The Black Lyon Read online

  Lyonene began to laugh. “I believe my story of dressing as a serf is mild. Tell me the rest of it!”

  “Travers came within three days with an army! Over three hundred men approached my father’s gate and my father, to tell the truth, was well pleased by so forceful a son-in-law. He said later he thought it would take such a man to be able to live with me, for he found it an arduous task.”

  “But what of you? You had not seen Travers since you were little more than a babe. Did you feel the same about him after all that time?”

  “Oh, yes. I ran to him when I was released from the tower and he held me and kissed me, only not on the forehead.” Her eyes twinkled. “Had I any doubts before, that kiss would have dispelled them.”

  Lyonene leaned against the wall and sighed. “And now you live in sweet contentment.”

  “Hah! There is naught sweet about my Travers. He has a temper as ugly as his face. If you could but see his arm you would see where I slashed him once.”

  “I do not understand. If you love him…”

  “Real love is not the pretty stuff of the jongleurs. It is a feeling inside that you are one with this man, no matter what he is. Were Travers to sell his soul to the Devil, I would still love him and mayhaps I would bargain for a good price myself.”

  Lyonene knew she should have been shocked at this, but instead, she stared at Ranulf and felt again the pain of the Welsh arrow in her shoulder. “I fear I would join my Black Devil also.”

  Berengaria smiled. “Come, let us eat and no more talk of devils. I fear the penance now for my sins will be too high.”

  They walked together to the tables.

  Later, Lyonene and Ranulf were alone in their room, Ranulf soaking in a hot tub.

  “I have wanted to ask you something,” Ranulf said.

  When he was quiet, she stopped her washing and looked at him. “Could it be so terrible?”

  “Some think so. Henry de Lacy has asked me to take his youngest son to page. The boy is only six years and should wait another year before leaving his home…” He paused and when she did not speak, he continued. “It would, of course, be for you to say, for a page is the woman’s responsibility until he is of an age to be a squire.”

  “What is this child’s name and why do you seem to think I should object?”

  “He is Brent and although young, he…”

  “Brent! Is he not the boy who tied old Sir John’s leg to the table at dinner?”

  “The same.”

  “The boy who loosed the pigeons in the monks’ study? The boy who…”

  “He is the one responsible for it all and I can see your answer to my request.”

  “So now you have turned sorcerer and know my thoughts! Then you must know I love the boy well already. He has but high spirits and his parents try too hard to still him.”

  She began to lather his face as she prepared to shave him, a new task.

  “You cannot know what you say, for the boy is a devil. He is the last of that great litter of de Lacy’s, and the parents are tired and need a rest. From what I see, Berengaria was enough to put them in their graves.”

  “What has Berengaria to do with my Brent?”

  “Your Brent! So now you adopt the boy already. He is your friend’s little brother. Did you know she was an earl’s daughter?”

  She scraped a patch of whiskers. “Being only a lowly baron’s daughter, I know little of the hierarchy of court,” she said loftily.

  Ranulf understood well her dig at his words. “You know little of raising children and yet you are anxious to take on this one. Could you know that four women have refused him so far? It is said that one of them near fainted at the mention of the little monster.”

  She could not shave him as he talked. “First you ask me to take him and now you work at dissuading me, and what is this you say of my lack of knowledge of raising children? I do not see that you have any great experience in this matter, yet you do not shrink from the idea of taking Brent.”

  “Aye, but I can always beat him if he misbehaves,” he said smugly. “I doubt if you are even as strong as the boy.”

  She gave him a look of disgust. “You talk overmuch of beating, first your weakling wife and now a boy who is not as big as … as your swollen head. Now stop arguing with me so that I may finish shaving you, and concentrate your arrogant thoughts on whether or not my hand slips and cuts your smug words from your throat.”

  He took her wrist as she brought the sharpened steel near his cheeks, his eyes showing his pleasure at her. “I begin to pity a poor child who must have a lioness for a mother. He will ever think he has had his own way, but in truth she will always win.”

  “There is only one prize I have ever wanted to win and I have done so.” She smiled down at him.

  He leaned his head back against the tub. “Finish my shave, wench, and contradict me no more.”

  She smiled at his closed eyes and finished the shave.

  They entered the Great Hall together and smells of food reached them. Ranulf introduced Lyonene to Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln and Salisbury, the father of Berengaria and Brent. When the men began to talk of estate management, she went to sit alone on a bench by the wall. Brent came to his father’s side and the man pointed and sent the young boy to her.

  “You are Lady Lyonene?”

  “Aye, and you are Master Brent?”

  “I am, my lady.”

  She patted the seat and he sat near her. He stared at her with wide eyes and then with a curious expression at her hair. One small hand darted out and heartily pulled a lock.

  She quickly put a hand to her head against the pain. “What is your reason for that?”

  He looked little surprised at himself for his action. “I but wanted to see if it was real. I heard two ladies say it was not and another said you should cover it.”

  Lyonene smiled at him. “And what think you?”

  He shrugged. “It is no matter to me. I cannot interest myself in women’s hair, for I am going to train to be a knight.” He squared his little shoulders.

  “But is it not good for a knight to care for his ladies? Would you not protect me from danger if need be? For you have chosen to train at Malvoisin, and since I live there…”

  He relaxed again, pleased that she gave him a reason to be near her, for he liked her.

  “You are glad that you go to Malvoisin?”

  “Oh, yes,” he answered. “You are a good lady, for you are not old or ugly.”

  “I thank you for the compliment,” she smiled. “Now, tell me of these tricks I hear of you. Are they true?”

  He shrugged again. “See those girls? I made them cry yester eve.” His voice was proud.

  “And whatever did you do to make them cry?”

  “I told them a story of a dragon who flies through walls and eats girls, only girls,” he said grinning. “I heard their mother say they did not sleep all the night.” He gave her a sideways glance to see her reaction.

  “Silly girls! They should have told you worse stories and then you would not have slept.”

  He gave her a look of disdain. “No girl can make worse stories than I.”

  She leaned close to him. “I can, and when we are at Malvoisin I shall. I will not only write them but I will put them to music and sing them.” She made the last words seem like a horrible threat.

  He looked at her with new respect. “And what if I should put a dead rat under your pillow?”

  “I should chop it up and serve it to you for dinner and only tell you after you had eaten it.”

  His eyes widened and he made a face as if he imagined the taste of such a meal. He settled back against the wall, satisfied for the moment with her bravery. “My father has told me only that I am to live with you, but I do not know your husband, who is to be my master.”

  “See the man talking to your father? The man in black?”

  The little boy sat bolt upright, his shock portrayed on his face. “But that is the Black