Lyonene tried to still her aching head the next morn, but Ranulf’s jests did not help. She looked away when he teased her for her actions during the night. Her stomach turned over several times when he pulled her from the bed and clasped her to him.
“Edward ever likes his tricks. He gave me white wine to use to dilute your red. I must thank him, for the results were…” He bit her earlobe. “There is not an inch of skin left on my back. How will I explain such wounds to my page?”
She could feel the hot blood flooding her face, and she refused to meet his laughing eyes.
“Mmm, my Lioness.” He buried his face in her neck. “I regret the time we have lost. I know you are not well, but are you too ill to begin the return journey to Malvoisin?”
In spite of her head and her stomach, she managed a timid smile. “Aye,” she whispered, “I am ready to return home.”
It was late in the day before they could begin the journey. Clothes, food, weapons, armor, tents had to be packed in wagons, Maude and the other two women from Malvoisin found and good-byes said. Lyonene regretted leaving Berengaria, and they exchanged promises to visit one another.
Brent gave one mournful look to his mother, and then even a hint of sadness left him as Ranulf led a solid-black pony into the courtyard and handed the reins to his new page. Henry de Lacy laughed and accused Ranulf of spoiling the boy, but Ranulf stated that all his men were treated with honor, as they deserved. Lyonene hid her smile at the solemn man-face on the six-year-old child.
A quick glance at the Black Guard showed Corbet and Sainneville to be in much worse shape than Lyonene. Ranulf heartily slapped both men on the back and asked if they did not think it a lovely day. He winked at Lyonene, who could not see the humor of the jest since her own stomach refused to remain still.
The return journey to Malvoisin was slow, taking a full week. They stayed at no castles, preferring to pitch their tents and spend the night with just a thin sheet of fabric separating them from the warm spring air. They often walked hand-in-hand among the trees, laughing, kissing, enjoying.
From the time they crossed the ferry to the Isle of Malvoisin, Lyonene felt a tense excitement. When the first sight of the pennants came into view, she and Ranulf exchanged looks and secret smiles, then spurred their horses ahead. They entered through the west barbican, as before, only this time Lyonene bent to touch the offered hands also.
There was only one blot on their joyous homecoming: the sight of a knight who glared at them, half-concealed by the stable walls. She remembered having seen him once before on guard duty. He gave her a smirking look, and she turned away quickly.
Ranulf swung Lyonene from her horse, his hands lingering on her tiny waist. He held her aloft a moment and they smiled into one another’s eyes.
“My lady, you are returned! I near died of fright every moment you were away.” Lucy waddled toward her mistress.
“Her fretting does not seem to have affected her appetite,” Ranulf whispered as they both saw that Lucy had added weight.
“And this baggage! It seems she helped you in your wicked plot.” She tossed her head back to the maid, Kate, who smiled nervously. Lyonene knew that for all Lucy’s words, she would never be mean to Kate or anyone else. The old woman turned to Ranulf for the first time. “You seem to have come to your senses,” she sniffed, eyeing the ease between them, the touches.
Ranulf did not smile but Lyonene could see the amusement in his eyes. “If you mean about this Lioness, I had no choice. She spent many hours working at ways to seduce me. A man can resist only so long.”
“Ranulf!” Lyonene gave him a horrified look.
Lucy looked from one to the other, serious. “I have told her to do so. A woman should not need to depend upon the infrequent thoughts of a man to get what she wants.”
Lyonene could not speak, she was so embarrassed.
Ranulf grinned then and took Lyonene’s hand and held it to his lips, his eyes never leaving Lucy’s. “She has gotten what she wants now. But it has not been easy for me—all day and all night.” He ignored Lyonene’s half-scream, holding her hand firmly to him.
Lucy grinned. “It certainly looks as if her wants have agreed with you.”
Lyonene gave a violent jerk to her hand and drew it from Ranulf’s. “I will not be discussed like a … tavern wench!” Her head held high, she marched to the front door of Black Hall. She had to use all her strength to keep from losing her slight composure when she heard Ranulf say something about, “…best tavern wench I’ve ever had…” and Lucy’s giggle of delight.
Brent, his excitement at the unusual castle no longer contained, burst past her. She was happy to show the boy all the beauties of Malvoisin, and experienced anew the wonder of glass windows, tapestries and carpets.
