The Black Lyon Read online

  It was in late June as they sat in the solar, Brent drowsing on a sun-warmed carpet, wrapped around the puppy Ranulf had given him, that a servant announced a fire in the village. Ranulf went immediately, Brent not far behind.

  It was late when the Black Guard returned with their master, their bodies blackened by the smoke.

  “We could not save the houses, but the people are alive, although burned. Could you see to them?” he asked tiredly as the men wearily walked to the river to wash.

  Daylight saw a lord and his lady who had not slept at all through the night. The climbed the stairs to their room, arms locked, eyes barely open.

  “Here you go.” Lucy handed Lyonene a basket, which she took only because of a remembered response. “No one will let you sleep here. Soon the whole castle will awake, and then William will have a problem that desperately needs solving and then Bassett will ask for her ladyship’s help. You must go. I have prepared you food and that mean, devilhorse of yours is saddled, so off you go. I do not wish to see you until nightfall.”

  Ranulf seemed to shrug his weariness away easily. He ran a hand down Lyonene’s back and firmly cupped her behind, grinning impishly when she jumped. “Lucy, you are after my own heart. I am so pleased that I do not even defend Tighe’s abused name. Come, Lioness, I know a glade that you will enjoy.” He took her hand and near pulled her to the door. She had only time for a smile of gratitude to Lucy.

  The glade proved to be more than Ranulf had promised. It was sheltered and private, the ground soft with moss and tiny pink flowers.

  Lyonene wore only her linen undertunic and Ranulf his loincloth. He leaned against a tree and Lyonene snuggled her back against his chest, his arms encircling her.

  “You are no longer unhappy you married me?” she asked.

  “I was never unhappy.”

  She smiled and moved closer to him, her hand running idly along his thigh. “You are pleased also with Brent?”

  He turned her to look at him, lifting one eyebrow. “Why all these questions? Has aught displeased you?”

  “Nay.” She lay back against him. “I am happy. I but wondered how you felt towards me and towards … children.”

  He snorted. “You are a troublesome baggage, but men must make do with their wives. As for children, or at least Brent, I grow fonder of the boy each day. Brother Jonathan says he is most bright and can write his own name. Corbet has been teaching him…” He stopped abruptly and turned her again to face him, a black scowl on his face. “Why do you ask me these questions?”

  She put a hand on his chest and laughed. “I am not your enemy, Ranulf, that you must turn such a face on me.” She winced. “You hurt me!” He released her so quickly she almost fell backwards.

  She smiled secretly and took her place against him again. “To answer you, I am but curious.” She felt him relax against her. “Whatever did you think me to mean, my lord?”

  He took a deep breath and sighed, totally relaxed. “You startled me, ’tis all. I thought, for a moment, you meant to say you were with child.”

  “And if those were my words?”

  He tightened again and then relaxed. “I would force myself to bear such news with the courage that befits a knight and an earl.”

  She was glad he could not see her expression. “And what courage could you speak of? I see no great feat for a man to create a babe.”

  “It is not the creating, but the eternal responsibility. A child is a serious undertaking.”

  “And you would bear the news with the gravity that befitted the occasion?” If he could have seen her eyes he would not have fallen into her trap so readily.

  “Most assuredly. All in all, I am glad you are not breeding, for I have not had the time to think on the duties of being a … father.”

  Her heart fell somewhat. “But what of your daughter?”

  Ranulf was quiet. “I was young then and…” He paused. “Let us not talk of this more.”

  She turned to him then. “But, my husband, we must speak of this, for at Christmas, I plan to present you with a most special gift.”

  He grinned. “And what can it be? There is naught that I do not have.”

  She shook her head at him. “Mayhaps I should have Brother Jonathan create a mind for you from paper. It could not be of less substance than the one you now attempt to use.”

  He frowned at her and then all color drained from his face, his eyes wide.

  She looked down at her hands. “Please do not say you are displeased. I do not think I could bear it.”

  They sat in silence for what seemed to be hours, and then Ranulf lifted her chin with his fingertips. She could almost swear that the strong, masculine hand, the hand of the Black Lion, king’s champion, trembled. His eyes held a strange expression.

  “This is true? You will bear me a babe?”

  She nodded, not sure what she saw in his face. He dropped his hand and stood up with lightning speed, his legs wide apart, hands on hips, and threw back his head, giving the loudest, ugliest, most terrifying war cry she had ever heard. She covered her ears against that hideous sound, which sent tremors of unknown terror through her body.

  The sound carried for a long way, and those who heard also shuddered at the sound, never before given off a battlefield.

  Lyonene still sat with her hands over her ears when Ranulf looked back at her. He pulled her to him to study her face and then kissed her mouth, hard.

  “I may take it that the news does not cause your displeasure?”

  He swung her into his arms. “No man has ever been happier.”

  “You do not think of responsibilities and duties?” she teased.

  “Your fun of me is at an end. I should like a son first and then a score of daughters. I will need a boy to help me protect my beautiful daughters. And I shall never allow them to marry, but keep them by me always to fetch my slippers and tend to my wine.” He paused a moment. “Of a surety, Edward will take credit for this.”

  “What has the king to do with our child?”

  “If it is to be born at Christmas, then it had to have been created at the Round Table.” He gave her a mocking look. “My poor brain has always been good at arithmetic, if not at women’s riddles. Edward will say it was the white wine he had me mix with your red. Of course everyone else would agree, for you had an unwholesome look on your face when I carried you from the hall.”

  “You did not carry me!”

  “I most assuredly did. There were great cheers and not a few suggestions as to how to proceed from there, but I fear you outdid any suggestion a mere man could create. Yes, I am sure ’twas that night that made my child.”

  He laughed when her fist pelted his naked chest. “What will our boy say of a mother who beats his father?”

  “He will probably join me, or it would be my good fortune to bear a braggart just like you. His first steps will no doubt be a swagger, his first words a boast.”

  Ranulf laughed hard and hugged her to him. “Then you must indeed have my daughters, for who else will listen to us?”

  “I am sure you will find someone.”

  “That is true, but they all sit in rapture of me. No other woman makes me work so hard to make an impression or beats me when I go too far.”

  She laughed with him and put her arms about his neck. “I shall bear you hundreds of whatever you wish.” They kissed, quietly, sweetly. “You are glad then, truly glad?”

  He nibbled her ear. “You are hard to persuade. There is naught I can say. I look forward eagerly to my first child. Now I should like to return to my house and put you to bed and then go and brag to my men.”

  “Release me and do not act such a fool. I am well, and the strength I build each day flows to the child and gives him strength.”

  He set her down carefully and seemed to consider her words. “I do not know… Lucy and Kate will care for you and keep you from building too much strength, as you say. Now dress that we may return.” His eyes widened. “Should you rid