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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 tireless 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
Throughout the following day, a constant trickle of men sought the safety of Radulf’s army. Some of them came alone and expressed a desire to fight with the husband of Lady Wilfreda, others brought their families and set up camp, huddling dry-eyed and weary beneath the azure banner of the King’s Sword.
As Radulf watched them come, and watched his wife go among them—with the bodyguard he had insisted upon—he understood at last that she had been right. Her people loved and trusted her, far more than they had ever trusted Hew or Vorgen. She had come north to give them hope of peace, and despite their instinctive distrust of the Norman conquerors, they believed in her enough to grasp at the opportunity she was giving them.
Hew was camped some five miles away. His army, mostly Kenton’s men with a few rebels thrown in, had ruthlessly pillaged the surrounding countryside, making themselves even more hated than before. By joining Hew, Kenton’s soldiers were doing as they had been ordered, but many of them didn’t like it. They had fought at Hastings with the Normans they now faced as enemies. Deserters had already joined the trickle of Englishmen who were swelling Radulf’s army.
He was well satisfied.
Lord Henry, too, had had to admit his mistake where Lily was concerned. Radulf had noticed, with amusement, his friend’s attempts to charm his wife as only Henry could. He was even more amused to notice that, although she listened politely, Lily was not cajoled by his glib tongue. Had he once thought Henry could charm her away from him? She was not such a fool.
It was midday as Radulf stood, listening to Henry and Jervois argue about tactics, his eyes scanning the smoky camp with its many souls, all dependent upon him. He noticed his wife leave their tent. She paused a moment, breathing in the air, straightening her back as if preparing herself to face whatever obstacles might be set in her path.
Aye, she was a proud woman, and Radulf was proud of her and what she had done. A man could ask no more than to live with such a woman at his side. Her hair was bright and uncovered, like a young girl’s, her gown a simple one, so as not to intimidate the
common folk, and she wore no jewelry apart from the red-eyed hawk upon her thumb.
He watched her stretch again, as if her back ached. Something in the movement, something in the way her hands were folded so protectively across her belly, struck a discordant note in Radulf.
Puzzled, he watched her descend once more into the heart of the camp. Stephen was trailing behind her, and the boy shot wistful glances at the soldiers as they checked and sharpened their weapons, shouting bravado to hide their fear. Many of them would be dead tomorrow, but Stephen probably didn’t think of that, Radulf thought wryly. He was dreaming of the glory.
Radulf had already decided that the battle would take place tomorrow, soon after first light. He would march his men in predawn darkness to the long, flat valley where Hew was encamped. Then they would attack. If Hew was unprepared, so much the better, but Radulf did not fool himself into thinking it would be an easy victory. Kenton’s men were well trained; they were no rabble. No, it would be a hard fight, but one he had no intention of losing.
His gaze slipped back to Lily. She had reached Gudren and Olaf’s tent, and seemed to be hesitating there. Even as she made to move on, Gudren’s gray head popped out of the opening and her arms waved bossily, gesturing for Lily to enter. With a regal nod of her head, Lily did so, vanishing from his sight.
“I am glad to see you, my pretty one.”
Gudren had not changed. She was as plump as ever, her face barely wrinkled, her pale eyes cunning.
“And you, mother.” Lily smiled, answering her in her own tongue.
Gudren sighed. “It does my heart good to hear the sound of Norway. I knew you were not who you said you were, lady. I told Olaf you were of Viking blood, but he scoffed and said I was getting old. Now see who is old!”
Lily smiled. “Olaf prepares for the battle?”
