He was like a huge, roaring fire in a room that had always previously been icy cold. The heat, the attraction drew her closer, despite her mind telling her it was wrong, that it was a trick, that the fire could be extinguished just as quickly as it had been lit. But instead of listening to good sense, she had held out her hands, she had crept nearer and nearer. The warmth flushed her face and softened her rigid limbs, she grew drowsy and unprepared. She cared only for the flames.
She cared only for Radulf.
He had sapped her of her strength and purpose.
Now he was going to succeed where both Vorgen and Hew had failed.
He was going to break her.
“Lady!” Una was all but jumping up and down.
“You must rise!”
Lily gave a deep, heartfelt sigh and reluctantly climbed out of her warm cocoon. Once again Una had worked miracles with her limited wardrobe, and her clothing was sponged and pressed. She splashed water on her face before dressing, then twisted her hair over one shoulder before opening the door into the common room.
As Una had forewarned her, Radulf was waiting.
As always, the sight of him burst upon her senses, no matter how prepared she had thought herself, bringing warm color to her cheeks and sending her pulses into a stuttering flurry. He was striding up and down the room, making his men nervous, but at the sound of the door opening he turned to face Lily. He gave her his blackest frown as he came toward her. She rearranged her face into an expression of calm disinterest.
It was not easy to appear disinterested when the man approaching her was so physically attractive. Those wide shoulders, that strong torso, the lean hips and long, well-muscled legs, those dark piercing eyes and the sensual mouth.
Inside, Lily trembled. Truly, she was besotted.
“Come, lady, do not tarry,” Radulf growled.
“I am not tarrying, my lord,” Lily retorted coldly. “Where do you take me?”
He must have read the flare of doubt in her eyes, although she tried hard to conceal it. There had been too many journeys of late, and none of them pleasant. His hand closed over her shoulder, fingers warm and firm and comforting. Lily resisted the urge to relax into his strength.
“Nay, lady, ’tis nothing to concern you. I intend to buy you materials for new clothing. The wife of the King’s Sword should not feel shame in the presence of her inferiors.”
Lily’s eyes flashed. “Feel shame?” she bristled.
“ ’Tis not my fault if I am in rags, ’tis yours! You have harried me from one hiding place to another for weeks, and then dragged me across the countryside to York. Should I have had gowns of silk for such a life? It would be better I wore sackcloth!”
Radulf laughed, his dark eyes alight with humor.
“And when someone gives me a fine gown you burn it!”
The smile wiped from his face, Radulf glared down at her, pressing closer so that she smelled the clean, male scent of him and saw the dark shadow on his clean-shaven jaw. She began to feel breathless. Had she gone too far?
“Have a care, lady. I may change my mind about your new clothing.”
Lily tossed her head, pretending not to care.
“As you will, Radulf. If William the Conqueror asks why I am still wearing rags, I will tell him it’s because Radulf mislikes my conversation.”
He looked at her a moment longer and then snorted. “He is your king, too, lady, whether you will it or not. Best accept the defeat. The Normans rule here now.”
Lily’s eyes flared. “Oh, I accept defeat, Radulf. I will even persuade my people to accept their conquerors as their rulers. I can give you my mind, my powers of reason—but my heart is still my own, and in my heart the Normans will forever be interlopers in my father’s land.”
There was a silence so deep, it had a presence of its own. Radulf’s men held their breath and awaited their leader’s response. Again, he surprised her.
“Well said, lady. You are proud, and I will take what you offer.” He reached for her hand, and all she could think was how well it fitted to his.
“Come, now. The horses are waiting, and I have much to do.”
York sparkled from an early morning shower.
