He responded as fiercely, rolling over and onto her, thrusting into her body as if he couldn’t wait any longer. But she was ready; nowadays she seemed always to be ready. With a groan, Lily arched against him and heard his breath ragged against her cheek.
Does he think he’s holding Anna?
The thought popped into her mind, and she wondered why she tormented herself with such questions. Wasn’t it enough that they were wed and that he desired her? Did she seek love?
Instantly she denied it. Even if she were foolish enough to do so, love had little place in a Norman marriage. It was a contract drawn up for reasons of wealth and power, and the children who came from it were important for the same reasons.
Love was not for her and Radulf.
It was true that all her life Lily had hoped to find a man who would complement her heart and soul, as well as her mind, even though she knew it was foolish to long for what she could not have.
But in many ways she was lucky. She had a husband who seemed to value her and who would rule her lands and her people with a strong hand—she only prayed he would also be just and that he might, sometimes, be guided by her.
There was no point in howling for the moon;
she must make the best of what she had. Maybe as the years passed the ache of longing would pass, too, and she would be content.
Radulf, as if sensing her lack of concentration, covered her mouth with his, his tongue seeking to tangle with hers. His manhood thrust into her, filling her completely. She forgot Anna and her fears and doubts as the tremors of pleasure grew stronger and the world dissolved into a hot, dangerous brilliance, leaving her stranded in Radulf’s strong arms.
Afterward, he slept. Lily crept from the bed and found his clothing, scattered on the rushes by the door. Pretending to fold them, she slid her hand inside the tunic and found the letter.
The firelight was fading, but there was enough flickering light to read the single page.
Beloved, I will wait for you tomorrow at the old Chapel of St. Mary between Vespers and Compline.
Her fingers shook. There was no signature, no name, yet Lily knew who had sent the message. It was Lady Anna. She wanted to rekindle the passion she had once had with Radulf. She believed that the spark was still fresh enough to do so. That she only had to send word and he would fly to her . . .
Did Radulf believe that, too? Would he go to her between the prayers of Vespers and Compline, when the sky was darkening and the air was sweet and still?
Lily shuddered. With fingers that were suddenly nerveless, she pushed the letter back into the pile of clothing.
What she had feared had come to pass. Radulf was going to seek out his old love, and leave his new wife behind.
Chapter 13
The following morning, Lily woke blearily to the smell of fresh baked bread and Una’s voice urging her to get up.
“Lady, lady, Lord Radulf has ordered you be ready this instant!”
Lily sat up, her loose hair tangled and hamper-ing her movements. “Ready for what?” she demanded, her voice husky from sleep.
“Lord Radulf wouldn’t say and I wouldn’t dare to ask.”
It had taken Lily a long time to get to sleep. She had kept thinking of the letter she had removed from Radulf’s tunic. Beloved. She could no longer pretend her husband’s strange behavior over Lady Anna Kenton was anything other than love.
She tried to rationalize it. Other husbands dallied with other women; it meant nothing. Powerful men often married with their heads and did not expect to find physical satisfaction with their wives, so they looked elsewhere. Why should she fret over such a commonplace event?
And yet this was different. Radulf and Lily found infinite physical satisfaction with each other. Lady Anna was not a lowbred whore, she was the wife of a rich and important lord. And Radulf, so strong and indefatigable, had seemed suddenly weak before her.
Lily did not doubt that he would go to St. Mary’s Chapel. She shivered and pressed suddenly damp palms against the bedcoverings. Why was this happening? It was ridiculous; she had no time for it. She should be considering how, in her new position as Radulf’s wife, she could best help her people. She needed to be as she once was: calm and cold, using her situation to maximum benefit. Why could she not turn herself back into the frozen woman she used to be when she was wed to Vorgen? Where had that woman gone?
Instead she had lain awake all night, tossing and turning and thinking of Radulf. She had raged and bitten back tears, all because the husband who had forced her into a marriage she swore she didn’t want, had dared to love another!
She only knew that if he did turn to Lady Anna, she would not be able to bear it.
Lily had had to live alone for so long—there were her people, of course, but that was different.
She had played Vorgen’s cold wife, she had accepted Hew’s perfidy. She had run for her life, hiding like a deer in the forest, and shivering with her loneliness. And then Radulf had found her.
