The Black Lyon Read online

  Ranulf took one great stride across the room and lifted Lyonene into his arms, hardly looking at her. “Herne holds the horses below. See you to my weapons,” he instructed, nodding to Corbet.

  Lyonene buried her face against Ranulf’s mail-clad neck, the smell of blood overpowering. She did not know whether it was the smell or her terror, but her stomach tightened and pained her. There was time only for a brief farewell look to Alice.

  Eight black horses awaited them outside the donjon, with Tighe at the head. Ranulf lifted her into the saddle, and she clutched the pommel as another pain gripped her.

  “You are unhurt?” Ranulf demanded, his haste making his words harsh.

  “Aye, I am well.”

  “Then I must see to my man.”

  She turned in the saddle to see Maularde being helped to his horse. His left leg was bleeding profusely and his tabard showed a long, jagged cut.

  Ranulf exchanged a few words with his knight and then returned to Lyonene, mounting behind her.

  “He can travel?” she asked.

  “Aye, for a while. He took an ax blade in his leg. He must have it attended soon or he may lose his leg, if not his life.”

  Lyonene looked ahead as Ranulf took the reins and spurred Tighe into a gallop. Another pain left her breathless, and she realized the babe had decided to meet his father. She gave a silent prayer for time, time enough to escape Sir Morell’s army that followed them.

  They rode fast and hard for near two hours when Ranulf called a halt. Lyonene clutched her stomach, grateful for the stillness, the relief from the jolting horse. Ranulf dismounted and walked to Maularde.

  “I fear he has fainted, my lord.” She heard Hugo’s quiet voice.

  Lyonene whirled to look at the guardsman. The strong, dark knight slumped forward over his horse’s neck. Blood covered one whole side of rider and horse. The sight did nothing to relieve the pains she already felt.

  “He can ride no further,” Ranulf said, his voice serious. “My wife also grows weary. I will stay here with them, there is a shack beyond those trees. You must ride even harder than before, for if Morell’s men see you and know I am not with you, they will return here and find us.”

  The six men nodded gravely, understanding the situation.

  “Dacre’s men await you. Give me any cloths you have for Maularde’s leg. Go now and do not return until it is safe.”

  They nodded and several prayers for safety were said as they quickly removed extra clothing from the leather bags behind their saddles.

  It seemed incredibly quiet when they were gone. Ranulf took the reins of both horses and led them into the woods to a little stone cottage with a pegged, half-missing thatched roof that offered some shelter. Ranulf left the horses and riders hidden under some trees as he drew his sword and thoroughly checked the property. Only when he was sure that it was empty did he return to the horses. He lifted Lyonene from the horse and set her to her feet. She leaned back against a tree for support.

  Removing Maularde from his horse with the gentleness that was needed was not an easy job, but Ranulf knew the man’s life depended on his care. Ranulf’s legs bent under the weight of carrying his guardsman into the dark hut. He carefully stretched him on the dirty floor rushes.

  Lyonene clutched her stomach as another pain gripped her. They came closer together now, and each was stronger than the last. There was no time to be frightened as she thought of Maularde’s life. She entered the little cottage.

  “Here,” she said as she knelt by Maularde. “I will tend him. You must lift him as we remove the chausses. Fetch the extra cloths. Can we not have a fire?”

  “Nay, we cannot. I but hope Morell’s men do not see this place. Morell! I should like to meet him myself.”

  “Do not waste the time thinking of him. Go and find water and a vessel to hold it. I must cleanse this wound and bind it.”

  Ranulf left her silently, before he saw her eyes close against the tightening of her stomach.

  “It is the babe?” came Maularde’s ragged whisper.

  She smiled at him and smoothed back his sweat-dampened hair. “Do not speak now. We will care for you and you will be well, but you must rest also. And aye, it is the babe, but do not say so to Ranulf.”

  “I think he will know soon enough.”

  “I fear your words are true. Quiet now. I will hurt you more, for I need to remove some bits of iron from your leg.”

  Ranulf returned with a large pottery bowl of water. “It is broken, but it still will hold some water. Maularde speaks to you?”

  “Aye.” She looked at the guardsman fondly. “He worries for my safety.”

  Ranulf looked at her for the first time, saw the strain on her face. He touched her hair, caressing her cheek.

  Lyonene bent forward against a pain. Ranulf pulled her to him.

  “The babe kicks you again?”

  “Aye, he kicks most vigorously. Now tear some linen and wet it so that I may help your man.”

  They worked together, silently, as Lyonene carefully removed the bits of iron with a green stick that had the bark stripped from it. She had to stop often to hold herself against the pains that were closer and closer together. Ranulf said little when she bowed her head against the pain, but supported her back and shoulders.

  At last Maularde’s leg was bound, and although they thought he slept, he opened his eyes and spoke to them.

  “Now it is your turn, my lady.”

  “Aye,” she agreed, smiling, “I fear you are right.” The pains had little time between them now.

  “What is this?” Ranulf demanded.

  “Your babe comes, my lord,” Maularde whispered.

  “It cannot. There is no woman here to tend to the birth.”

  Lyonene managed a bit of a laugh as an even stronger pain gripped her.

  “Lyonene, you cannot deliver now. You must wait until I fetch someone.”

  “Nay, Ranulf, do not leave me. Help me to lie down.”

  He pulled her to his arms gently and she felt his strong body begin to shake.

  “I fear I add to the blood on you, for birthing is messy work. Ranulf! I but meant to make a jest. Do not take on so. It is easy work.”

  He laid her carefully on the rushes. “I will fetch moss to make a bed for you.” His voice showed his strain. “There is time?”

  “Aye, a few moments.”

  Ranulf hurried from the cottage.

  Another pain gripped her, and as her hands clawed at the floor rushes, she felt a warm, solid hand in her own. Maularde’s strength and nearness reassured her.

  Ranulf returned quickly and spread the moss beneath her. He saw the hands held between his wife and his guardsman. He did not break the contact, but was glad for it. Lyonene drew her legs up, pushing downward at each pain.

  Ranulf took charge of himself and used his estoc to cut her underclothing away. He wiped her forehead and murmured encouragement to her as the pains shook her. They were quiet as they heard the sounds of a hundred horses nearby, knowing it could be but moments before Morell found them. They all sighed in relief when the riders passed.

  There was not long for stillness, for Lyonene’s water broke then and Ranulf, having helped with many foals, knew the babe was coming. Maularde dragged himself nearer her head and kept her from screaming as the baby’s head appeared. Ranulf did little more than catch the babe as Lyonene gave one last push.

  Quickly, he removed the cord from the child’s neck and the mucus from its tiny mouth. The child let out a great wail of protest at its new, cold environment and Ranulf hurriedly tended to cutting the cord and discarding the afterbirth.

  Maularde seemed to have been invigorated by the child’s birth, and it was he who wiped the squalling child with a square from a velvet tabard. He wrapped the infant warmly, gently touching the thick crop of black hair that covered the wrinkled head.

  He handed the child to the exhausted Lyonene, and she touched the little face, the tiny ears.