The Black Lyon Read online

  Brent is well and we talk of you always. The ribbon never leaves me.

  Your loving husband and weary knight,

  Ranulf

  She sank onto the bed and cried. The letter was so gentle, with none of the arrogance he usually displayed, and she knew how lonely he must be. She cursed herself, in a very limited vocabulary, for doubting him for an instant. It took a long while, but she was at last purged and smiled again for the first time in days. She took time to write her return letter to Ranulf, assuring him of the health of herself and their child, telling him of the castle happenings. Only at the last did she add some of what she felt:

  Kate worries that I become as you once were, for I find naught to make me smile.

  Your Lioness

  Her mood had lightened by the time she went to the solar to dine, Amicia her only company.

  “Your letter contained pleasant news?” the woman asked.

  “Aye. I fear there is to be a siege and Ranulf may be gone some time.”

  “Oh, yes, there were four meetings with the baron, but none were successful and now tunnels are being prepared and… You must forgive me. I am sure he wrote you much the same.”

  “I do not seem to know quite as much as you do. Perhaps the man who wrote you is a more prolific writer.”

  “Aye, Lord Ranulf wrote me a great deal.”

  “Ranulf! What is this you say?” Lyonene demanded.

  “Why, my lady, I assumed you knew. You assured me my hints were most unsubtle.”

  “Are you making an attempt to tell me that my husband sends messages to you?”

  “You cannot blame a man if he is attracted to another woman.”

  She rose from her chair. “I believe you not. You must show me this letter.”

  “My Lady Lyonene, I can see this must be your husband’s first … infidelity, shall we say, and I do not wish to repay your kind hospitality by showing you something that will surely cause you distress.”

  “I will go to my husband and he will deny your lies.”

  “Most assuredly he will. You would not expect him to boast of his women to you? You did not think him to be a monk before his marriage, so why ever should he change just for a few vows before some witnesses? And he has fulfilled those vows; you certainly seem to have all a woman could desire. Please, you must eat. You must think of your child, who grows larger each day.”

  The food stuck in Lyonene’s throat. She would not believe the woman’s words! She would ride to Ranulf and… Would she believe him if he denied an interest in this woman?

  Amicia chattered about the food, the insolence of the Malvoisin servants, but Lyonene heard not a word, her thoughts too desolate to allow her to hear aught else.

  The next day Lyonene donned old clothes and spent hours working in her garden. She pulled at weeds viciously.

  “There you are, my lady.” Amicia’s voice made her carelessly grab another bunch of weeds, only to find her hand cut and bleeding from a sturdy thistle. She sat back on her heels and wiped the dirt from her palm.

  “I do not know how you bear the dirt and sweat of gardening. I would have thought a lady … oh, yes, you are but a baron’s daughter, are you not?”

  “I do not have time for your insults this morn. If you have aught to say to me, do so, but get to your meaning quickly.”

  “I seem ever to displease you. I came but to the garden to enjoy it. It already holds many sweet memories for me.”

  “My Lady Lyonene,” Kate called. “You must come inside from the sun. Lucy frets for you and the babe.”

  Silently, Lyonene followed her to the kitchen. She knew Amicia would not enter such a room.

  “Lady Lyonene, if your mother saw the way you worked and you carrying a babe.” Lyonene thought of her mother as a cool haven. “And Lord Ranulf,” Lucy continued, “he would be angry to know you would harm his babe.”

  Lyonene slammed the mug of ale down. “Lord Ranulf! I hear naught but his name. I will deliver the child he so craves, but I do not know that I shelter his mistresses much longer.”

  “What do you speak of, child? Lord Ranulf has no mistresses. Why, I have never seen a man love a wife so. The man dotes on you.”

  “Oh, Lucy.” She clung to the fat old woman who had always been with her and began to weep on the ample bosom.

  “Come, upstairs you go. You are to go to bed.”

  Lyonene leaned on the woman and allowed her to undress her and put her to bed. Lucy stroked her forehead, too warm, and noticed circles under her eyes. “Tell me what troubles you, child. Lucy will listen.”

  “He does not love me. He has never loved me.”

  “How can you say that? The man never leaves your side when he can prevent it. Was there something in the letter that has made you sad?”

  “There are other women.”

  “Sweet, all men have other women. It is their way, but it does not mean he does not love you.”

  Lyonene’s tears began at Lucy’s words.

  “Sleep, child, and the pain will ease.”

  Gradually. Lyonene’s sobs ceased and she did sleep, fitfully, feeling worse when she woke to an empty room, an empty bed.

  She avoided Amicia for the next few days, taking meals in her own room, keeping from the solar, an exile in her own house.

  “She is gone, my lady.” Kate came to Lyonene’s room.

  “Gone? Who has gone?”

  “The woman, the Frankish woman. A messenger came early this morn with a letter for her and in moments she ordered a horse saddled and she was gone. She took no clothes. Think you she will stay away?”

  Lyonene’s heart quickened a bit at the thought of ridding herself of the hateful woman. “I do not know. This messenger, what banner did he carry?”

  “Why, that of Malvoisin, the Black Lion.”

  She could feel the color draining from her face. “Did you see the letter, Kate?” she whispered.

  “Aye, my lady. It lies on her bed now, but I cannot read.”

  “Bring it to me.”

  With trembling hands, she opened the stiff, heavy paper.

  Come to me.

  Ranulf

  It fell to the floor.

  “My lady, my lady!” Kate ran for a mug of wine. “Drink this!”

  Lyonene choked down some of the sweet liquid. It was all true! Every word was true! There was no mistaking Ranulf’s bold scrawl or the seal set in the wax. Only he carried the seal of the Earl of Malvoisin, and it never left his person.

  Amicia was gone for three days, three days of hell for Lyonene. She was past tears. Kate took care of her, and she was only vaguely aware of people around her. Lucy tried to help by telling her no man was worth so much fuss, that it had been a shock to her when her first husband took another woman but that she had had to go on living.

  Another letter arrived from Ranulf, and Lyonene’s answer was curt and brief, giving only an account of life at the castle.

  “Why, Lady Lyonene, are you ill? I have never seen you look so tired.” Amicia greeted her in the hall after her return. “I vow there is naught like a stay in the country to refreshen one, although a tent is a little too warm in summer, do you not agree?”

  Lyonene swept past her and left the house. The stable boy, no longer afraid since Lyonene had spent time with him and Loriage, saddled Loriage for her and she spurred the horse to run as fast as he was able, glad of the wind and the exercise. She was already there before she realized that she had traveled to the glade, the sweet place where she had told Ranulf of their coming child. She had been happy then, a happiness she knew she’d never know again. She lay on the mossy ground, her face buried in her arms.

  “I love you so, Ranulf, why could you not love me in return?” she whispered.

  When she returned in the evening, she had made some decisions. Ranulf had chosen her for wife, and even if he did not wish her as lover, she would perform her wifely duties as expected.

  “I am pleased you are feeling better and can join me at