When she woke this time, Radulf was alone, seated by the table in his breeches and white linen shirt, his head bent over a parchment that he had spread across the table. Stephen must have come and tidied up the mess, for now only the wine remained.
Lily hesitated to disturb him, but his words still rang in her head. He had spoken up for her when he could just as easily have agreed with his friend.
You wrong her. She is not Anna.
It was as if Radulf’s rebuttal had freed something in her heart, some restriction that had been there since she read Anna’s message.
Lily rose, her body still stiff and aching from the long journey. But at least the tiredness had gone. If necessary she could ride again, although she hoped she wouldn’t have to do so. She walked quietly over to where Radulf sat, and rested her hand against his broad shoulder.
He must have heard her approach, because he didn’t seem startled, only turned his head slightly to offer a weary smile. It was a map he had spread out before him, the cloth worn and tattered about the edges through much use. The candle had burned low, but Lily recognised Vorgen’s keep and the hills surrounding it, as well as the countryside around Grimswade.
“This is where Hew is camped,” he said. “And here is where we will draw him out.”
Lily looked to where he pointed and nodded.
“We have two days at the most.”
Lily stepped closer, leaning lightly against her husband. “Until you have to fight?”
“Until I have to win.”
“You will.” Lily bent to kiss his neck. He smelled of sweat and horse and man. “You are the King’s Sword, the immortal Radulf; you always win.”
He laughed softly. “‘Always,’ Lily?”
“Always.” She trailed her tongue across his ear, tickling, tantalizing. She slid her fingers through his hair, enjoying the silky feel of it against her skin. Earlier, Radulf had fought for her in another way. He had stood up for her honor when Lord Henry had tried to turn him against her.
Maybe he trusted her after all.
Maybe it is time you trusted him.
The thought startled her, frightened her.
Radulf turned his head just enough to catch her mouth with his. Their kiss deepened, until Lily’s head spun dizzily and her legs lost their strength. His hands cupped her buttocks, drawing her closer, bringing her to stand between his thighs.
“Ah Lily,” he murmured, nuzzling against her throat, her breasts. “So cool on the outside, but so hot within . . .”
She gasped as he found one of her nipples through the cloth of her gown, and held his face close. “Vorgen did not think me hot within,” she managed, dragging the words out before she lost her wits entirely. Radulf’s hands were on her thighs now, purposefully raising her skirts. “He thought me as cold as the ice that covers the streams in winter, as cold as the snow on the ground. Once, his soldiers brought news of a man who had become lost and died in the forest. His body was covered in snow, and it was frozen hard.
Vorgen turned to me when he heard that story, and he said, ‘That is you, lady. You are like that man.’”
Radulf had stopped, his hands gripping her thighs, his breath warm in the hollow at the base of her throat. His eyes had lost their dazed look.
Lily took a ragged breath and went on, before she lost her courage altogether. “He told me that it was my fault that he could not take me as a husband takes his wife; that my coldness shriveled his manhood whenever he came near me, whenever I touched him . . . there. He hated me for that. He swore to throw me to his men, and sometimes he wept because he could not do to me what he so wanted to do. He said it so many times that I believed him. I was cold. But you have thawed that ice, Radulf. You have turned me into a warm, living woman once more. I am alive again, because of you.”
His eyes were fixed on her face now, taking in every movement, every emotion.
“He was lying to you. Give me your hand.”
Slowly, Lily placed her fingers in his. He smiled, bending to kiss them. “You are no frozen woman, Lily. You are warm and desirable. Put aside what Vorgen said.” His eyes narrowed, a flash of anger lighting them as he thought of what he would like to do to that particular Norman.
Instead, he gently pressed her hand against that ever-eager bulge between his thighs. “I have no difficulty in taking you as a husband takes his wife, and far from your touch shriveling this tire-less piece of flesh . . . my dilemma is in resisting you, mignonne!”
Tears filled her eyes, blinding her. “I did believe him,” she insisted. “He was very convincing. You have freed me of his evil.”
He stroked her cheek, brushing aside the falling tears. Her lips trembled as he kissed them tenderly, a healing kiss. His heart was full to overflowing with what she had told him. He had guessed some of it, from knowing Vorgen and from her reactions, and from what she had said to him at Trier. Now he knew the whole truth, and he wanted to tear Vorgen to pieces. It was a shame that he was already dead. After what he had heard tonight, Radulf would have enjoyed killing him.
Chapter 18
