Lily’s eyes flared. “Oh, I accept defeat, Radulf. I will even persuade my people to accept their conquerors as their rulers. I can give you my mind, my powers of reason—but my heart is still my own, and in my heart the Normans will forever be interlopers in my father’s land.”
There was a silence so deep, it had a presence of its own. Radulf’s men held their breath and awaited their leader’s response. Again, he surprised her.
“Well said, lady. You are proud, and I will take what you offer.” He reached for her hand, and all she could think was how well it fitted to his. “Come, now. The horses are waiting, and I have much to do.”
York sparkled from an early morning shower. The streets were clean, washed free of their habitual dirt and refuse, and water ran through the lanes, draining away towards the swollen Ouse. By the time Radulf’s party set out the rain clouds were already clearing, leaving a soft blue sky and a warm yellow sun. Builders were up and working about the city, constructing the stone edifices commissioned by the Normans.
The Normans were great builders, and they built to last. As well as William’s two castles, a great church was taking shape, and with it, many smaller and less important buildings. There was a sense of change in the air; the Normans were there and they had come to stay. Radulf was right in that, thought Lily. She must accept; there was no going back.
York’s narrow, twisting streets were filled with various tradesmen and those buying from them. The city had always been a port, and therefore much of its trade, and new citizens, arrived from other countries. York had swallowed them up without fuss. Many of those citizens turned now to stare at Lily and her entourage. She supposed some of them knew who she was; certainly many of them would know the great Radulf.
And fear him.
Lily glanced sideways and thought that he did look rather fearsome in his chain mail tunic, his great sword strapped at his side. Too little sleep gave his face a cer
tain pallor and caused gray shadows in the hollows under his eyes, and he looked both grim and dangerous. Yes, Lily could see that many would fear him.
But to Lily he was the man who held her warm and safe in his arms at night, whose wonderful mouth made her sob with pleasure, and whose dark eyes evinced a hundred years of weary experience. Sometimes the need to reach out and soothe him was well nigh unstoppable.
In the beginning, Lily had prevented herself from doing so by remembering that Radulf was her enemy. Then, when he discovered her secret, she had been too angry. Now, she reminded herself that he loved another, and that although he welcomed her body, he would not want more from her.
Irritably, Lily thrust aside her unhappy thoughts and found that Radulf had turned to look at her. He raised his brows when she simply stared back. “Is there something that catches your eye, lady?”
Lily shook her head. What could she say? Radulf had an appointment before Compline with someone else. Even if she wanted to, she would not risk her pride by revealing her softer feelings toward him.
Maybe pride was all she had left.
“This is the place.” Radulf drew up, and his men surrounded them. The stout wooden building before them was of two stories: a storage area secured by heavy doors onto the street and living quarters above. There was a bulky cart drawn up to one side and several men unloading. One of them, a thin streak of a man, started toward Radulf and his party, his rich yellow tunic proclaiming him one of York’s wealthy merchants and a Jew.
“Lord Radulf!” He bowed so low he threatened to scrape the ground. “You do me great honor!”
Radulf nodded somberly but amusement for the extravagant welcome made his eyes gleam.
“You have come to buy, my lord? I am Jacob, and you are in luck. This day a ship has arrived from Flanders with silks and linens and fine wools, our own good English wool made into cloth. What is it you wish to see?” His eyes were bright and eager, and Lily was certain they noted how his list of wares made her heart beat faster. It was long since she had chosen from fine cloth. Despite her determination to remain aloof, she gave Radulf a hungry glance.
“We wish to see everything,” Radulf replied mildly. “And my lady may have whatever pleases her.”
Jacob’s eyes popped. “You are generous indeed, Lord Radulf! My lady!” He gave Lily an equally low bow, his gaze sweeping over her on the way down and then again as he rose, taking in her coloring, size, and measurements. “My lady’s beauty is beyond price,” he said smoothly. “I doubt any of my wares could match it.”
Radulf retorted with a hint of impatience. “Show us what you have anyway.”
Determining Radulf had reached his limit where flattery was concerned, Jacob clapped his hands and the heavy wooden doors of his establishment were swung open. Radulf dismounted and lifted Lily to the ground beside him. “He considers me a fool now,” he murmured in her ear. “No sensible man allows a woman to dictate the opening and closing of his purse.”
Before Lily could answer, Jacob had returned, leading them inside.
The interior had an exotic scent, musky and heavy, like a foreign land. Jacob unfastened the shutters on his windows, letting in the sunlight. He began to choose bolts of cloth, unwrapping them from their protective coverings and rolling them out on the long tables set beneath the windows.
Wools in rich shades of blue, red, and green, and a roll of pure white, the most difficult of all to obtain. Linens, fine and soft to the touch, and silks that were shot through with a myriad of colors wherever the sun touched them. And then Jacob spread out a bolt of velvet in a red so deep and luscious, it made Lily gasp.
Vorgen had never cared what she wore, and certainly he had never bought her gifts. To him, her importance was in being the heiress to her father’s lands and the daughter of a Viking princess.
It is just that Radulf does not want his wife to shame him by appearing in rags, Lily reminded herself.
“How many new gowns will I need, my lord?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice indifferent. “One, two, or three?”
Radulf was watching her, but his face was in shadow, hidden by the brilliance of the day framed by the open doors behind him. “As many as you wish,” he said carelessly. “I am a wealthy man, Lady Wilfreda. Let our friend here decide for you. I can see he is well practiced at his craft. Only the rich of York can afford him, and he knows what is best for them.”
Lily nodded slowly, her eyes very wide, hiding her confusion. Why was he being so generous? Did he feel guilty because of Lady Anna?