The Black Lyon Read online

  “Why? Why do you do this?” she had asked.

  He had sneered insolently at her. “Is not the great wealth I will receive from your husband enough?” His eyes raked her soft form. “Is not the person of the lovely Lady Lyonene enough?”

  She had raised her head and met his eyes steadily. “No, it is not. I have been a fool to not believe in my husband, but you I do not think are a fool. There is more behind this than gold.”

  He smiled slightly and looked into his empty chalice. “Such knowledge from one so young! Shall I tell you a story?”

  She had not answered and he had continued.

  “You did not know your husband as a young man. He has changed greatly since he has known you. I came to him as a squire, as one of several young men, soon after his wife’s death.” He did not notice Lyonene’s pained look. “Young Lord Ranulf! So strong, so ungiving, so black!”

  He refilled his cup. “It is a simple story really. I was a young man, eager to please, anxious to do the bidding of a lord no older than myself. It is strange how we hate the people who take and then discard our first innocence. I served him for four years, four years of life I gave to that man and then I was not chosen for his guard. Nay, he said all his men must have his devil’s blackness. So, for a bit of fair hair I was used and then tossed aside like so much rubbish.”

  He threw his cup violently toward the fire, hitting a glancing blow on the shoulder of one of the hounds, which leaped, yelping, and ran away.

  Lyonene sat quietly behind the shield of her four guards. “Could there have been another reason? Mayhaps he chose his men because he saw something in their character which he liked.”

  Morell stood and stared at her, unaware of the guards’ hands moving to their weapons. “I gave him everything! I was not sunk to the character I am now.”

  She met his stare, feeling inside her that Ranulf had seen then the man Morell could have been. Her husband was not so vain as to turn aside a good knight for so little a flaw as the color of his hair. “Is a man today what he was not yesterday?”

  Morell’s face had turned red and he had taken a step toward her, and then he felt the heavy hand of a guard on his shoulder. He had shaken it off, his eyes still on Lyonene’s. “He will pay for what he has done,” he said hoarsely, “and neither will I forget your words.” He turned and angrily strode from the hall.

  Lyonene shook her head as if to clear away the ugly thoughts and looked down at her enormous stomach.

  Alice ran firm hands over the mound each day to check the progress of the growing child. Lyonene was sure her skin would split, so tautly was it pulled, but Alice reassured her it would not and that the babe was already turned correctly for its birth. Lyonene was growing anxious to deliver the child and rid herself of the heavy burden. She closed her eyes and thought of the moment of joy when she’d hold a black-haired, black-eyed babe in her arms.

  Alice touched her on the shoulder and she jumped.

  “I did not hear you come in. Aye, I would like to go to the Great Hall. I get some pleasure in seeing Morell’s disgust at my waddling. If I were not so tired of carrying my own stomach about, I would wish I could remain so for a long while. Think you he would tire of me if I remained so for several years?” She rubbed her stomach happily. “What think you of twins? Ranulf once said… Nay, I will not cry again.” She laughed at Alice’s quelling look.

  “Well, I see our countess deigns to visit with us—two days together. We are indeed honored,” Amicia said, greeting her. The Frankish woman smiled as Sir Morell looked away. “Morell, does she not look fit? I am sure she carries at least two children in that great belly of hers.”

  Morell gave Amicia a quick look of contempt and left the hall, and the woman smiled triumphantly.

  Alice led her mistress to a stool by the fire. Lyonene smoothed her skirts as she looked about the hall. Lady Margaret knelt on the floor, the rushes swept back to make a place for her to roll dice with two of her men. Her laugh rang out across the hall. Occasionally, she ran her hand over the thigh of one of the men, and Lyonene looked away. Amicia was making her way to the gambling group. Some serfs—two men followed by another—carried firewood into the hall. The man behind was large, and something about him made her stare. Alice touched her shoulder and frowned; it was not seemly that Lyonene should stare at the serfs, especially not at men.

  Lyonene looked away, but when she saw Alice return to her sewing, she could not help another quick glance. There was something about the man… Alice again caught her attention, and the maid left to fetch more thread. The four guards that were always near watched the people in the corner at their dice game.

  The three serfs came to the fireplace before her. She looked away, fascinated by the weave of her woolen gown. She lectured herself for her stupidity. She had seen hundreds of serfs in her life and not one of them had interested her in even the slightest way, yet now she found she wanted to see this man’s face. His hand took a poker and moved the logs in the fireplace. The action caught her eye, and as she stared at the dark hand covered in short, dark hairs, it stopped moving. She knew he stared at her, that all she had to do was lift her eyes and meet the owner of that familiar hand.

  She looked up slowly, very, very slowly, fearful of what she would or would not see.

  Ranulf’s eyes met hers in an expressionless stare, the black irises pinpointed as they looked at the emerald-green gaze. His eyes swept the length of her, quickly, and then seemed to dismiss her altered form as he returned to her face.

  She could but look at him in wonder that he should be standing before her, obviously unarmed. Should he be recognized, he would have little chance of defending himself against a man armed with a morgenstern. Yet underlying her fears was sheer joy that he should risk so much for her, that he had sought her out, that he did not lounge at court and forget her. She struggled to give him a word, a sign of her love, to tell him all her heart felt for him, to warn him of the danger he faced for her.

  “They have set me to chopping wood,” he said, his quiet voice conveying all the disgust he felt, the degradation of such a lowly task. Then he was gone; almost before she could blink, she sat alone again, his words hanging in the air.

  She sat quietly for a few moments staring into the fire. She felt the laughter rising in her, rumbling and preparing for a sweet release. She struggled for control and the repressed laughter changed to tears, a mixture of joy and misery.

  Four whole months she had not seen him and all the things that had occurred in those four months! She had been taken captive and held for ransom; not least, her body had greatly enlarged since she had last seen her husband. Now, as she sat amidst four fierce and horrible warriors, he calmly walked into the hall before everyone and what did he say to the wife he seeks? “They have set me to chopping wood.” No words of endearment, no sweet words for her health or even for his child that swelled her belly before her, but only an indignant utterance that she would cause him to stoop so low to rescue her.

  She buried her face in her hands, unable to still the emotions that shook her slight shoulders. He had come! Whatever he said, whatever he did was well, because he had come for her.

  Alice touched her shoulder, a question creasing her brow.

  Lyonene looked around quickly, but knew Ranulf was gone. “Is it time for dinner yet, Alice? I vow I am famished.” She smiled brightly up at her maid.

  Alice grinned her approval at her mistress’s hunger; too often she did not eat enough. But Alice also saw something else—a gaiety, a light in the green eyes—that had heretofore been missing.

  Lyonene’s feeling of anticipation buoyed her through the evening meal, yet more and more clearly was she aware of the danger that awaited her husband. She shivered as she thought of the audacity of him striding into the hall, so near people who could easily recognize him.

  “You are cold?” Lady Margaret asked her and at Lyonene’s negative answer, she continued. “I hope it is not the child. I am not prepared to