The day was spent in hearing reports of happenings in the near two months they had been away. William de Bec, the steward, reported problems at Lyonene’s dower castle, Gethen. It seemed a neighbor had decided to declare that a large portion of the estate belonged to him. Ranulf sent William and six garrison knights to report on the matter.
The days lengthened and ran together in a blur of happiness for Lyonene. She and Bassett, the gardener, worked together to fill the Queen’s Garden with roses, lilies, marigolds, poppies, daffodils and many herbs. Espaliered cherry, apple and peach trees covered the walls. On the warm nights, she and Ranulf often sat together by the tiled fountain and talked or sang.
Ranulf spent near two weeks tending to his other manors. When he returned, their reunion was joyous. They spent many hours together in the solar, drinking from one another’s cups, telling stories of their separate happenings.
It was in late June as they sat in the solar, Brent drowsing on a sun-warmed carpet, wrapped around the puppy Ranulf had given him, that a servant announced a fire in the village. Ranulf went immediately, Brent not far behind.
It was late when the Black Guard returned with their master, their bodies blackened by the smoke.
“We could not save the houses, but the people are alive, although burned. Could you see to them?” he asked tiredly as the men wearily walked to the river to wash.
Daylight saw a lord and his lady who had not slept at all through the night. They climbed the stairs to their room, arms locked, eyes barely open.
“Here you go.” Lucy handed Lyonene a basket, which she took only because of a remembered response. “No one will let you sleep here. Soon the whole castle will awake, and then William will have a problem that desperately needs solving and then Bassett will ask for her ladyship’s help. You must go. I have prepared you food and that mean, devilhorse of yours is saddled, so off you go. I do not wish to see you until nightfall.”
Ranulf seemed to shrug his weariness away easily. He ran a hand down Lyonene’s back and firmly cupped her behind, grinning impishly when she jumped. “Lucy, you are after my own heart. I am so pleased that I do not even defend Tighe’s abused name. Come, Lioness, I know a glade that you will enjoy.” He took her hand and near pulled her to the door. She had only time for a smile of gratitude to Lucy.
The glade proved to be more than Ranulf had promised. It was sheltered and private, the ground soft with moss and tiny pink flowers.
Lyonene wore only her linen undertunic and Ranulf his loincloth. He leaned against a tree and Lyonene snuggled her back against his chest, his arms encircling her.
“You are no longer unhappy you married me?” she asked.
“I was never unhappy.”
She smiled and moved closer to him, her hand running idly along his thigh. “You are pleased also with Brent?”
He turned her to look at him, lifting one eyebrow. “Why all these questions? Has aught displeased you?”
“Nay.” She lay back against him. “I am happy. I but wondered how you felt towards me and towards … children.”
He snorted. “You are a troublesome baggage, but men must make do with their wives. As for children, or at least Brent, I grow fonder of the boy each day. Brother Jonathan says he is most bright and can write his own name. Corbet has been teaching him…” He stopped abruptly and turned her again to face him, a black scowl on his face. “Why do you ask me these questions?”
She put a hand on his chest and laughed. “I am not your enemy, Ranulf, that you must turn such a face on me.” She winced. “You hurt me!” He released her so quickly she almost fell backwards.
She smiled secretly and took her place against him again. “To answer you, I am but curious.” She felt him relax against her. “Whatever did you think me to mean, my lord?”
He took a deep breath and sighed, totally relaxed. “You startled me, ’tis all. I thought, for a moment, you meant to say you were with child.”
“And if those were my words?”
He tightened again and then relaxed. “I would force myself to bear such news with the courage that befits a knight and an earl.”
She was glad he could not see her expression. “And what courage could you speak of? I see no great feat for a man to create a babe.”
“It is not the creating, but the eternal responsibility. A child is a serious undertaking.”
“And you would bear the news with the gravity that befitted the occasion?” If he could have seen her eyes he would not have fallen into her trap so readily.
“Most assuredly. All in all, I am glad you are not breeding, for I have not had the time to think on the duties of being a … father.”
Her heart fell somewhat. “But what of your daughter?”
Ranulf was quiet. “I was young then and…” He paused. “Let us not talk of this more.”
