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Father Luc frowned, trying to read Radulf’s face. “In what way, my lord?”
“I am looking for Vorgen’s wife. Do you know her?”
The priest nodded cautiously, his eyes still fixed on Radulf, but Lily had the distinct impression he was very well aware she was there. “You seek the Lady Wilfreda?”
“Have you seen her recently?”
“She fled, Lord Radulf. Fled when she heard the King’s Sword was coming. Your name is a powerful one. Only a fool would stand and fight.”
Radulf snorted. “Vorgen fought.”
“Aye, lord, and he was a fool.”
“And you take me for one, too, old man?” Radulf leaned forward threateningly. “I’ve heard too many rumors that Lady Wilfreda is still in Northumbria. I don’t believe she’s gone north.”
Fat
her Luc shrugged.
“Perhaps you could be persuaded, priest?” Radulf sneered. “The men of God I know are always short of gold.”
Father Luc’s amiable face seemed to pinch upon itself. “She has fled. Best you resign her to her fate and go home. Go home, my lord, and take your gold with you.”
He was brave, thought Lily, but foolish to antagonize Radulf. She glanced quickly toward the Norman, expecting him to show his anger, but Radulf appeared unmoved by the priest’s words.
“When I have found Wilfreda I will go home,” Radulf replied mildly. “Until then I will hunt.”
The priest’s rosebud mouth tightened, but his eyes remained steady.
“However, you may be able to help me in another matter,” Radulf added. He turned and stared over to where Lily stood. “This lady was hiding in your church. She says she is Edwin of Rennoc’s daughter, returning home from the border. Do you know her?”
Father Luc allowed his eyes to flick briefly to Lily and away again. Lily’s heart squeezed within her chest. He must recognize her, must have recognized her as soon as he entered the tent, and yet there was nothing whatsoever in his face to show it. “I do not know Edwin of Rennoc’s daughter, my lord.”
“And yet the villagers know of her.”
“Ah, that is a different matter, my lord. I know he has a daughter, fair-headed and fair of face, but I have never met her. And you say this is she?” The priest nodded in Lily’s direction. “She looks weary. Have you hurt her?” he asked with a frown. “Her father is the Earl of Morcar’s vassal, and Morcar is the king’s man. Surely the king would be angry if he knew his Sword was striking at his friends as well as his enemies.”
Radulf stiffened, and Lily held her breath. Father Luc had questioned Radulf’s integrity. If this had been Vorgen, the priest would be dead by now, and she had no reason to think Radulf was any different. But before she allowed such a fate to befall the little man, she would speak the truth. She would not allow another to suffer in her stead; there had been enough suffering.
To her astonished relief, Radulf’s shoulders eased back and the frown smoothed from his brow. Contrarily, the sense of strength and power that surrounded him increased rather than diminished. Lily knew then that a man like Radulf did not need to kill and maim to build on his consequence, and admiration mingled with her relief.
“You are a brave man, priest, but take care with your tongue.” Amusement curled Radulf’s lips, but there was a warning in his dark eyes.
The priest gave him an innocent smile.
“Boy!” Stephen hurried to obey his master’s call, eyes wide as he looked from the priest to his lord. “Let him go. He’s of no use to me after all.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Father Luc straightened his gown, smoothing its sleeves and shaking the mud from its hem. His face remained impassive, but his blue eyes twinkled as he turned to Lily. “Be of good cheer, my lady of Rennoc,” he told her gently. “You will soon be among friends.”
Lily stared after him as he left, wondering what he had meant, and if, indeed, the words had contained any meaning beyond the need to comfort.
“A priest who cannot be bought or bribed,” Radulf said with a shake of his head. “A rarity.”
Lily frowned, moving slowly forward until she faced him across the table of uneaten food. “You are cynical, my lord.”
“I have grown so, Lily.” That look was in his eyes again, as if beneath the battle-hardened warrior lay a wounded soul.
“Perhaps it is the company you keep.”
