The Black Lyon Read online

  Kate came and escorted Amicia back to her chamber.

  “You hardly spoke during supper. I do not like your being so rude to our guest.”

  “I was never rude. I am sure I spoke whenever there was a chance to insert a word.”

  “Come here.” He pulled her to his lap. “I am not so sure I like this much jealousy. I have never seen you treat another so. Even Lady Elizabeth at court did not cause you so much anger.”

  “You do not understand. This Amicia is not as they are. They cared for you, in a way. This woman cares for naught but herself.”

  “How can you say such when you have but met the woman?”

  She sighed against him. It was hopeless to continue. She had heard her mother spend hours trying to persuade her father of the character of a person, a person just met, and Melite had always ended in failure. She seemed doomed to wait until Ranulf slowly came to the same conclusion that she had already reached. She just hoped it was not long.

  The morning dawned bright, the sun hot, as the earth tried to repair itself from the damage of the storm.

  “I will spend the day with my men and will not return until supper. See you that our guest is made welcome.”

  She grimaced but nodded that she would attempt the task.

  When Amicia arrived in the solar, she wore Lyonene’s clothes, and the countess wondered at her boldness, for she had never been asked for the loan. Amicia’s eyes dared Lyonene to question her use of them, but Lyonene merely laughed, for the clothes hung on the woman’s boyish frame.

  “It seems we must spend this day together, for my husband’s escapades of yester eve have torn his clothes badly. Would you care for the wherewithal to embroider?”

  Amicia did not deign to look at Lyonene. “Nay, I do not sew. A lady has servants to perform those duties for her.”

  “Of course. I must then inform Queen Eleanora, for she ever embroiders her own clothing.”

  Amicia shot her a quick hateful look before turning to the window seat, her finger running along the diamond-shaped panes of glass. “Lord Ranulf is the Black Lion, is he not?” She did not wait for an answer. “I have heard of him even in France. My father, the duke”—she made sure Lyonene heard the words—“often spoke of him. He even once considered him for my husband.”

  Lyonene did not look up from her needle. “My husband is an amiable man and might have agreed to the marriage, for he proved in his first marriage that he does not object to a wife older than himself.”

  There was silence between them.

  “You seem secure in your marriage… Lyonene, is it not? An odd name. I suppose you brought his lordship an enormous dowry.”

  “In truth, I did not, but I do not see that that is something for us to discuss.”

  Amicia ignored her. “Then it is a love match.”

  Lyonene stopped and considered. “I believe it to be.”

  “Lord Ranulf does not swear his love for you each moment of the day, then?”

  “You are a guest in my house and I must treat you so, but I will not discuss the private lives of my husband and myself with you.” She tossed the sewing down on the nearest stool and left the room. She did not hear the little laugh of triumph Amicia gave.

  Lyonene went toward the Jewel Tower, intending to see if there were any people hurt in the storm. Amicia had put a seed of doubt in her mind that had never been there before. Of course Ranulf loved her; had not theirs been a love match? But he had never said the words. She was a silly woman, she told herself. Words were not important. Of course he loved her, just as she had told him many times of the love she bore him.

  She shook her head and made herself attend to her work, but the question plagued her: Would he care for her when she was old and ugly?

  Amicia joined them again for supper. She was all smiles and apologies for all the work she caused and hung on Ranulf’s every word. He did not discourage her.

  Alone, at last, in their room, Ranulf asked after her health. “

  The babe does not trouble you overmuch? You seem quiet.”

  She pulled away from him. “The babe troubles me naught. I sometimes think he is the only perfect thing in my life.”

  He held her close to him, stroking her hair. “What troubles you? I would make it well if I could.”

  “Would you? Would you make me able to bear your son and not grow fat, or grow old with the years?”

  He smiled down at her, his thumb brushing the corner of her eye. “You do well to be concerned. I detect a fold in your skin already.”

  She pushed away. “I do not jest.”

  He frowned at her. “There is something which troubles you. It could not hurt to share it with me.” He saw tears in her eyes. “I have never seen you like this. You are ever of high spirits, even when I am not so pleasant to be with.”

  A faint smile began to appear through her tears. “I am most happy to hear you say what I have always known.”

  “Come to bed before I beat you as you deserve.” He pulled her to him, his hand rubbing her bare stomach, as if he inspected the growth his child made each day.

  “And what will you think when my stomach sticks out to here?” she whispered.

  “I will hope for twins,” he murmured as he fell asleep.

  When Lyonene said she was to ride to the village the next morn, Amicia declared herself well enough to ride with her.

  Since the stable boy was afraid of Loriage, Lyonene had to saddle him herself.

  “You do not have him whipped?” Amicia asked in astonishment.

  “He is but a boy. Later I will show him Loriage is gentle if spoken to correctly.”

  “I am sure he is easy to ride and you but create the story of his fierceness. I may show you?”

  “Certainly.” Lyonene stepped back.

  The black stallion did not even allow the woman to sit in the saddle, but reared and fought her as she slipped one foot into the stirrup. Angrily, she walked away.

  They paused in the outer bailey to greet one of the cooks, who held some especially fine cabbages for Lyonene’s approval. Off to the side skulked the man Lyonene instinctively recoiled from.

  “Who is that man?” Amicia asked.

  Lyonene turned toward the knight. “I forget his name. He seems ever to be idle and his ways are too insolent to my taste.”

  “You do not think him handsome?”

  She did not look back at the smirking man. “Nay, I do not.” She spurred the stallion ahead.

  Many serfs gathered around their mistress in the village, and she gave her attentions to new babies, flooded fields and the egg production of some famed hens. She looked up once to see Amicia in deep conversation with the garrison knight from the castle. They deserve one another! she thought.

  It was well past dinnertime when the two women returned to the castle. Ranulf stood with the Black Guard in the courtyard and introduced the seven men to “Lady” Amicia. Lyonene noticed that Hugo and Maularde regarded her honeyed words with the same suspicion that she herself felt.

  When Lyonene entered the hall, the first person she saw was Brent, absent from her for two long days. She had not realized how much she had missed the boy. “Brent!” She knelt, holding her arms out to the child, and he ran to her, giving her a rather fierce hug to show his growing love for her.

  Remembering his manly status of page he released her as if disgusted by her embrace. He looked quickly to see if his Lord Ranulf had seen his lapse, but the Black Lion stared intently out a window.

  Lyonene stood, not allowing herself to further caress the boy. “You have spent the days in the Great Hall of the Black Guard? You must tell me of it, for I have never entered it.”

  “You have not?” Brent was astonished.

  “Nay,” Ranulf answered. “Only men are allowed in my guard’s hall.”

  “But there are women in…” He stopped at Ranulf’s broad wink. “Oh, aye. No lady-wives are allowed.”

  Lyonene smiled innocently. “Then you must tell me