She turned to him then. “But, my husband, we must speak of this, for at Christmas, I plan to present you with a most special gift.”
He grinned. “And what can it be? There is naught that I do not have.”
She shook her head at him. “Mayhaps I should have Brother Jonathan create a mind for you from paper. It could not be of less substance than the one you now attempt to use.”
He frowned at her and then all color drained from his face, his eyes wide.
She looked down at her hands. “Please do not say you are displeased. I do not think I could bear it.”
They sat in silence for what seemed to be hours, and then Ranulf lifted her chin with his fingertips. She could almost swear that the strong, masculine hand, the hand of the Black Lion, king’s champion, trembled. His eyes held a strange expression.
“This is true? You will bear me a babe?”
She nodded, not sure what she saw in his face. He dropped his hand and stood up with lightning speed, his legs wide apart, hands on hips, and threw back his head, giving the loudest, ugliest, most terrifying war cry she had ever heard. She covered her ears against that hideous sound, which sent tremors of unknown terror through her body.
The sound carried for a long way, and those who heard also shuddered at the sound, never before given off a battlefield.
Lyonene still sat with her hands over her ears when Ranulf looked back at her. He pulled her to him to study her face and then kissed her mouth, hard.
“I may take it that the news does not cause your displeasure?”
He swung her into his arms. “No man has ever been happier.”
“You do not think of responsibilities and duties?” she teased.
“Your fun of me is at an end. I should like a son first and then a score of daughters. I will need a boy to help me protect my beautiful daughters. And I shall never allow them to marry, but keep them by me always to fetch my slippers and tend to my wine.” He paused a moment. “Of a surety, Edward will take credit for this.”
“What has the king to do with our child?”
“If it is to be born at Christmas, then it had to have been created at the Round Table.” He gave her a mocking look. “My poor brain has always been good at arithmetic, if not at women’s riddles. Edward will say it was the white wine he had me mix with your red. Of course everyone else would agree, for you had an unwholesome look on your face when I carried you from the hall.”
“You did not carry me!”
“I most assuredly did. There were great cheers and not a few suggestions as to how to proceed from there, but I fear you outdid any suggestion a mere man could create. Yes, I am sure ’twas that night that made my child.”
He laughed when her fist pelted his naked chest. “What will our boy say of a mother who beats his father?”
“He will probably join me, or it would be my good fortune to bear a braggart just like you. His first steps will no doubt be a swagger, his first words a boast.”
Ranulf laughed hard and hugged her to him. “Then you must indeed have my daughters, for who else will listen to us?”
“I am sure you will find someone.”
“That is true, but they all sit in rapture of me. No other woman makes me work so hard to make an impression or beats me when I go too far.”
She laughed with him and put her arms about his neck. “I shall bear you hundreds of whatever you wish.” They kissed, quietly, sweetly. “You are glad then, truly glad?”
He nibbled her ear. “You are hard to persuade. There is naught I can say. I look forward eagerly to my first child. Now I should like to return to my house and put you to bed and then go and brag to my men.”
“Release me and do not act such a fool. I am well, and the strength I build each day flows to the child and gives him strength.”
He set her down carefully and seemed to consider her words. “I do not know… Lucy and Kate will care for you and keep you from building too much strength, as you say. Now dress that we may return.” His eyes widened. “Should you ride?”
She kept her face perfectly calm. “Nay, I should walk back to the castle.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do not grow too saucy, wench. There are ways to punish you that will not harm the babe.”
She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “And how may that be, my lord?”
He grabbed her arm and with deadly seriousness began to tickle her until she cried. They fell together on the ground, Ranulf ignoring her pleas for mercy. The undertunic, caught beneath his knee, tore away and revealed her breasts. His attentions turned from thoughts of revenge.
Their lovemaking was sweet and gentle, a fitting crown to the news that bound them together, each of them aware of the life they had created in their joy of one another. In a state of sensuous rapture, they fell asleep amidst the moss, the flowers, the trickling water, the lazy drone of insects and the soft warm summer breeze.
Lyonene sat quietly in the solar, a new tabard for Ranulf under her needle. The sounds of the Black Guard from the Great Hall made her smile, for the cheers were loud and growing louder. The comradeship between her husband and his men was a deep friendship, built over years of war, battle, pain and joy, and, she guessed, no small number of kegs of wine.
