The Black Lyon Read online

  “Water,” Lyonene repeated.

  Ranulf jumped and stared with disbelief at his wife’s open eyes. It was seconds before he recovered himself enough to take her in his arms and lift a cool mug of water to her lips.

  “I do not remember. Why am I here?”

  He held her close to him, feeling his heart pounding. She would be well! “Hush now, love, do not speak. You took an arrow meant for me.” He blinked back tears and worked hard to keep from crushing her to him.

  “You are unhurt?” she whispered.

  Suddenly, he felt joyous because he’d have a lifetime to love her, to make her forget his anger and hostility. He pulled back and smiled at her. “Unhurt! I am more than unhurt! You have saved my life and I owe all to you. And you, my sweet Lioness, will be well. And now you will eat.”

  She managed to smile at him. “And if I do not?”

  He lifted one eyebrow at her. “I had not thought on it, but knowing your constant disobedience, I shall probably have to force you to eat.”

  She put her hand on his. “I wish…” she said quietly. “Aye? What is it you wish?”

  “This morn is different. It is as if we were at Lorancourt and you were the man I met and there were no more hate between us.”

  “I would also that the hate was gone,” he said quietly. No other words he could have said would have meant more to her.

  What followed were, for Lyonene, blissful days of learning to know her husband, of laughter, of surcease from the fear she had grown to feel.

  “My lord!” Corbet shouted. “A messenger is come from King Edward to cry a tourney.”

  “A tourney?” Lyonene said from her seat on the mossy bank. “It is safe? What of this man Rhys? If he wishes to take the king’s place, is it safe to be so near?”

  “Rhys and his three sons were killed in the battle. His men will cause no more harm with no leader.” He stared down at her. “You would care to see the court and a tournament?”

  “Oh yes, Ranulf, oh yes, I would much like to go.”

  He knelt and put a hand on her shoulder. “Then we shall.” He turned to Corbet. “Tell the messenger that the Black Lion and his Black Guard challenge all.”

  Corbet grinned. “We have done so, my lord.”

  Ranulf’s face hardened, but before he could speak, Lyonene laughed. “It is good your men know their lord so well, is it not?”

  He stared for a moment and then relaxed. “Aye, that it is. Go now and ready yourselves. We leave on the morrow.”

  When they were alone, he turned to Lyonene. “You are well enough to travel? The wound does not plague you overmuch?”

  “Nay, it does not.” She held up her hand for his and pulled him to sit down beside her. “Tell me about the court and the king and the queen and the other earls and—”

  “You go too fast. Be still and I will tell you all I can about a round table.”

  “A round table? As in King Arthur’s tales?”

  “Aye, the name is the same but it describes three days of games, jousting and eating. Think you can survive the excitement?” His eyes twinkled.

  She knew he teased. “Tell me of the queen, is she a great beauty?”

  Ranulf laughed and began to talk of a life so familiar to him, so new and awesome to his wife.

  Chapter Ten

  Lyonene and Ranulf had been at the new Caernarvon Castle for six days, and she had spent the time in getting to know the people of the court and Queen Eleanora. The queen was a short, quiet woman, much more interested in her children than in state politics. She and Lyonene got on famously. The king was a formidably tall man with red hair and enormous energy. To Lyonene he never seemed to sit still for very long.

  In the evenings Ranulf and Lyonene sang duets, she playing a psaltery, he a lute. They were much favored by the many guests, who began to arrive in great numbers. Each guest was treated according to his rank. The earls were given first priority and the finest that could be had, while the lesser knights, the mercenaries, were given a place to stand their tents, fodder and the privilege of one meal a day with King Edward.

  The growing excitement affected Lyonene and she enjoyed herself. Queen Eleanora came to depend on her, and Lyonene found herself to be an easy hostess.

  “You spend much time with these men.” A strong arm encircled her narrow waist and pulled her into a dark corner of the house.

  She had stiffened at first, but relaxed when she realized she stood so closely, so intimately, pressed to Ranulf. Her teeth showed clearly in the dim light as she grinned up at him. “I would but make them comfortable. There was a lady, a Lady Elizabeth I believe, who seemed overinterested in the cut of your tabard, especially your shoulders and arms, at least it looked so from the manner in which she ran her hands over your … ah, tabard.”

  He pulled her tight against him till she could hardly breathe. “Mayhaps she felt me to be neglected by my own wife. I have not seen you much these past days. Mayhaps I should pretend to be a guest to get your attentions.”

  Her heart beat rapidly and she could feel his under her hands. She worked her arms away until she clasped the great bulk of his chest. “Of course, my lord, you are most welcome to Caernarvon Castle. And, pray tell, what would you desire of our meager assets? Could I fetch wine or food or…”

  “A dancer. I would have a veiled Saracen dancer for my room. One who entices and shows her tawny body as she casts away the veils. Do you think such could be found? Mind, I want only the best.”

  “You did like my dance then?”

  In answer, he kissed her, a fierce, demanding, crushing kiss that made her draw him closer to her and answer with equal fire.

  “He is here!” A voice near them called. “I find my friend has changed little, for all his marriage to a baron’s daughter. Leave the girl, Ranulf, and come talk to me. The night is young and she will wait for you, no doubt.”

  Ranulf pulled away from her, and she felt him to be as reluctant as she.

  “There are times, Dacre, when you are more a curse than a friend.”

  The handsome blond man placed hands on hips, legs apart, and his laughter rang, causing many people to turn and stare. They clasped one another, each seeming to try to break the other’s ribs. They smiled at one another with the special look of old friends who had seen much together.

  “I hear of this marriage of yours and not two months later, I find you locked together with one of the castle ladies. I said you should have brought her with you to Wales. At least I hope this one is not so well-used as Lady Adela whom you bedded so often last year.” He stopped at Ranulf’s scowl.

  Lyonene had stood behind Ranulf as he talked to his friend and now Ranulf pulled her to stand beside him, holding her forearm and hand possessively in his two hands.

  “This is my wife, Lady Lyonene. And you, I believe, have met Lord Dacre.”

  “What story is this? I would remember this beauty had I met her.”

  Ranulf smiled from his friend to his wife. “She followed me to Wales in my train, dressed as a serf.” His voice was proud.

  “I find that a tale not to be believed. Even dressed as a serf, this beauty could be recognized. She would be a lady no matter what she wore. My lady, you have a fool for a husband. You should have married me and I would know you even should you dress as a man.”

  Ranulf remained smiling. “Remember the night at your castle as we talked and a serf girl cleaned the hearth?”

  Dacre looked in astonishment to Lyonene, who looked away, the blood beginning to rise to her cheeks.

  Dacre’s laugh roared out again. “Then it was you who dropped the basket of ashes in our eyes!” He snatched her from Ranulf’s grasp and lifted her above his head. “I vowed you would be punished for that and so you shall.”

  “Do not!” Her frantic words were directed to Ranulf. Dacre recognized the warning in her tone and, his hands still on Lyonene’s waist, hastily turned to Ranulf.

  Dacre frowned for a moment at the Black Lion scowl