Maybe it was all he could give any woman. The change in her feelings would not change his.
He did not want her love; her declaration of it would make him even more suspicious.
And yet Lily hugged her newfound knowledge to herself. She loved Radulf. True, she also had difficulty with trust because of Vorgen and Hew, but still, she loved him. And would continue do so, if necessarily secretly, forever.
Radulf’s breathing soothed her. Lily dozed, and found herself in a gray place between sleeping and waking. She wandered, and for a time was back in Vorgen’s stronghold, a cold unwilling wife, captive and afraid, longing above all else to be free. And then time moved on and she was running like a hare before the Norman hounds as they pursued her across what had been her land.
She was free of Vorgen now, yet still a captive of her birth and Vorgen’s machinations and the lies others told of her. Radulf chased her, riding his black stallion, and although Lily was terrified of capture, in her heart she longed for it.
The half-waking dreams shifted. She was in the rain and standing before the dark, abandoned bulk of St. Mary’s Chapel. Radulf lay dead upon the ground, his blood leaching away, his face white and still, like her father when his body was carried home upon the makeshift bier. Lily screamed out in her loss and pain, running to Radulf’s side. But the scene changed again, and Anna was there. She and Radulf stood together, arms entwined, heads close. As if sensing Lily’s presence, they looked up at her. Anna was smiling with a savage mockery. “Did you really think I would let him go?” she asked Lily in that melodious voice. “He is my beloved. Forever.”
“No!” cried Lily. “He is not! He is mine!”
And Radulf stood and smiled as they fought over him.
Lily woke with a start. Her heart was hammer-ing very loudly, but even as it calmed and slowed, the noise went on. It was then she comprehended someone was banging upon the door.
Stiffly she rose, pulling one of the blankets about her nakedness, her toes curling against the cold floor. In the bed Radulf stirred, fumbling for his sword. He rose, cursing as he jarred his shoulder, and stood huge and naked behind her.
Lily met his eyes and, at his nod, called out,
“Who is it?”
“Jervois. Lady, open the door.”
Radulf frowned. “Jervois?”
Outside, Jervois’s weary face loomed from the shadows. “Forgive me, my lord, lady, but . . . There is a messenger come from the king.”
Lily pushed her hair out of her eyes with one hand, holding on to the blanket with the other.
She tried to focus, her head still muzzy with dreams. Radulf had no such trouble. “What does he want?”
Jervois hesitated as if seeking the best way to answer, and then decided upon brevity. “Lady Anna Kenton is dead.”
Lily shuddered. “Sweet Jesu.”
Whatever Radulf had been expecting, it was not this. He was good at hiding his feelings, but this time he was not quick enough to disguise from Lily the shock and bewilderment.
“It is beyond belief,” he whispered, and lifted his hands to cover his face, before shoving his fingers through his short black hair. “When did this happen?”
It was Jervois who answered. “After she left you. Her body was found near a candlemaker’s shop. Lord Kenton had sent his men out to find her when she did not return from her meeting with you. He is saying now that her death is your fault.”
“He is blaming Radulf?” Lily gasped. Her blanket slipped, exposing the plump curve of one breast. She didn’t notice, though, wondering if Radulf was to suffer Anna’s lies even in death.
“Jervois, you must send the messenger back to say Radulf had nothing to do with Lady Anna’s death!”
“Wait.” Radulf came up behind her, his big hot body pressing close. “Do you mean he is claiming I killed her with my own hand?”
Jervois nodded. “That is what he means, sir, though he has not said it so plainly as that. He blames you. He says that you and his wife were once . . . lovers.” Color stole into Jervois’s cheeks.
“Lord Kenton claimed that Lord Radulf had been begging the Lady Anna to be his lover again. She was considering it. She told Kenton that she was going to meet you tonight, my lord, and give you her answer.”
Lily tried to think. “She said such things to him, her husband? Did he not stop her? Why did he allow her to go?”
Radulf gave a brief bitter laugh. “You did not know her, lady. She had Kenton twisted about her finger. Maybe he killed her himself—she might have twisted him too tightly.”
Lily turned her head to look at him, causing the blanket to slip again. Was Lord Kenton capable of murder? Anna’s face came to her then, the rigidity of her expression as she rode past Lily in the rain.