She was in bed when Ranulf returned, loudly undressed and fell onto the mattress beside her. He roughly pulled her to him as if she were a rag doll and caressed her hardening stomach. He gave a grunt of contentment and fell asleep, his face covered with her hair.
It was two weeks later when the storm began. They woke to a gray sky, lightning flashing in the distance, the air cool and clammy.
Ranulf stood with his men in the courtyard and studied the ugly sky. “I think we should make preparations.” He turned and saw Lyonene’s worried face. “Malvoisin Isle has terrible storms and I think this may be one of the worst. My men and I must prepare the villagers. See you that inside the walls all is secure; I do not wish loose boards flying about the stables or the mews. Assign a boy to each horse to stay the night and calm him. Find William and give him my orders.”
“I am here, Lord Ranulf, and I have begun preparations.” The steward’s voice showed that he needed no one to give him orders. “The shutters are being nailed over the windows.”
Ranulf merely nodded and was gone.
The atmosphere inside the castle changed from its usual noisiness to an eerie quiet. The people seemed to walk on their toes, their voices whispers. The master carpenter and his apprentice carried the tool box about and put extra nails in worn partitions. The horses sensed the coming storm and became nervous and skittish, the boys calming and soothing them.
The garrison knights saw to firewood piles and the storage of food in the stone towers. Leather goods, fabrics, small animals were all taken inside the towers. The courtyards and walkways were thoroughly cleaned to prevent the rain from mixing with the filth, thus turning everything into an open sewer.
The first heavy drops of rain came in the late afternoon.
“Lady Lyonene, you must come. Lord Ranulf said you were not to be outside after the first sign of rain.” Kate, who took her new responsibilities as Lyonene’s maid very seriously, near pulled her mistress to the safety of the stone house.
Inside, it was dark. The windows were all completely shuttered.
“Hodder, please see that a fire is lit in the solar, and fetch towels and robes for Lord Ranulf and Master Brent. They will be wet when they return. And see that Dawkin keeps food and wine hot.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Even as Lyonene mounted the stairs, the storm grew worse. The thunder cracked above their heads, the lightning felt rather than seen. She thought of Ranulf, Brent and the Black Guard outside and she shivered.
The solar was warm and dry, yet each fresh rage of the weather brought a new frown to her face. She could not look out, for the shutters were on the outside, protecting the precious glass windows.
“I cannot work on this!” she said, putting down her sewing. “Why do they not return? Go again and ask Hodder if there is word,” she told Kate.
“My lady, I have but returned. The island is large and they must see to many people. All the watch towers must be lit.”
“What is this? Why must there be a light?”
“To warn any ships of the island. There are many shipwrecks at St. Agnes’ Point.”
“Shipwrecks?” she asked quietly and sat down again.
“Aye. Then the men, Lord Ranulf’s men, must go to the point and look for survivors.”
“Why must he go? Are there not other men?”
“Oh yes, my lady,” Kate answered. “But they are not as honest as Lord Ranulf.” She saw Lyonene did not understand, so she began to explain. “It is the law that whoever finds a ship with no survivors may have the cargo of that ship. If even one person survives, then that person owns the cargo, not the finders.”
“I do not yet see how this affects my husband.”
“Too often the finders will kill the survivors rather than give up their booty. Lord Ranulf goes to see they are not killed.”
“Oh.” She leaned back and digested this information. “But is it not dangerous to go in a storm and search for these neardrowned people?”
“Oh, yes, it is most…” Kate caught her words when she saw the wild look in her mistress’s eye. “Lord Ranulf does but give orders,” she lied. “It is not so dangerous for him. There are others, men who use a boat well who look for people.”
Lyonene was relieved somewhat by the girl’s words, but not enough to continue sewing. “You do not think there is a shipwreck now?”
“No, word would have been sent to us. The whole island knows when there is such an event, even in a storm.”
The hours dragged and Lyonene walked again and again to the windows, forgetting each time they were covered. She heard noises and ran to the stairs to see only darkness below.
