The Black Lyon Read online

  “Mother! Whatever are you saying? I believe you are talking to yourself!”

  “You may be impertinent with Lord Ranulf, but you may not do so with me.”

  Lyonene laughed and then sobered. “I am sorry, Mother. It is only that he has called me just so this day. Is he not a wondrous man?”

  Melite sighed, for she saw several hours ahead of hearing of Lord Ranulf’s charms.

  They spent the afternoon in the great bedchamber of William and Melite, which also acted as a solar. Lyonene could not concentrate on her sewing. She constantly held the ring to the light to catch the sparkle of the emeralds and too often ran to the window to look toward the lists.

  “Lyonene,” Melite said casually, “this year’s apple crop was especially good. Go to the kitchen and have Cook give you a few.”

  “I am not hungry.”

  “Nay, but I thought mayhaps that black horse of Lord Ranulf’s would be.”

  Lyonene jumped from her chair and ran to her mother to give her a quick hug and kiss her cheek. She had almost reached the door when a thought came to her and she looked back. “Someday, I shall ask you what message my father sent that was so urgent that I was left alone to bathe my Lord Ranulf.”

  There was only a flicker across Melite’s face, but it was enough to answer her daughter. Laughing, Lyonene went to the kitchen.

  The stables were warm and sweet-smelling as she carried a small basket of apples toward the enormous horse in the end stall.

  She stroked his head and opened the door. The horse daintily ate the apples from her hand as she ran her hands over the powerful neck.

  “Lyonene! What do you do? You should not be in Tighe’s stall. It is dangerous!” Geoffrey called to her.

  She smiled at him over the low wooden wall. “He is as gentle as his master.” She rubbed the velvet nose, then took an iron comb from the wall and began to comb the long, profuse mane.

  Geoffrey stood before the gate, an expression of awe on his face. “The horse is a stallion and not at all gentle. I have never seen him behave so with anyone besides Ranulf. Did you not know he nipped your father’s stable master?”

  “The man, I am sure, deserved the punishment. See how sweet he is?” She stooped before one of Tighe’s legs and stroked the long hair that grew from knee to the floor. “I have never seen a horse with hair like this. Of course Tighe is very vain; a horse so beautiful would have to be.”

  “Lyonene, I have never seen a girl such as you. My brother is most fortunate.”

  She stood and fed Tighe more apples. “Something I do not understand is why he is not married. I know he was married before, but that was long ago. How the women of King Edward’s court have let such a gentle, kind man escape is beyond me.”

  “Oh, but they have tried. But always there is something in their eyes and manner that shows too well, and that is their greed.”

  Lyonene felt the blood rush to her cheeks and looked away. “But I, too, am greedy for him.”

  Geoffrey laughed. “The women of the court are greedy for his wealth as much as for him. It is this that is easy to see. They appraise his clothes, the sable lining of his mantle, the jewels on his hem, even the accounts of his estates.”

  “Estates? But there is only Malvoisin, an island south of England.”

  “Malvoisin is only one of many. There is…”

  “Do not tell me! I do not like to think of my Ranulf as one of the king’s earls. It frightens me more than a little. I almost wish he were a farmer like my father; then he would stay at home and play with our children.”

  “What is this I hear of children?” Ranulf came toward them. “I have yet to touch the girl and already she believes herself to be a mother.”

  Geoffrey looked from one to the other. “I will go and talk to Maularde.”

  Ranulf chuckled as his brother left.

  “What is so amusing?”

  “Maularde rarely talks to anyone.” He turned back to her, the stall gate separating them. “I think you marry me for my horse.” He watched her comb the long mane. “When we are at Malvoisin I will find a suitable mare and mayhaps Tighe can produce a daughter for you.” The big stallion hit Ranulf’s shoulder with his head. “See, even the idea pleases him. Now, come out here to me. I will have to sell him if you spoil him more.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and stared at her intensely. “I wish to remember you well, for I leave in the morn.”

  “You cannot! Not so soon.” She swayed toward him. “Could you not stay until the banns are read, until the marriage? Then we may leave together for my new home.”

  “I cannot. I have told my steward I will be there, but I could not stay near you for so long. I will return on the day of the marriage and you will be mine. Now you must return to your mother.”

  She backed away from him. “You ever send me to my mother. I would stay with you.”

  “You cannot stay with me until you are my wife—I could not bear it. Now go or I will carry you.”

  She grinned at him wickedly and did not move an inch.

  He unceremoniously tossed her over his shoulder, a most unladylike position. She screamed for him to release her, which he did before they reached the stable door.

  “I am sure I am the most abused bride in all of England and sure the only one who was not kissed properly at her betrothal.”

  “You do not know… I cannot kiss you every moment and naught else. I leave early on the morrow. If you meet me then, I will kiss you before I go. Now do not tempt me further.”

  She walked slowly back to the old stone donjon and up the wooden stairs.

  At supper the betrothal was announced and a cheer given. The Black Guard stood and lifted their cups to her, and each man said a sentence to Lyonene’s beauty and charm.

  “They are pleasant men,” Lyonene said, laughing. She did not notice Ranulf’s whitened knuckles or the deep scowl on his face.

  After the meal, Lyonene played her psaltery, a harp-like instrument, and sang. Her voice was clear and pretty and she looked only at Ranulf as she sang the old love songs.

  He kissed her hand as he bade her good sleep, and they parted for the night, both very aware of the one thin wall separating them. Ranulf was glad Lucy had returned from the village so he would not be tempted to enter her room as he’d done the night before.

  For a brief instant, before he slept, questions came to his brain, questions as to the wisdom of marriage with this unknown girl. It was true that she looked at him as no other woman ever had, but did she also look at other men so? Was she a better mummer than the women at court, to make him believe she cared for him and not the wealth of Malvoisin? He dismissed the thoughts, but they were to haunt him later.

  * * *

  Lyonene stretched luxuriously—a tawny cat. She felt that something good was to happen today, an excitement she could not name. Then, eyes fully open, she sprang nude from the bed, careful not to wake Lucy, and hastily dressed. Lion would leave this morn and she must see him.

  In the Great Hall below in the dim light she saw that her father’s men yet slept soundly, but the Black Guard were not present. Silently, she made her way to the door and toward the stables. The sun did not even show pink yet, it was so early.

  She stood at the stable door, her eyes focusing in the dark building.

  “My Lioness awakes early.” His voice was low, his breath soft as he sent shivers of pleasure through her body.

  She whirled and sent him a brilliant smile. “And so does my Lion, it seems.”

  “Careful with those smiles, Lioness, or I may find a den for us.” He rolled his eyes in meaning.

  She covered her mouth over the giggles that trilled out. It was then that she saw Geoffrey standing so close. Over his shoulder was a horse’s bridle. “You go also?”

  Geoffrey was very aware of the scowl that grew on his brother’s face, but it scared him not. This new jealousy of Ranulf’s deserved some teasing.

  Lyonene looked into the blue