“Now it is up to me. Believe in me, mignonne. I am strong. I will win this battle, just as I have won all the rest.”
She did believe in him, and yet the fear would not leave her. Was it because she loved him so much? Whatever the real reason for her deep anxiety, she admitted to herself that if Radulf were killed, then her own life would be over, as well as that of the child he did not even know existed.
Many times Lily thought of telling him about the baby, but just as often she stopped herself. It wasn’t because she didn’t trust him, that inner voice insisted. Why should she add to his worries when he already had so many?
No, she justified to herself, it wasn’t fair to tell him just now.
The camp at Grimswade hadn’t changed. The tents stretched on endlessly, a haze of smoke hanging over them as the occupants cooked their meals and warmed their hands and feet. A scout had spotted the armed band, and upon recognizing Lord Radulf, could not prevent a grin of utter relief. He accompanied them jauntily through the cheering men, and once again Lily realized how popular Radulf was among his own people. If only her people could see such a scene as this, they would be begging to take up arms against Hew.
At last they reached the rise upon which sat Radulf’s tent, and Lily gave it a fond, if somewhat exhausted, smile. Here she had been sent as Radulf’s prisoner after he found her in the church, and here she had hidden, afraid of him and yet wildly attracted to him at the same time.
She remembered her turmoil now with some amusement. Resistance—though she had shown little enough of that!—had been useless. Radulf had had his way with her, although it had been no hardship for her to give in. Indeed, “giving in” had been a victory in itself, for Radulf was as much a slave of her body as she was of his.
She slid down off her horse and felt a warm arm curl about her waist, supporting her, setting her on her feet. Pale and shadow-eyed, Lily turned to thank her husband.
“You are tired, Lily,” he murmured softly against her ear, his warm breath tingling in places she had forgotten for an hour or two. Amazingly, she felt desire pool in her belly and tighten her breasts, which had become so much more sensitive since her pregnancy.
“Rest,” Radulf ordered. Then, “Stephen!”
”The squire appeared from nowhere, wide-eyed as he gazed up at his lord. “Lord Radulf?” he stammered.
“You are well, boy?” Radulf quizzed him.
“Lord Henry has been treating you kindly?”
“Yes, my lord.” Stephen’s blue eyes were full of admiration.
“Where is Lord Henry?”
“He’s with the workers at the castle, my lord.
They’ve already made a beginning. Soon you won’t have to live in a tent.”
Radulf laughed. “Unfortunately, a good stone castle is not so quickly built, boy!”
Stephen caught Lily’s eye and color stained his beardless cheeks, but she had expected him to be suspicious of her. The last time she had been
there, Lily had been under guard, a possible threat to the Normans. Now everyone would know she was the she-devil, Vorgen’s widow, and the wife Lord Radulf had been ordered by the king to wed.
“Bring food and drink to the tent for my lady, Stephen.” Radulf spoke over his shoulder as he walked away. “And for me!”
Stephen bowed as low as he could. “This way, lady.” He gestured toward the tent, as if she didn’t know her own way. “Lord Henry moved when he had word Lord Radulf was returning to Grimswade. The tent is all yours.”
“Thank you, Stephen.”
The dim, airy interior was heavenly after her long, rough journey. Lily would have collapsed on the furs on the bed, but Stephen pointedly placed a stool by the table. Amused, Lily sat while the squire hurried to fetch the food and drink his master had commanded.
As she waited, Lily wrapped her new fur-lined cloak closer about her body. Summer was truly over here at Grimswade. As they had ridden north she had noticed the trees beginning to turn, their leaves a brilliant collage against the vast gray sky. The rocky crags and thick forests seemed more desolate, more lonely. This was not the soft south, where Radulf’s heart dwelt. This was Lily’s country, harsh and unforgiving. It had made her what she was.
Stephen returned and set down a goblet of wine and several platters of food. Lily summoned a smile, and chose a slice of apple and several plump blackberries. The latter were sweet and juicy against her tongue and, with the wine, helped to revive her.
“How is Grimswade, Stephen?”
“Until now, lady, it’s been very quiet. Everyone who could has taken turns working on the castle. It is to stand upon the same hill where the she-dev—that is, where Vorgen had his keep . . . lady.”
The color had once more flooded his face at the slip, but Lily pretended not to notice. “And Father Luc?”
Thoughts of the little priest had niggled at her while she was in York. She had wondered whether Lord Henry had discovered Father Luc’s involvement with Hew and punished him for it.
