He stilled. She had worn no rings before.
“What is this?”
Radulf lifted her hand, catching the glint of the gold. He shouted for light. Another of his men ran with a torch and, at Radulf’s instruction, held it above their joined hands. The stinging smoke made Lily’s eyes water but she did not try to pull away. She was almost glad. No more lies, no more pretense. There was an inevitability about this moment.
Radulf bent close, and the red eye of the hawk winked up at him. He went very still.
“Lady Wilfreda isn’t in hiding, is she?” he said, trembling with his fury. “She’s here. With me.”
“Yes.”
He looked up then, and she was sure he would strike her. His voice ate into her with its bitterness.
“What did you plan to do, lady? Murder me? Was that why you carried a dagger, to plunge it into my heart? It must have amused you to have Radulf in your snare.”
Lily shook her head. Whatever he thought of her, she could disabuse him of that. “No, Radulf, I never meant to trick you. You cannot believe—”
He leaned closer, his breath hot on her face. His eyes glittered like onyx. His voice shook as he spoke, betraying the enormous self-restraint he was exercising upon himself. “I may have been a fool, lady, but you made me a fine whore!”
Lily flinched, and swayed. Could he not see the truth in her eyes? It seemed he could not . . . would not see. “I am no whore,” she answered dully.
“You of all men know that.”
He dropped her hand as if it burned him. “No, you’re right. Whoring would be too honest a profession for one with your treacherous soul.”
Anger bit into her. Pain and fear and hurt all meshed together in a great, hard ball in her stomach, where the fire of fury consumed them. Why had she ever thought him kind? How could she have imagined there was anything soft between them? This was Radulf, her enemy. He hated her!
And she hated him.
Blinded by her anger, Lily fumbled at her girdle, finding her dagger. She would kill him, stab him through the heart—if he had one! She drew the dagger and struck at him, but Radulf grabbed for it and the blade sliced into his thumb rather than glancing off his mailed chest.
Warm blood dripped onto her gown and Radulf laughed in his fury. “Aye, here is the real Lily!” he declared, his eyes blazing.
Lily went even whiter, instantly releasing the weapon into his keeping. She felt sick and dizzy, as shocked by her action as by its result. Radulf slipped the dagger into his own belt, ignoring the shallow cut to his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers.
“No, my lady liar,” he mocked. “I am not ready to die yet. First, you will have your reckoning. Just as I promised.”
She opened her mouth, but there were no words left in her.
Radulf had already turned away. “Secure her!” he roared. “In the morning we ride to York—to King William!”
Chapter 9
Radulf was in the grip of an anger such as he had never experienced before. It tore at his flesh, churned his stomach, and shot molten arrows into his brain. He rode for hours turned inside himself, burning with the rage which had dug its talons into him at Trier.
That he had known she was lying, even before his man returned from Rennoc, did not help. Nor did the fact that he had deliberately set a trap for her to fall into. He had wanted, desperately wanted, to be wrong! As he had waited with his men outside the gatehouse, Radulf had prayed to suffer nothing more than lack of sleep. He had told himself, over and over, there must be an innocent explanation for all of this, and soon he would know it.
What an idiot he had been!
How Henry would laugh at him!
Radulf, the King’s Fool!
Smitten by the she-devil, Vorgen’s wife. The very woman he had been pursuing all over the north . . .
Radulf ground his teeth. His men edged away from him, but he didn’t notice. He was remembering how she had cried out beneath him, how her body had trembled, the tenderness in her eyes . . .
She must be a witch indeed to wind such a charm about him.
