Radulf and his men had celebrated long into the night, and the common room was still smoky and untidy, and reeked of ale and wine. Lily stood in the doorway, noting one man holding his head and another green-faced in the light from the door. She could not at first see Radulf, and as she stood there, searching, one by one the soldiers’ voices fell silent.
Lily ignored their stares. She had found who she was looking for. He was such a tall and commanding presence, Lily did not know how she had missed him. He was standing by the fireplace, one booted foot resting against the hearth, a tankard in his hand, a smile on his mouth as he bent his head to converse with the innkeeper.
“My lady!” Jervois spoke the words softly, reverently, from his place by his lord.
Radulf turned, the amusement dying in his eyes. Despite the smoky gloom, Lily caught the flash of heat in that dark gaze. It was like sunlight, melting her flesh and bones, dazzling her so that for a brief moment she could not think at all. Then Una slipped an unobtrusive arm about her waist, fearing perhaps that she was about to faint. When Lily had regained her composure the heated look had gone, and Radulf’s eyes were unreadable.
He looked well, she admitted grudgingly. The tunic he wore was Lincoln green in color, and a short, dark, fur-lined cloak was flung across one shoulder and fastened with an ornate brooch. It swirled about his muscular legs as he turned to murmur some instruction to Jervois. A heavy gold chain shone dully across his breast, indicative of his position. Oh yes, he looked very well indeed.
Today they would be joined together as husband and wife, as close a union as was possible between man and woman. The knowledge sent prickles of fright and excitement across Lily’s skin.
Radulf was striding toward her, setting his tankard down on a bench as he passed. By the time he halted, he was too close. Why did he always stand too close? Lily longed to take a step back and create space between them, but he would consider it a sign of weakness.
“We ride to the castle within the hour,” he said in a formal voice. “Will you take some wine with me before we go to celebrate our marriage?”
The men stood silent and waiting, while Una held her breath at Lily’s back. That she didn’t slap his face, Lily told herself, was more for their sake than her own. Radulf threw a glance at the innkeeper, and the man hastened to pour wine into two of the finest goblets.
“It is a pleasure, my lady,” he began, but Radulf silenced him with a single glance.
“To the lady Lily!” Radulf declared. As the wine reached his lips, an uncomfortable thought occurred to him. “Or should I call you Lady Wilfreda now?”
Lily refused to look away from those dark questioning eyes. “It is my name, my lord,” she replied just as formally.
He drank half the wine. His men raised a ragged and subdued cheer, obviously afraid their heads would crumble if they yelled too loudly. “So who is Lily?” asked Radulf, his brows drawn together.
“My father called me Lily. It is the name I am called by those who love me,” she said very coldly, so he would know he was not one of them.
He stared down at her a moment longer, then shrugged indifferently. “Then I will call you Wilfreda, or perhaps vixen, for you have been as cunning as one.” He swallowed the remainder of the wine. “Drink up, lady! You will be tired and thirsty ere this day is done. The king tends to wring every drop of amusement out of these occasions.”
He did not speak to her again, but turned to thank his men and receive more of their congratulations. Making them, thought Lily crossly, even more his slaves than they already were.
Vixen, indeed!
Lily swiftly drank down her goblet of wine, to help dull her fears. When it came time to mount her mare and ride to the castle, she was able to do so quite regally and with very little nerves.
“You do us proud, lady,” Jervois complimented her, as he assisted her into the saddle. “The King’s Sword could not have found a more ravishing bride.”
Honeyed words were rare from Radulf’s captain, and Lily wondered if he had spoken them because Radulf had not. Apart from that one burning look, Radulf had said nothing at all about the golden gown. But then, why should he? They were only marrying because the king had ordered it, and despite what he had said about revenge and enjoying her body, Radulf must be feeling angry and resentful.
She hardly knew what she herself was feeling.
Confusion, pain, anger . . . and other, darker emotions she didn’t want to examine too closely.
Lily’s mare shifted nervously, perhaps sensing her mistress’s shift in feelings. When Radulf moved in beside her, his destrier frightened the mare even more. As she tossed her head and side-stepped, he reached over and took her reins from Lily’s fingers, wrapping them firmly about his big hand.
“My lord,” Lily gasped, shocked by his high-handed behavior, “please return my horse to me!”
He ignored her, calling something to the innkeeper who was hovering in the doorway.
Her father had determined her life when she was young, then Vorgen had controlled her, and Hew had tried to. Men seemed always to be telling her what to do.
“My lord!” Lily hissed under her breath. “I asked that you return me my reins. I will not be led behind you like a child.”
Radulf turned and looked at her then, eyebrows raised. “You wish to be thrown, lady?”
“My mare is afraid of your destrier, Lord Radulf, but I can manage her.”
There was a note of pride in the statement.
