“Lily!” she cried. “No, no, he is here! He is outside, drinking wine and laughing. It is all right, truly, Lily, it is fine.”
In a little time Lily stirred, and with Alice’s assistance sat up. She listened, nodding, as Alice reassured her, and though her shoulders lost some of their rigidity, she still did not smile. She sipped the wine Alice poured her, the sour taste of it making her shudder. Lily thought then that she might vomit. She subdued the urge, swallowing and taking deep breaths until it, too, had passed.
“I am all right now,” she replied to Alice’s concerned questions. “I have sat inside this room for far too long. I suppose I will get fresh air enough when I ride with my lord to his lands in the south.” She tried to smile as she looked up at Alice, and then stopped, suddenly stricken, tears gathering in her eyes. “Oh Alice, will I ever see you again?”
Alice’s own heart was tugged by the question, but her nature was bubbly and resilient, and she smiled a reassuring smile. “Of course, why not? Radulf will need to oversee his northern lands . . .your lands. You will see me then. Or I could come to stay in the south, with you. I need a husband, remember? I am sure there are worthy examples to be found at Crevitch.” Jervois, whispered her heart, but Alice ignored that impractical organ.
Lily smiled, as she was meant to. Her fingers clung to Alice’s a moment longer, and then her eyes widened as a heavy step sounded. The doorway was filled completely with a man.
“My lord!”
He laughed at the look on her face. “No, lady, I have not been set upon. I have had some friendly sport with my king . . . though some may claim it is one and the same thing.”
Alice rolled her eyes. Why did men think it a matter of pride to be bruised and battered?
Radulf limped into the bedchamber. Jervois began to remove the chain mail, trying not to hurt Radulf more than necessary. Lily moved to help, giving Alice a distracted smile as she bid her farewell. Her mind was filled with the joy of his being safe. She had been so afraid . . .
Radulf was in a lot of pain, and when they had finished, seemed content enough to lie back on the bed and let his wife bustle about him, tending to his hurts.
Radulf had never had anyone but a squire or a servant tend to him before. A wife, he decided, was infinitely better, particularly when that wife was Lily. Her care of him made the beating he’d received at William’s hands almost worth it.
Radulf all but purred beneath her ministrations,
indulging himself as she sponged him clean and applied her medicines, and then tempted his appetite with cheeses and meats and red wine.
When she had finally done, he lay watching her through half-closed eyes as she fussed about the chamber, folding clothing, tidying it away. Then she spent time combing the silver beauty of her hair before braiding it.
Radulf watched her long, nimble fingers and the cool, distant beauty of her face. He could not fault her care of him, yet now she was removed, shuttered against him. He might even have thought her afraid of the heat that lay between them; Lily, too, had her secrets. His eyes slipped over her rounded shoulder, to the breast hidden by the clothes she wore, and his gaze sharpened.
Was that soft curve heavier, fuller?
He smiled. His beautiful Lily had put on some flesh now that she was safe. No more running and hiding, no more living like a wild animal in the thickets of the north. She would grow plump and contented at Crevitch.
“Come to bed,” he said.
Her hands stilled at the sound of his voice, and he half expected her to refuse. Instead, she quickly finished with her hair, tugged off her clothing, and climbed under the covers beside him.
Her feet were cold; he caught them between his legs, warming them.
“You were worried for me, Lily?” he murmured, his voice even huskier than usual, his hand resting in its customary place on her hip.
She shifted restlessly, as though the question troubled her, but her eyes were cool. “Naturally I was worried for you. You are my husband, Radulf. Without you I would once again be at the mercy of your king.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I had forgotten for a moment why it is you value me so.”
There was a note in his voice Lily had not heard before—a sort of wry self-mockery—and it startled her. She gave him a suspicious look.
“What should I say?” she retaliated. “That I love you?”
Silence, as if they both held their breath. Lily’s throat was dry; she licked her lips. Beneath Radulf’s dark lashes, his eyes were gleaming black. He leaned closer, his mouth so close to hers that she felt the heat of it.
“Love was never a consideration,” he said.
“Of course not,” Lily whispered.
He kissed her, tongue thrusting hot, the palm of his hand filling with that fine, soft flesh he had just been admiring. She was bigger—the knowledge nearly drove him over the edge. Radulf rose above her, forgetting his aching body, only knowing he had to have her. But even as his manhood eased into the tight, welcoming sheath between her thighs, he knew to his delight and despair that it would never be enough.
After a time, when their breathing returned to normal, he said, “Sleep now,” in a voice that was almost gentle.
