out it was not to drag her off into the woods and make love to her. Instead he caught her chin in his fingers, turning her face for his perusal, a frown that might have terrified any other woman drawing down his dark brows.
“You should have told me no last night,” he murmured. “You needed your rest.”
Lily laughed shakily. “My lord, I did not wish to tell you no,” she mocked.
Radulf smiled, his thumb stroking her jaw, while between their bodies and beneath her cloak, hidden from the men, his hand slipped down to gently cup her breast. Lily drew a ragged breath, knowing she should pull away but unable to do so. He caressed her until her eyes were half closed and her lips parted and her legs trembled.
And then, when she was dazed and willing, he leaned even nearer and said, “We are close to Rennoc, lady. You are almost home.”
He was watching her, judging her reaction. Lily swallowed and managed to nod calmly, while her heartbeat quickened with fear and anger. Had he touched her only to put her off her guard? Was he really so devious, so cruel?
“We could ride hard and be there by nightfall,” Radulf went on, his voice soft in her ear, “but I fear you are weary. Trier Monastery is a short ride east of here. We will rest there tonight and you will have a proper bed, and tomorrow you can return home to your father.”
A reprieve.
Did he see the flicker of relief in her eyes?
“Thank you, my lord.”
Radulf nodded, and Lily watched him walk away, calling out for his men to remount. The monastery was her last chance. Radulf would only increase his watchfulness tomorrow on the ride to Rennoc.
“Lady?” One of the soldiers was holding her mare, waiting for her to remount. Lily placed her foot into his palm, springing neatly into the saddle, then she sat waiting for the others, her eyes blind to the busy scene about her. Tonight she must escape and never see Radulf again.
He would hate her for her deception. He would think she had used him. And there was nothing Lily could do about it, for how could she state her case if she were gone? She did not regret what had happened between them; she was only sorry she would not be able to make him understand that it was an entirely separate thing from her allegiance. Those tender moments had been like a sheltered island in a vast, cold sea, but now she must turn her face once more to the storms.
They reached Trier in the late afternoon. It was a poor, ramshackle construction of wood and stone. The buildings appeared to be sinking, rather than nestling, in a dip in the surrounding hills. The abbot, himself a recent Norman replacement, was more than willing to give Radulf and his men shelter.
Lily learned that they were Benedictines, the so-called Black Monks, the most populous order in England. As with most other religious houses, the monks of Trier grew their own food and made their own bread, but these monks also produced their own cheese from a small herd of cows, and wine from a precious, tiny vineyard on the sheltered side of a hill.
She was able to sample the wine for herself as she sat down to dinner with Radulf and the abbot.
The abbot, though very old and stern-faced, spoke of his home in Normandy with all the longing of a child for its mother.
His reflections on Northumbria were stark and brutal.
“This is a most uncivilized land. The people are pagans. Savages!” He spat out the word like a sour plum. “King William must be strict with them, Lord Radulf, if he is to humble them. They are like defiant children in need of discipline.”
“Surely, Your Grace, even defiant children would respond to kindness rather than discipline, if they were given the choice?” Lily said.
The abbot peered shortsightedly at her, and she almost wished she had bitten her tongue as she had done so often at Vorgen’s table. But when the old man replied, it was with puzzlement rather than anger.
“You sympathize with these rebels, Lady Lily?”
Lily smiled her sweetest smile, while inside a new and dangerous sense of freedom began to blossom. “I neither sympathize with war, nor with those who make it. I believe . . .” She hesitated as both the abbot and Radulf gave her their full attention, one curiously, the other with a frown of disapproval. And yet, she asked herself defiantly, why shouldn’t she say what she truly thought?
She was no longer Vorgen’s wife, afraid that the least hint of spirit might gain her a blow from Vorgen’s fist or a vicious tirade from his tongue.
The words came out in a rush.
“I believe the north has seen enough bloodshed. We could have peace, if the king would allow it.”
Radulf grunted, unimpressed. “If you imagine King William is a warmonger you are mistaken, lady. He wants peace, just as you do. His coffers and his temper suffer when he cannot rest one day in his kingdom without fearing a rebellion. You think him harsh, perhaps, but it is a harshness brought on by the people themselves.”