It was late when she heard unmistakable sounds of doors and people. She barely touched the stairs as she ran below. She flew to Ranulf, mindless of his wet clothes. He held her to him, aware of her pounding heart.
“Here, I am near drowned and you wet me more.” He kissed her tear-covered eyelids. “Let me go by the fire, for the cold and wet has gone to my bones.”
“Brent! Where is he?” she demanded.
“Corbet took him. Their women will care for him.”
She could not help a pang of jealousy.
Ranulf saw it. “You have not enough with me? You let me stand here and turn to ice? Mayhaps I should have followed my page?”
She grinned at him and pulled him up the stairs, where she dismissed Kate. She hurriedly helped Ranulf peel off his sodden clothes and rubbed him briskly with the towels. Hodder brought a warm robe, fur-lined slippers, hot wine and a charger of soup and roasted chicken.
Once warm, Ranulf attacked the food and drink.
“This is one of the worst I have ever seen,” he said through mouthfuls of food. “I saw the wind lift a dog and carry it a cloth-yard away. Brent was holding onto his saddle with both hands. Hugo pulled him to the front of him and led the pony. The rain slashed so hard we could hardly see. We shall spend months repairing roofs after this. You prepared the castle properly?”
She rubbed his calf muscles with the towel. “Aye, I am glad for the shutters. There is no sign of a ship?”
He paused an instant over a chicken leg and then continued. “Nay. The fires are lit on all the towers and I have sent more men to St. Agnes’ Point. They are to ride at once to me to tell if a ship is sighted.”
“You must go? You cannot send another to give your orders?”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Nay, no one else can … give orders.”
Even as they spoke, Herne broke into the room. “There is a wreck and it looks to be a big one. The rest of the guard are dressing now.”
Ranulf rose abruptly and strode into the bedchamber. Lyonene followed, watching silently as he pulled clothes from chests.
“You cannot leave this to your men?”
He turned a face to her as violent as the storm outside. “Nay, I cannot. Do not say so to me again.” His voice was low and deadly. He pulled on thick woolen chausses, then the linen undershirt.
“Come here,” he finally said. “Do not look so at me. I must go and I do not wish you to plague me.”
She stood before him, silently.
“Where is my Lioness?” he demanded. “Fetch me my heavy woolen mantle. Are you not worth all the gold I spend on you or the food I feed you?”
Her head came up then. “Mayhaps the rain will mold you into a chivalrous knight.”
When he was dressed, he clutched her to him, his strength near cracking her ribs. “If you wish to help, go to the chapel and give us your prayers. I do not wish to fight the sea unaided.”
As he ran down the stairs, he bellowed back at her, “And see the water wiped from my floor. I will not have my house harmed for a hundred storms.”
She heard voices and then the heavy front door slammed. She stood silently in the vast emptiness, the rain blasting the roof, the wind threatening even the heavy stones of the house, before his words came to her—“ … to fight the sea…” He meant to join the men in the boats.
Her mind moved rapidly. Of course! How else could he know whether there were survivors? Unless he was there, the men in the boats could easily remove any traces of people found alive. No one would ever know.
She ran back to the bedchamber and tore through chests to find the wools she sought. In seconds she was dressed, near swaddled in the thick garments.
There was only one horse left in the stable in the inner bailey, an unruly black stallion that she would normally have been afraid to ride. She talked to the sleek animal as she saddled it and it rolled its eyes at her but did not nip at her or kick.
“You must run for me this night. We must forget our prejudices of one another, for Ranulf needs us. I must stop him from what he plans.”
She led the big horse out of the stables and cast herself into the saddle. The horse made one small protest, but she jerked on the reins and he quieted.
“There is no time for play. We must go.”
The stallion did run for her, and the rain and wind cut them, lacerating the rider and horse that had become as one, their purpose agreed upon.
There were many horses and men overlooking St. Agnes’ Point. Lyonene knew if she were seen, one of the Black Guard would return her to the castle. She left the horse near some rocks, not tying it, knowing it was trained to stand.
No one noticed the dark form that followed the cliff wall down to the beach. When a streak of lightning showed her the boats, she saw she was too late. Three boats were already upon the turbulent water, Ranulf easily discerned in the farthest boat.
