The Black Lyon Read online

  Lyonene pulled him to her, closer, ever closer, and ran her hands across the great muscles of his back, glorifying in the reserved power they held. The feel of his fingers caressing her bare skin made her mad to feel his dark, smooth skin under her hands. His lips moved to her ear, and soft words came to her, unknown words, meaningless yet allmeaning.

  It may have been a discordant sound from the music that made Lyonene return to herself, to know that she was Ranulf’s unwanted wife and not a serf girl as he now believed. He made love to a serf girl, a girl who danced for him, but he did not hold and caress his wife. Her pride, the pride of a lioness, returned to her and she knew that she could not continue with their lovemaking when he thought she was another.

  She steeled herself and refused to hear the words of love, and harder still, to feel the lips that traveled along her throat. She released him so quickly that she had a second before he realized she had fled the tent. She ran as hard and as fast as she was able before stopping. The built-up tears poured forth in a violent torrent. She cursed herself for a hundred times a fool. Her mind rang with her confusion. How could this man’s touch inflame her so, and how could he make such sweet love to one he thought to be only a serf girl, someone he cared for not at all?

  Maude found her and helped her to bathe her swollen face and change her clothes. No words were spoken as they made their way to the camp, and the old woman carefully shielded Lyonene’s view of Ranulf’s dark tent, silent now from the rages of an hour ago. Only Maude’s long understanding of Ranulf had been able to calm him from the anger he carried toward the girl. Lyonene breathed a ragged sigh in her sleep, and Maude shook her head in disgust.

  Maude sent Lyonene away from the camp for water early the next morning. Ranulf would appear soon, and he would easily know which of the four women had danced for him the night before. All she could do was prolong the inevitable.

  Lyonene’s thoughts still warred within her as she pulled the heavy bucket from the water. So loud were her thoughts that she did not hear the horses approach. Before she could protest, strong arms pulled her against a bony body, hands groping her beneath her serf’s garb. A mouth that gave a foul odor found hers. She began to kick and claw.

  “Sir Henry!” a familiar, laughing voice called. “I don’t believe you know how to treat a lady.”

  The old man released her and she spun around, her back to the voice. Keeping her head down, she raised a cautious glance to see Geoffrey before the man who had just attacked her.

  “Lady?” Sir Henry spat. “She is but a serf girl.”

  Geoffrey’s voice hid his contempt. “May I suggest, sir, that all pretty young women are ladies.”

  Lyonene felt the gratitude rising in her breast.

  Sir Henry laughed. “I see what you mean.”

  “You do not mind if I try?”

  “My experience bows to your pretty form.”

  Without even looking at her face, Geoffrey whirled Lyonene into his arms and began to kiss her. She was aghast that he would do this to her. He had no more respect for her than Sir Henry had.

  “I see my little brother has found entertainment that pleasures him. Mayhaps you can excite this one more than I, for she runs from my caresses. There are some young women who prefer pretty boys rather than men—Dacre has proven that.”

  Geoffrey looked up to see Ranulf astride Tighe’s broad back and lazily smiled. “She seems to find me acceptable enough, and my thanks for the comparison to Lord Dacre.” He looked down at Lyonene’s face, her jaw set against the inevitable exposure of her identity. Geoffrey stared at her in horror and turned her to face Ranulf.

  Ranulf’s look of pain before it turned to blackest hate startled her. He sneered at her. “I see now why she finds you so … acceptable. You must ask her to dance for you. She is…” The pained look crossed his face again and then he turned his horse and left them.

  Chapter Nine

  “Lyonene, what is the meaning of this? No, do not tell me, for I am sure it is Ranulf’s doing. Is he so unbearable to live with?”

  Lyonene could only shake her head, for a great lump was forming in her throat and she could not speak. Maude appeared from nowhere and took Lyonene away to the little donkey. She was too distraught to notice that Geoffrey rode to his brother.

  “Ranulf,” Geoffrey implored his stone-faced brother, “what has caused you to treat her so? Why is she dressed as a serf and made to ride a donkey?” He waited for an answer but none came. “I cannot understand your treatment of her. She is beautiful and desirable; how can you shun her?” Still no answer was given him and he sighed in exasperation. “I go now to Sir Tompkin. We are off to Cornwall this day. Remember, Ranulf, she is your wife.”

  “It is she who forgets.”

  Geoffrey frowned up at Ranulf. “Do you hint that she had a hand in what happened this morn? That she perhaps desires the attention of other men?”

  Ranulf shrugged in answer.

  “If I were not your brother and loved not life so well, I would challenge you for that. Any lady who is falsely accused and forced to act as a serf deserves a champion.”

  “You are so sure she is falsely accused? What proof have you of her innocence?”

  Geoffrey smiled. “Because I know you. You care for your possessions and on that island of yours you would know when she sneezed or no. And that Black Guard would kill any man who came near to Lady Lyonene. I am correct, am I not? You have always known of her whereabouts, even to each minute.”

  “Aye. Until we left for Wales. She was clever in hiding.”

  “Hiding! Then you are indeed fortunate to have a wife who loves you so that she will dress as a serf to follow her beloved. Tell me, would any of your court ladies so love their husbands? I worry overmuch. Lyonene will have her way, and if that way includes a glowering, angry, accusing…” He laughed at Ranulf’s black look. “There is no understanding women. I cannot fathom her choice of such a husband. I would give much to be chosen by such as she.” Geoffrey frowned at the fierceness of the look given him by Ranulf. “I go now. Mayhaps I can leave Cornwall and return to Malvoisin later this year. Go in peace, my brother.”

  Lyonene was unaware of Geoffrey’s going; in truth, she was aware of little around her. Her own thoughts raged with one another.

  She did not even hear the thundering hoofs of Tighe as Ranulf rode toward the little donkey. She only felt herself being lifted into the air, coming to rest, sidesaddle, on the Frisian’s back, held firmly in Ranulf’s arms. She knew he was angry but she did not care. At least for the moment he held her close. They rode to the head of the line of people. Ranulf roughly tore the russet cloak from Lyonene, flinging it to the ground. Then he thrust his hands in her hair, pulling her head back, her face toward him. In spite of the pain he knew he caused her, she smiled up at him, her eyes shining.

  “Hear me now, wife, and hear me well. You are mine and I do not share you.”

  Her eyes held his. “I have never been other, my Lion.”

  He stared at her for a moment and then looked away. She leaned back against him, and they traveled in silence.

  “And now tell me what I am to do with you.” Ranulf’s voice was harsh as he stared at her, the silk walls of his tent surrounding them. “Did you think I rode to Wales for pleasure? Tell me, have you always had your way, so that a man who goes to war must have the added burden of a woman to succor?”

  “War? There is no war,” she replied hotly.

  He glared at her. “You think I lie? The Welshman Rhys has decided he would be king. He rides north of here. King Edward sent me a message to find the man and stop his rebellion. Did you think I left my isle to travel to this cold country so that I might enjoy the scenery? Do you not think I have enough to care for in my men, but now I am also saddled with a noblewoman.”

  “Nay, I did not think—”

  “That is it! You did not think. Now you have had your fun, you have dressed as a serf and deceived me. But tell me, mistress, what purpose d