“Lady?”
Una’s gentle voice was accompanied by a tap on the door.
“I’ve your supper here. Are you not hungry?”
Lily hesitated, but the rumbling in her stomach convinced her not to take the martyr’s path. Best to continue to eat well, so that she had the strength to resist Radulf.
When she opened the door she knew she had made the right decision. Una beamed at her over a bowl of mouthwatering stew, thick slices of buttered bread, and a mug of ale.
“Lord Radulf said to be sure you eat it all,” she announced as she set out the food. Her open countenance took on a speculative quality. “The soldiers are saying you are to wed Lord Radulf, lady. Upon the morrow!”
Lily took a bite of the bread and nodded soberly. “’Tis true, Una. I am to marry him. The king has ordered it.”
Una gave a dramatic shiver. “Oh, lady! Are you not afeard? Such a great big man will crush your bones when you lie with him!”
Lily choked on her ale. Una didn’t appear to notice.
“’Tis times like this,” she went on thoughtfully,
“I’m glad I’m free and lowborn. No king will ever be interested enough in me to order me to wed.”
“Lucky indeed,” Lily assured her with a wistful smile.
Una’s mouth pursed. “You will need a fine wedding gown, lady.”
Dismayed, Lily looked down at the stained and threadbare gown she wore. “This is all I have, Una. Mayhap I can borrow one of yours?”
It was said in jest, but Una blushed rosy red.
“Oh no, lady,” she breathed, “it wouldn’t be fitting! You must ask your lord. They say he is almost as rich as the king. He could buy you furs and jewels enough to fill a room!”
“No doubt he could,” Lily replied dryly, but she would not ask. Call it stubborn pride, but she would much prefer to wed Radulf in her travel-stained rags than beg him for new clothes. Still, she continued to brood on her lack of suitable adornments. After Una had gone and Lily retired to her bed, she stayed awake wondering what would become of her.
Although she doubted she could have slept anyway, with Radulf and his men celebrating.
Probably tallying up his new estates, she told herself bleakly. Well, she hoped he had a very sore head in the morning.
Radulf, unaware of his wife-to-be’s ill-wishing, was laughing at his men’s sallies and playing the bridegroom. He had what he wanted, why not enjoy it? Let all his doubts and troubles wait until the morrow.
Still, his eyes slid often in the direction of Lily’s closed door. Behind that stout wooden barrier lay the woman who had turned his life upside down.
He pictured her, one arm outflung, pale hair twisting about her like a silver rope, lips slightly apart, soft and sweet on the outside, so hot and welcoming on the inside.
Would she welcome him now, if he came knocking? Radulf did not think so. More likely she would fly at him, nails crooked like claws, screaming her fury like a banshee.
He shuddered.
“What will you name your first son, my lord?” some wit demanded, drink slopping down his chin. “Eric Bloodaxe?”
Radulf snorted, ridding himself of his gloomy thoughts. “Nay, he will be Radulf! A good Norman name.”
Jervois raised his goblet high. “To Radulf, son of Radulf!”
Radulf smiled, his gaze resting on his trusted captain. He had put the other man in a difficult position earlier on, asking him to obey his lord’s orders above the king’s. If it had become necessary to take Lily into hiding, Jervois would have been risking his life. Such loyalty was to be valued highly. Aye, he would reward Jervois, reward him well!
“My lord?” His captain leaned closer, green eyes glazed, his head bobbing with drunken wis-dom. “What do you in . . . intend to give Lady Lily . . . that is, Wilfreda, for a bride gift?”
Radulf blinked at him, his mind gone suddenly blank.