She knelt in a shadow of the cliff and began to pray with more fervor than she had ever thought possible. The storm continued, soaking her, lashing her, pulling and plucking at her clothes, but she did not notice. She only prayed, keeping her face turned toward the black sea.
It was hours later when she first saw the light specks of the returning boats. She ran to the shore, the salt water spraying her, heedless of the men who ran toward her. Someone’s arm went about her shoulders, but she did not look, for her concern was only on the returning boats.
She saw instantly that he was not there.
She began to run into the sea, but something about her waist stopped her, held her.
The boats came near her and still she could not move.
“I am sorry, my lady,” one of the men yelled over the fury of the storm. “He saw a head and fell over trying to save the bloke. We searched for hours but could not find him.”
Strong arms pulled her around, and her face was buried against a wet shoulder, hands stroking her back, comforting her.
“Nay!” The word bubbled inside her, boiling, festering. She pushed hard against the man who held her, and when she turned to the boatman again, the man took one step backward. The woman had gone mad! Her face was distorted with rage.
The sweet-voiced Lyonene was no longer present. The voice that bellowed across the wind and rain was not even that of a woman.
“You will know hell on earth do you not find him and return him to me—alive! There are no tortures even in Castile that will equal what I will do to you.” She stepped forward and the men around her retreated. She was possessed by something they did not wish to fight.
“Are my words heard? Do not return without him.”
No man protested as they returned to their boats and vigorously began to row themselves out into the deathgiving sea.
There were no protecting hands now as Lyonene sank to her knees, but all hands were clasped together as they followed suit of their mistress and began to pray.
There were watchers from the hill above, and the sight of the tiny girl kneeling in the sand and surf, surrounded by seven dark knights, also on their knees, made them forget the wet, the cold, and they joined in the prayers for the return of their beloved master. No one of them moved or lost fervor even when a faint light began to show and the storm lessened in its fury. There was not a man in the returning boats who did not cross himself and offer a silent prayer at the sight that greeted them.
A hand on her shoulder made Lyonene look up to see the boats. Other hands helped her stand. She did not see him at first, his head bent low. When she was sure he was there, she collapsed, her face buried in her hands, the release making her shoulders droop, her body weak.
Someone knelt beside her and put an arm about her shoulders. When she meant to rise again, she was supported.
She walked to the side of the boat and saw Ranulf, intent upon a long, wet bundle across his lap. When he saw her, he was startled and then angry. He looked up at the man next to her.
“She should not have been allowed here.”
“She has saved your ungrateful life, so do not speak of her so!”
Ranulf was even more startled at the tone of his man, for none had ever dared speak to him in such a manner. “We will speak of this later. Take this.” He handed the bundle to Sainneville. “It is a girl, so treat it with care.”
The rain had dwindled to a drizzle, and the sun made a valiant effort to show itself. Ranulf stepped from the boat his clothes soggy and cold. He looked in puzzlement at the rather skittish behavior of one of the boatmen towards his wife. The man acted almost as if he were afraid of Ranulf’s little wife.
“What have you done in these few hours that has caused my man to rebuke me and these others to fear you?” he asked, frowning.
“Ranulf…” Her lip trembled and then she was in his arms, her sobs racking her body with their violence. He held her to him, frightened himself at the fierceness of her emotion. He pulled the hood away and stroked her wet hair, soothing her.
“Come, my sweet. I am well. I am returned. Do not cry so. Please, you must cease; I can bear it no longer!”
She sniffed and tried to calm herself. “When they returned without you, I could not bear it, I could not think… Oh, Ranulf, they would have left you.”
He looked around at the men near him. “What is this? They would have left me to drown?”
“Aye,” Corbet laughed. “We thought you done for, but your lady had other plans for you than a watery grave. She is tame now, but there has never been a storm to equal her. I vow she made my blood freeze with fear.”
Ranulf frowned, for he knew Corbet jested, but there was a ring of truth in his words. Then he grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “She is a Lioness,” he said proudly as he swept her into his arms and carried her to the top of the hill.
He set her down and left her for a moment to see to Tighe, who had stood faithfully by throughout the storm. Lyonene walked a few feet away to retrieve the waiting stallion from the rocks.
“My lady!” She looked in astonishment as Maularde made a leap for her. She jumped back and avoided the powerful body that flew towards her and landed heavily at her feet.
