William frowned, obviously unhappy with the situation. Suddenly, as if he had had as much gloom as he could bear, he challenged, “Come! I am tired of all this darkness. We will go down to the training yard, Radulf, and see who is the better swordsman!”
Radulf’s heart sank. Weakness would be looked upon as a mark against him, especially when William had staunchly taken his side, so he dared not mention his shoulder. William would also know if he fought with less than his usual skill and vigor, and probably accuse him of curry-ing favor by losing on purpose. So he must fight hard and for a good long time, long enough to satisfy William, and only then lose convincingly.
Still, this was a small thing when placed against the knowledge that he was safe again, warm in the favor of his king, free of Kenton’s raging grief and Anna’s lies, reaching out to him even from the grave. But despite all this, it was something more that gave a spring to his step as he followed William to what he knew would be an excruciatingly painful contest. Lily would not have to flee to Crevitch without him.
Soon he would return to her, knowing that she would be waiting, that she would lift her cool gray eyes to his. Call him a fool, but Radulf believed that hidden deep within that gray was a spark, an elusive promise, which spoke of better things.
A life, perhaps, such as he had only dreamed of.
A warm, loving wife and children to follow where he led. A reason for doing what he did. A reason for being. Maybe that had been what his father sought, too.
A reason to be.
Alice had sent to her uncle’s house for needles and thread and shears. They had measured Lily with narrow tapes, and after carefully cutting the cloth, had begun the task of sewing it.
Lily had forgotten how companionable sewing could be. When she was wed to Vorgen, she had been constantly tense with fear and worry. There had always been the fear that one of the women might carry tales to the Normans of what was said. She had forgotten the joy to be found in women gathered together. When Lily was younger, when her mother had been alive, there had been much gossip and laughter, and her mother’s soft admonishments had in no way extinguished the twinkle in her eyes, as she listened to the hopes and dreams of those under her care.
Lily remembered now, and vowed that when she was settled in a proper home of her own, she would recreate those times. Surely Radulf would see the sense in the people beneath him being contented? Gudren, Lily recalled, had said that the in-habitants at Crevitch were strongly loyal to him because he kept them warm and well fed.
I do not abandon mine.
Well, it was only good sense to make certain one’s people were well cared for, and not only because they were less likely to rebel against one. If they were happy then everything ran more smoothly, there were fewer problems. Vorgen had lived in bitter chaos. But Radulf, Lily thought with a little smile, might just be a man who preferred harmony.
It grew late and shadows filled the corners.
Alice was chatting but Lily had long ago ceased to pay attention. She was listening for Radulf, though she did not realize it until the sound of approaching horses struck through her like an axe through wood. Her head jerked up, the needle and thread slipping from her fingers. Alice continued to chatter on for a moment or two and then, noticing Lily’s stillness, stopped in midsentence.
Heavy footsteps thudded into the inn, voices rising one over the other, Jervois’s among them.
Lily stood up, the piece of blue wool sliding to the floor. Alice caught it up, mindful of its value. She was startled by the white, waiting look on her friend’s face. Lily had been calm, if abstracted, until now, but that veneer had crumbled, and her slim body seemed to vibrate.
“Alice,” she whispered. “Will you go and see if Lord Radulf has returned?”
Alice flicked her an uncertain look, then rose and did as she was bid. The outer room was full of men, their armor and weapons cluttering up the low space. At first she could see nothing but sweaty faces and the dull gleam of chain mail, but she could hear Jervois. Alice pushed her way awkwardly toward him.
The captain stood by the fireplace, splashing wine from a jug into goblets. He turned, as if he sensed Alice’s presence behind him. His green eyes grew arrested, admiring, and then wary.
“Lady?”
Alice’s gaze glanced off him; she had still not forgiven him. Instead she looked to the large figure slumped on the bench, silhouetted against the flames. Radulf definitely looked the worse for wear. His face was damp and grimy, there was a livid scratch across his jaw, and his black hair was sticking up on end, as though he had just removed his helmet. As he reached for his goblet it was obvious he was favoring one arm.
Despite all this he was grinning from ear to ear.
“At last I see an end to the madness,” he growled to Jervois in a voice hoarse and scratchy.
“First we go north and oversee this cursed castle, and then south. Home. To Crevitch!” he rasped, raising his goblet.
The toast was taken up, ringing deafeningly throughout the room.
Alice weaved her way back to the bedchamber.
She found Lily seated on the bed white-faced and oddly calm.
“He is arrested,” she said dully. “I am to go to Crevitch. I heard them all say it. I must pack some things.”
She stood up, seemed to waver a moment, and then without a word, Lily fainted.
Alice gave a small shriek and ran to her friend.
