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Inwardly Radulf groaned. William was amusing himself. The king’s playful, oftimes violent sense of humor was famous, and rightly feared.
“I agree she should be shackled, sire,” he replied, refusing to meet Lily’s stricken gray eyes, although he felt their power like a spear in his belly.
William shifted eagerly in his ornately carved chair. “And what should we use to shackle her, my friend?”
Radulf pretended to be thoughtful. “For such a woman as this we must use a mighty restraint, sire. Shackles she cannot possibly escape, shackles which will hold her prisoner all her life.”
The great hall was hushed, anticipation rubbing against horror until the atmosphere was raw.
“Yes.” William drew the word out thoughtfully. “Mighty shackles. I think I know what will hold Lady Wilfreda securely, Radulf. You will marry her, and without delay!”
The hall erupted in a cacophony of sound. William reduced it to a murmur with a single glare.
Lily swayed as the hum in her head turned into a roar.
Marry him? Was this a jest? A cruel game, designed to add to her suffering?
Oh God, this was even worse than she had imagined!
“Well, Radulf?” the king demanded. “I have ordered you to marry this lady. What say you?”
Radulf bowed low. When he spoke, his voice was loud enough to fill the silence. “I will humbly obey my king, sire.”
“Are you sure your lady is willing, Radulf? She appears to be about to faint.”
Radulf slipped an iron arm about Lily’s trim waist. “She’s overcome with joy, sire.”
William snorted. “Mayhap she still mourns her last husband, the rebel Vorgen,” he jested, but there was a hint of steel in his voice, as if he were having second thoughts.
Radulf laughed coarsely. “After Vorgen’s limp dagger, ’twill be a fine pleasure for the lady to have the King’s Sword between her thighs!”
William grinned at the ribald jest, his good humor restored.
Shame and fury burned Lily’s fair skin. She struggled, pushing at his hands, but Radulf held her easily, pinioning her to his side.
“Patience, lady,” he mocked. “I will bed you soon enough.”
Gales of laughter greeted this sally, William’s voice loudest of them all. When it had eased, he spoke again, a grin still splitting his face.
“I have ordered you to marry her, to protect her from those who would use her in their traitorous schemes. Make an heir on her—a child of your blood and hers. Norman and English. You will conquer the north by breeding the treachery out of it, Radulf! Aye, let every one of your men who is unwed marry a girl of English or Viking blood! We shall win these people over by means far more pleasurable than making war on them!”
William rose to his feet and dealt Radulf a hearty blow on the shoulder that would have felled a lesser man.
“We’ll see you wed here on the morrow. I order a feast to be prepared! I’m only sorry the queen will not witness it—she has so long despaired of seeing you marry, Radulf.”
There was a note of sadness in his voice. Happily married and deeply
in love, William would never risk his wife, so he had returned Matilda to Normandy.
Radulf bowed and led Lily away, pretending not to notice her struggles.
“You have chosen a wildcat to take to wife, Radulf.”
The voice was sweet and melodious, and despite her own tumultuous feelings, Lily sensed Radulf’s shock on hearing it. Instinctively she turned toward the speaker, and found that it was the same golden-eyed woman she had noticed earlier. The lady stood, a half smile on her wide mouth, very secure in her fine velvet gown. A smooth strand of dark hair curled at her brow, the remainder covered with a gossamer veil. Not in her first youth, she was nevertheless breathtakingly beautiful.
“Radulf?” she queried with a laugh when he did not answer her, but Lily sensed a touch of pique.
Radulf bowed, a brief tilt of his dark head. His movements, always so graceful despite his size, seemed suddenly clumsy. “Lady Anna.”