“Lyonene, be very still.”
She looked in puzzlement at Ranulf and the men staring at her, Ranulf advancing slowly, stealthily. She sensed some danger, mayhaps a wild animal near and so did not move. She was stunned when Ranulf made one quick leap and did but grab the reins of the black horse from her hands.
The horse threw his head back and neighed, his front feet prancing.
“What is this you do?” she demanded. “You frighten the poor animal.” She took the reins and stroked the horse’s nose to calm it, and the animal lowered its head to nuzzle her shoulder.
She looked back at her husband and his guard. There was open-mouthed astonishment on their faces and then, while she watched, all eight men began to laugh. It started slowly, but soon built into a torrent, gales of laughter. First one and then the other fell to their knees, holding their stomachs as they laughed. Eight men rolled about on the wet, mushy ground at her feet.
“Pardon me, my lord,” Sainneville gasped, his eyes tearing, “but you will frighten my horse.”
“The horse’s tail weighs more than she does.” Herne dissolved into more laughter.
“The boatman’s face!” New laughter.
Ranulf was louder than all of them. “She really did it? Edkins looked terrified!”
“I was also! I vow she was twenty feet tall and the storm was silent compared to her booming voice!”
“My lark?” Ranulf gasped. “I called her a lark to Edward. Would he could have seen her!”
Lyonene knew they laughed at her. She had done nothing laughable! “I do not wish to keep you from your fun,” she said icily, “but I return to my home and a fire.”
The men began to sober and sit up. Then each of them tensed and quieted as she first put her foot into the stirrup. When she sat atop the horse and gave them what she hoped was a quelling look, she felt disgusted when they fell again to the ground, their laughter harder and louder than before. She squared her shoulders and left them.
“Lyonene!” Ranulf thundered to a halt on Tighe’s back beside her.
She refused to look at him. “I hate you! You use me as a jest for all your men! You are detestable!”
“Do you not know the reason for our jests?”
She refused to answer him or look at him, urging the stallion ahead of Tighe. Ranulf moved beside her.
“Do you know of the horse you ride?”
She frowned at him, further angered when she saw his amusement. “It is from the stables. I have seen the horse before, ’tis all. I am sorry if I took someone’s personal horse, but there was no other available.” She gave his wet form a scathing look. “Had I thought twice of saving you, I do not think I would repeat the action.”
He chuckled. “But you have never seen the horse ridden?”
“Nay, I have not. He is a smooth-gaited horse, and I wonder now why he is allowed to grow fat.”
“The reason, my sweet, is that Loriage has never allowed anyone on his back for more than a few moments.”
“You jest! He has spirit, but is otherwise gentle.”
Ranulf took her hand and kissed it. “As you have tamed the lion, now you tame this beast. He is Tighe’s son, and I believe I promised you one of his offspring. Of course I did think more in the way of a pretty daughter—not this hellion of a son. I had already decided to geld him.”
As if the stallion heard, he lifted his forefeet from the ground, but Lyonene easily controlled him.
“You hurt her, you ugly beast, and I myself will break your neck,” Ranulf warned, seething.
Lyonene giggled when the horse rolled its eyes at Ranulf. “I am forgiven?”
She gave him a slight smile, not sure yet if he deserved forgiveness.
“You must see the humor, when we saw you leading, as if he were a lamb, this animal that has hurt several men.”
She leaned forward and stroked the animal’s velvety neck. “I have ever had success with the taming of great black animals. Come, Loriage, let us show these old men how fast youth can travel.”
They arrived at the castle gates at the same time, the speed of Loriage more than the heavier Frisian’s, but Ranulf’s dexterity and knowledge of his horse greater.
He swung her to the ground. “Do not ride so fast that you injure my babe,” he warned her.
She could not help smiling at him, pleased that he spoke of their child. He took her hand.
“Come and let us see what the sea has given us, or did you forget why I went bathing this morn? And then I am for sleep.” His eyes raked her. “Or other activities beneath the sheets.”
She squeezed his hand. “I am glad you are here and not…” Her eyes misted.
“You would miss me?”
“Never!”
He grinned and threw back his shoulders, looking ahead to the house. “You lie always.”