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Hew was a different matter.
As if he had read the name in her mind, Hew muttered, “I wish I had more men. I would have killed Radulf, taken him in the throat with your dagger, while he slept.” He turned and grinned at her, sharing his evil joke. “Or I would have woken him first, and let him see your face so that he could understand the trick we had played upon him, before he died.”
Lily closed her eyes. She saw Radulf, too, but not as Hew described him. He stood before her, dark eyes warm and shining, sensuous lips smiling. She took a shaking breath.
All at once there was a clink of metal; the soft scrape of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.
Hew moved sharply, pulling his horse around to face the danger.
And the night split apart.
Men came running at them from all sides, voices roaring. Moonlight glinted on armor and sharp edges.
Hew yelled, “Lily! Run!” and slapped the flank of her mare. But instead of bolting, the mare screamed in fear and outrage, and rose up on her hind legs. Lily had no time to cling on. She was thrown into the chaos about her, and hit the ground hard.
The impact took her breath away. She lay in a tangled heap of wool and linen, her cheek sunk in mud. Somewhere to her right Hew whipped his terrified horse back, through the gateway, toward the monastery buildings. A furious gaggle of Norman soldiers pursued him into the darkness.
Two big, hard hands fastened about Lily’s waist, hauling her to her feet. She swayed, and was steadied.
Slowly, feeling as if this were a bad dream, Lily raised her head to confront her captor.
He was well suited to bad dreams. He towered over her, his big body made bigger by his hauberk, his massive chest rising and falling with each harsh breath. She couldn’t see his face properly because of the helmet, only the glint of his eyes.
She was profoundly glad for that.
“He was right,” growled a deep, familiar voice. “You should have run.”
Lily said nothing. Her body was bruised and winded, her head ached, and the cold fear of her capture had numbed her until even her breath was no longer warm enough to cloud the night air.
“My scouts noticed that the rebels had been following us since Grimswade,” said Radulf. “I wondered why.”
“And now you know.”
“Now I know.”
“My lord!” One of Radulf’s men had returned, his shoulders bowed with defeat. “We lost him.”
Radulf’s eyes remained fixed on Lily. “Keep looking.” He stepped forward and gripped her arms, pulling her hard against him. Lily was instantly aware of his body heat and his great strength. They were no longer comforting.
“You are no Norman lady.” His voice was low and menacing. “You were never traveling home from the border to Rennoc. I sent Jervois ahead to speak with Edwin and he returned yesterday. Edwin’s daughter Alice is safe at Rennoc. I knew about your lies, lady, before we set out for Trier. I asked you for the truth and you would not give it—”
“I could not,” Lily whispered, pushing her hands against the chain mail. “Do not punish Alice for any of this. She knows nothing of it.”
“Who are you?” Radulf demanded, and his fingers gripped her own so angrily that the hawk ring cut into her flesh. Lily cried out.
He stilled. She had worn no rings before.
“What is this?”
Radulf lifted her hand, catching the glint of the gold. He shouted for light. Another of his men ran with a torch and, at Radulf’s instruction, held it above their joined hands. The stinging smoke made Lily’s eyes water but she did not try to pull away. She was almost glad. No more lies, no more pretense. There was an inevitability about this moment.
Radulf bent close, and the red eye of the hawk winked up at him. He went very still.
“Lady Wilfreda isn’t in hiding, is she?” he said, trembling with his fury. “She’s here. With me.”
“Yes.”
He looked up then, and she was sure he would strike her. His voice ate into her with its bitterness. “What did you plan to do, lady? Murder me? Was that why you carried a dagger, to plunge it into my heart? It must have amused you to have Radulf in your snare.”
