To show that he could! her mind replied furiously.
Her heart was less sure.
“Lady Wilfreda!”
Lily froze. The king! Slowly, gathering her pride about her like a tattered cloak, Lily rose from her curtsy. She moved closer to the dais, her fingers tightening unconsciously on Radulf’s.
William, even seated, had an extraordinary presence. Strong of body and long of limb, he radiated restless energy, as if he’d much rather be riding and hunting than sitting there playing king.
“Radulf has spoken of your fair beauty. At length.” His voice was harsh and amused. “Does he always greet you so familiarly?”
There was general laughter. Radulf shifted impatiently, while Lily kept her gaze on the king. She waited until the sound died before answering.
“Always, Your Majesty.”
A hum of amusement and consternation.
William’s eyebrows rose. “Do you deal with all your prisoners in like manner, Radulf?”
A few more chuckles greeted this. Radulf laughed himself. “Only Lady Wilfreda, sire.”
William’s smile faded. “He has not ill-treated you, lady? I do not like to see women ill-treated.”
Lily bit her lip. Here was her chance to damage Radulf’s reputation. She felt him stiffen beside her—he expected the worst—but she could not do it; she was not naturally vindictive. There had been no rape; Lily had been Radulf’s willing partner.
“No, sire,” she answered with a touch of regret, “he has never ill-treated me.” And had the satisfaction of coolly returning Radulf’s nonplussed stare.
William was nodding, a satisfied smile on his face, his bright gaze flicking between Radulf and Lily. “Very well. Let us move on. Radulf has brought you before me to answer a charge of inciting rebellion in the north. What say you to that, lady?”
Lily took a breath, preparing herself. “I say those charges are false, sire. Vorgen took up his sword against you. I did not.”
“And yet your father married you to Vorgen. Vorgen made war in your name, beneath your banner.” The energy fairly crackled from him now. Lily expected him at any moment to leap from his chair and shake the truth out of her. She retained her cool composure with difficulty.
“Vorgen may have fought beneath my banner, but he stole that along with everything else. My father did not agree to our marriage. Vorgen killed my father and married me over his dead body. I never asked him to make war upon the Normans, or upon anyone else. I want peace in the north— and I ask that you allow me to rule my lands in peace. Please, sire, allow me to show my people how to live in peace with the Normans rather than die under them!”
Had she spoken too presumptuously?
William was frowning. “What do you say to this, Radulf?” he asked in his rough voice.
Radulf gave Lily another glance, but she did not trust it, or understand the reason for it. How could she, when he had never shared his thoughts with her?
He drew himself up to his full impressive height. “Sire. You may well believe what the lady says, and mayhap she believes it herself. Tales have been told of the Lady Wilfreda, that she is a sorceress, an icy Viking murderess . . .” He shrugged disdainfully. “I do not listen to rumor. I have too long been the subject of such tales, and I know their worth. Here before you is a flesh-and-blood woman, young and beautiful, but powerless. I believe Vorgen used her. Other men will use her. I have fought hard to bring the north to its knees, and I do not see a lone woman being able to keep it there, whatever her good intentions.”
Lily felt as if Radulf had taken a knife and severed her only lifeline. Her fine words had been discounted as nothing more than a woman’s weak and meaningless prattle. What hope was there for her now? Her sense of betrayal nearly overwhelmed her, and she had to blink furiously to refocus.
William was scratching his chest. “Aye, Radulf,” he said, “you have the right of it. ’Twould not be wise to set a woman to rule over those lands. A stronger hand than yours is needed, Lady Wilfreda, even could we trust your promises.”
“Sire, Lord Henry has a strong arm,” Radulf began, ignoring Lily, frozen at his side. “And a diplomatic tongue.”
William appeared to consider it. “No,” he said, and struck the carved chair arm hard with his hand. “I have a better man in mind: you, Lord Radulf! You have spent much sweat and blood bringing peace to Northumbria. You shall have Lady Wilfreda’s lands. I make a gift of them, and order you to oversee the building of a strong stone castle. A good Norman castle, Radulf! What say you to that?”
Radulf felt as if the floor had dropped away beneath his feet.
He and William had spoken at length last night, but Lily’s lands had never been part of that conversation. Now that the king had made his generous gift, Radulf knew he was expected to be humbly grateful, but all he felt was dismay. What of his home? He had been longing to return, and now he must go north again and begin building yet another castle. The fact that it was his castle seemed immaterial.
Lily’s fingers, stiff and frozen, tightened their grip on his.
Radulf went still. In all the worry about saving her, he had forgotten that these were her lands and her people he and William were disposing of. She must love them just as much as he loved Crevitch.
