The Black Lyon Read online

  Ranulf smiled at his son proudly. “I fear the boy does not like you as well as I, my men.”

  Corbet recovered his voice. “Well, it has taken almost a year exactly for this son, from the day of your marriage to now. You have won us a few wagers, my lord.”

  Ranulf frowned a moment in puzzlement and then grinned. “I will guess that Dacre has a hand in this. I shall be glad to see him pay. If he seems reluctant, I will gladly help you collect.”

  Lyonene looked away, pretending not to understand their words, but secretly vowing to someday repay Lord Dacre for his presumption.

  Ranulf stepped forward and gently took the boy from her. He took him outside and his men followed. She went to the window and watched as her husband proudly unwrapped the boy and displayed him to his men. She could hear his boasts of the boy’s strengths. It made her warm to see the tenderness, the protective way Ranulf held his son.

  A fire was lit, and Gilbert and Herne went to seek a nearby village so they could have food and clean linens for the babe. Lyonene knew no bath had ever been as welcome as this one inside a crude Irish hut. For the first time she carefully bathed her new little son, admiring and marveling at his perfect features and at the eyes that, as Ranulf had said, grew more green each passing hour.

  They stayed there in that little hut for two days, more to give Maularde’s leg a chance to heal than anything else. Since the knight refused to ride in a wagon, Ranulf and his men rigged a sling for him on his horse so that his leg remained straight on the return journey to Malvoisin.

  They traveled slowly, resting often, and Ranulf was especially attentive to Lyonene’s needs, always ready to offer his help to her. She never asked what had happened to Sir Morell or Amicia, or even to Lady Margaret, but several times she saw Hugo and Ranulf in deep conversation and somehow sensed that they were forever safe from further treachery.

  At Waterford they boarded a ship to return to England. Lyonene did not know if it was her happiness or the fact that she no longer carried a child, but on the three-day trip she was never ill and indeed enjoyed the soft air, the tangy smell of the sea.

  It was a long five days’ travel to Malvoisin, and never had she ached for such a journey to end. Even the ferry ride to the island seemed to take a day. By the time they saw the gray towers of the castle before them, Montgomery was seventeen days old and beginning to gain weight. He slept nearly always, often cradled against his father’s strong arm, oblivious to the many people and events surrounding him.

  Trumpets blared when they were in sight of the castle and the villagers and castlefolk ran to greet them. The word of the child had reached them and they crowded to see him, raising loud, joyous cheers when they saw the healthy crop of black hair.

  “Ranulf!” Lyonene touched his arm. She looked ahead to several people seated on horseback, just leaving the castle walls. She spurred her horse forward, heedless of the guardsmen who immediately followed her. When she was close to the horses, she dismounted and began to run, her arms outstretched. Her mother met her, and their arms locked together and they cried in their gladness at seeing one another again.

  “You are unharmed, my daughter?” Melite questioned. “They caused you no pain?”

  “Nay, I am well and very happy to be home. Father is here also?”

  Melite stepped back and Lyonene embraced her father, who hastily wiped away a tear.

  “You look well, my daughter. You look as fit as the lioness I named you for.”

  She beamed at both of them.

  “And she has produced a lion cub for your grandchild, a green-eyed, black-haired, iron-lunged cub at that.” Ranulf threw one leg across Tighe’s back and slid to the ground, not even jolting the child he so proudly held.

  Melite took the baby and touched the sleeping face. Together they walked through the east barbican and into the inner bailey, where the castle servants waited to see the babe. When at last they entered the Black Hall, it was Lyonene who first saw Brent. He sat alone on a cushioned window seat, unsure of himself and his place among the strangers. Ranulf and Lyonene had been away for over four months, and to a child of six years, they seemed like strangers to him.

  Lyonene went to sit by him while the others took Montgomery and admired him. “Brent, it is good to see you again.”

  “And you, my lady.” He twisted his tabard hem in his hands.

  “Would you like for me to tell you how Lord Ranulf saved me? How he came through my window on a rope, how he chopped wood?”

  Brent’s eyes lit. “The Black Lion chopped wood? I cannot believe you.”

  As she told the story, she saw him relax. Gradually he lost his nervousness and began to feel he had a place. Ranulf came to them, carrying Montgomery.

  “Would you like to see my son, Brent?”

  “I … yes,” he said hesitantly.

  Ranulf knelt to the boy, and while Brent studied the baby, Ranulf watched Brent. “Of course he is small and quite worthless.”

  Lyonene raised her eyebrows at Ranulf’s statement.

  “It will take some men such as you and I, and of course the Black Guard, to train him before he can become a knight. Do you think we could teach him?”

  Brent’s blue eyes glowed. “Aye, I do, my lord.”

  “And as my page, you will watch over him and protect him?”

  “Aye, I will.”

  “Good. Now I must see to my castle. Has all been well since I was gone?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. Walter has let me have my own tiercel. He says…” The boy stopped at the door and waited impatiently for his master.

  Ranulf gave his son to Lyonene, and as she held him, her husband put one hand behind her head and pulled her face to his to kiss her softly and lingeringly. “I cannot believe the child is mine, for I vow it had been more than a year since I last touched you.” He kissed her again, a movement from the child keeping him from crushing her to him.

  “Lyonene,” Melite called.

  Ranulf stepped away from her. “What think you they would say if I threw you across my horse and carried you away?”

  She leaned near him, one hand on his chest. “I am willing to test their words, whether they be anger or joy.”

  Ranulf touched her hair, his thumb grazing her eyelash. “You are a wanton woman. Who would feed my son?”

  “We could take him with us.”

  “You are a devil to tempt me so. Have you no honor?”

  “My honor is you, and I would follow you wherever you led.”

  “Lady Melite, come and take this daughter of yours away. I find her still to have no manners before her guests.”

  Melite smiled from one to the other. “I fear I must defend her. She was ever a good and sweet child before she looked at your lordship.”

  Lyonene giggled.

  His eyes sparkling, Ranulf shook his head as he looked from his mother-in-law to his wife. He paused at the door for one last glimpse of Lyonene as she cooed at the child, smiled peacefully as he harkened to Brent’s demands and followed the boy.

  Melite did not need to ask after her daughter’s happiness, for it showed on her face—her contentment and joy with her husband, her son, her home. Melite was glad to see the peace and harmony that reigned.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The news of Lyonene’s safe return spread quickly throughout the kingdom, and guests began arriving. She ran to Berengaria’s arms as they clasped one another, joyous to see each other again. Travers was followed by his son, a seventeen-month-old boy who looked exactly like his mother and thus was a pretty child. It was a contrast to see the angelic boy near the ugliness of his father.

  “I know what you think,” Berengaria whispered, “and I am glad also he has the look of me. But come, I would see what that great black husband of yours has produced.”

  Berengaria exclaimed over the green-eyed child with pleasure, as everyone did, and Montgomery already seemed to preen under their affection. “He has the look of his father already,” Berengaria sai