William frowned at her, opened his mouth to say more. Just then an enormous plate was carried in, topped by a roasted boar crouched upon a bed of vine leaves and surrounded by honeyed vegeta-bles. A murmur of appreciation arose from the guests, and William rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Lily watched in dismay as he piled her plate high and then ordered her jeweled goblet filled to the brim with the heady spiced wine.
“You will celebrate your wedding, Lady Wilfreda,” he commanded, “whether you willed it or not. Now eat up!”
“Yes, sire.” She modestly lowered her eyes to hide her anger. When the king’s suffocating attention had moved on, she dared a glance at Radulf on her other side. He caught it, reading it correctly as his dark gaze swept over her piled plate. The corner of his mouth tugged up.
“You are clearly ravenous, lady.”
“No,” spluttered Lily, “I am not!”
He made his mouth serious, though a gleam still lit his dark eyes. “You are thin, wife. A little more flesh could not hurt.”
Lily sighed in exasperation. “If I eat this, I will be as round as a bladder.”
He threw back his head and laughed, the tension smoothing from his face as if by magic. She had never seen him laugh like that. He looked so handsome and so carefree, not like the King’s Sword at all! It caught at her, confused her, like a hand squeezing her heart. Then someone else claimed his attention and Lily was left with a view of his back.
It was, she decided, a very nice back. Broad, straight, shoulders wide . . . She took a small piece of meat and began to chew. She felt absurdly pleased with herself for making him laugh. Somehow their byplay had lightened the mood, and even sitting beside a king who did not like her very much didn’t seem quite so bad.
Lily glanced at Radulf again, secretly examining him. The ice within her melted still further as she allowed herself a brief daydream. Radulf’s arms around her, his mouth on hers . . . Loud and discordant music brought her to her senses, luckily before she could melt completely into a warm puddle of lust.
A group of players capered about the hall, singing and playing their instruments until Lily’s ears rang with their racket. When they had done, a harpist played and sang some plaintive songs, but was soon ousted in favor of acrobats and then some actors, who performed a play based on Lily’s own recent capture and wedding.
Surprised and dismayed, Lily recognized herself in a lithesome lad with a long, fair wig and a disdainful air. He glided about, swinging his hips and tossing his locks, while glancing coquettishly in the direction of the player who was meant to be Radulf.
If Lily had found her own portrayal embarrassing, Radulf’s was worse. He was depicted as a fool, blundering about the hall, tripping over feet and dogs, cursing and shaking his fist, and all the time making much of his “sword.” Bawdy laughter followed every jest.
Radulf, leaning back in his chair beside Lily, gave the occasional snort of laughter, but like her he was embarrassed that his personal affairs had become fodder for William and his gossip-hungry court. He was more used to inspiring fear than laughter.
As the play came to an end and the “bride” and “groom” were entwined in a clinch more like a wrestling match than an embrace, Radulf breathed a deep sigh of relief. He glanced sideways and noted Lily’s bowed head and the flush of color in her cheeks. Had this nonsense upset her? She glanced up, just a quick flicker of her long lashes, and he was gazing directly into a pair of dark gray eyes.
“ ’Tis only silliness,” he assured her in a murmur, his voice low and gentle.
Lily’s pupils were huge and dark and she shivered, but when he asked her if she was chilled, she shook her head. “No, it is only . . . no, it is nothing, my lord.”
He wanted to ask her to tell him what she really felt; he wanted to take her aside and hear her voice close to his ear, her breath warming his skin.
For suddenly it seemed as though the iron shield she held so rigidly before her had been lowered.
But in a moment it was back up again, her chin raised, her gaze haughty.
Radulf nodded and turned away, back to the conversation of the man to his right. Yet he remained intensely aware of Lily, as if her every movement was imprinted on his skin. Was it his fevered imagination, or had he seen invitation in her gray eyes? Was it possible his wedding night was going to be more than sitting with his men getting drunk?
Nerves jumped in Radulf’s belly. He felt like a boy with his first girl. It was ridiculous, demeaning, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted Lily, he needed her, and tonight that was all that mattered.
Chapter 12
The trestle tables were being cleared, but whether the feast was over or they were simply waiting on more courses, Lily wasn’t sure. The need to relieve herself was an excuse to slip out of the hall. She was glad of a moment alone, for the strain had been considerable. And she had almost made a fool of herself, swaying toward Radulf like a besotted maid, trembling with the need to have his arms about her.
Such things could not be. Real life was not a play. Radulf had stated his reasons for marrying her, and because she was his wife there would always be parts of her life which were completely in his power. She must never allow him to discover he heated her blood to such an extent that she was his willing captive. No, that would never do.
When Lily returned to the hall, she paused a moment in the doorway, watching the guests.
Dress, both male and female, varied from the elaborate to the shabby. Fashions did not change much from year to year, but there were subtle differences. London styles, Lily supposed.
When someone tapped her arm she turned with a start, and found herself facing the same golden-eyed woman she remembered from yesterday’s audience with King William.
“Lady Wilfreda.” The woman’s voice was alluring, her clothing exquisite. She wore a wine-colored gown glittering with gold thread and tiny pearls.
Upon her dark, curling hair sat a circlet of gold studded with rubies. Her beauty transcended the tiny lines about her eyes and mouth, the inevitable signs of her age.
