The Black Lyon by Jude Deveraux (13)

It was three days later when Ranulf’s next, longest letter arrived.

He wrote that the ribbon had been stolen when he knew Amicia had it. The woman could not have gone to the camp and not have been seen by him. Nor was it possible for Amicia to have sent her own messages or have access to Ranulf’s seal. Lyonene remembered Gressy’s stories of Ranulf’s first wife. It was said the woman attempted to kill herself, so unhappy she was. What treachery could make a woman try to commit a mortal sin?

She had been married to him only six months and already he was a master of lies and deceits. What heights could he climb to in three years? A man does not earn the title of Spawn of the Devil for naught.

She took quill and ink and paper into the solar. She would not let him know she knew of his dishonorable behavior. He should have been honest with her and told her he no longer desired her, rather than sending letters of kindness and practicing deeds of deception.

Amicia stood by a window, her letter in her hand. “You write him?”

Lyonene nodded.

“I am to go with the messenger when he returns. Mayhaps I may deliver it myself. I must prepare a few things.” She swept from the room.

Her letter lay open on a chair seat and Lyonene could not refrain from walking to it. She did not touch it—there was no need. The last line was quite clear.

When Amicia returned, Lyonene was seated again at the little table, but the letter she had begun was crumbled before her. She walked down the stairs to the courtyard, where the messenger waited. Amicia walked ahead to the outer bailey, presumably to obtain a horse for her journey.

“You have a message for me to return?”

“Nay, I do not. Do but tell my husband his child is well and his castle is well cared for.”

The boy looked doubtful, but turned and led his horse toward the gate where Amicia had gone.

The woman was gone only one night, and when she returned, she proudly showed Lyonene a beautiful little jar of rock crystal and gold that contained a small, precious amount of perfume. The Frankish woman reeked of the scent.

“It is an expensive gift and, he says, well deserved. I vow I have never had such a night as this last. I do not wonder you are breeding already with such a husband.”

“Out! I will have no more! You spend your nights as the lowest of women, yet you brag and display your ill-gotten goods. I will bear no more of your insults. William! Show this woman new quarters. She may stay inside the castle walls, but not in the inner bailey. Throw her to the garrison knights for all I care!”

Even through her blaze of anger, she thought she saw a faint smile on the steward’s mouth.

Amicia smiled lazily, knowingly. “You will regret this. It will be you who will leave this fine house and I who gives the orders.” She jerked away from William’s arm and went down the stairs before him. At the door she stopped, not turning, and laughed, an ugly laugh that filled the hall, making the hearers’ flesh crawl.

Almost instantly there was a lightness in the house, now that the woman was gone. Familiar noises returned and servants walked more quickly. Lyonene even thought she saw Hodder smile. She had Loriage saddled and fled to the private glade, where she could be alone.

Dismissing Amicia had not dismissed her troubles. She could still see the letter that told of Ranulf’s love, a thing she had come to want greatly, but the words had been said to another. Why did he marry her? It was not for gold, he had proven not for love and he had not shared her bed until recently; what then was his reason?

A slight noise broke through her thoughts, a remembered sound of metal against metal. She turned over and saw that he stood above her, his face grim.

Her heart began to pound wildly. Ranulf was before her, the man she loved so intensely—yet one who gave his love to a woman he had known only a short while, and not to her. “Your … siege is finished?” The whispered words near choked her.

He sat down beside her, heavily. “Why did you not return my letter?” His voice sounded almost dead.

“You have journeyed far to ask me this one question? Could you not have sent another messenger?”

“Do not give me more questions, but answer me.”

She looked down at her hands. “I did not think you cared for my answer. I am well, as you see, and am carrying your child. William runs your castle quite well.”

“Lyonene! What has made you as this? I am tired. I have ridden all night and all this day without stop to come to you, and now you greet me coldly.”

“ ’Tis not I who is cold.”

He pulled the mail coif from over his head and bent to douse his face and hair in the little stream. “I understand naught of this. Have my letters displeased you? I am not used to writing such letters. Geoffrey says I am clumsy with a pen, though my studies have pleased my teachers.” He leaned back against a tree, the heavy armor dragging at him. “I did not mean to give offense, however I did so.”

Lyonene could not hold her tears. Ranulf was usually so sure of himself. She remembered the last time they had been together in this glade, how he had boasted, how pleased he was at his child.

“The babe does not trouble you?”

She kept her head lowered so he could not see her tears and shook her head.

“Has my blackness grown uglier while I was away that you can bear me no longer?”

She again only shook her head.

“By all that’s holy, Lyonene, look at me!” he shouted. “I leave a wife who laughs, one who kisses me, and in a month I return to one who hates me afresh.”

Tears blurred her vision, choked her words. “I do not hate you.”

“Then why do you send me flowers and a few days later naught but a few short words delivered by a nervous boy?”

“You came just to see why I did such? Just for those few short words?”

The pain she saw in his eyes made her heart tighten as if steel bands bound it. “Nay,” he said, seriously, “it was but an excuse. I came because I thought my Lioness awaited me with kisses and open arms. I tire of angry words and battle.” He held out his hand to her, palm upward, and before she thought, she was in his arms, the iron mail cutting into her soft flesh.

She cried against him, tears running along his neck.

“You rust my mail,” he teased. “Had I known I got but tears for my journey, I would have stayed with Maularde. Can you not spare me one kiss?”

She put one hand on each side of his face and kissed him with a violence she had not known she possessed. He pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss, lips crushed in one another, their stored desires released in a passion of liquid fire.

He pulled back from her. “You do indeed remember me?”

“Nay, I know you not. You are a great black beast of a man come to make love to me.”

He ran his lips along her neck. “You would have me as I am, for I fear that even I quell at the stench I have worked up?”

“Aye, I will have you no matter your smell or your treachery.”

“What is this you speak of?”

“Do you mean to waste so much time in talk?” She began unbuckling the heavy sword belt.

“Nay,” he chuckled. “I need no more words.”

A month apart had raised their desires for one another to fever pitch. They were frantic, clumsy, as they tore their clothes from their bodies. Ranulf, dressed for war, was slower, the iron mail difficult to remove. When Lyonene stood nude before him, the filtered sunlight showing golden on her skin, he paused, and she ran to him. The cold, iron mail bit into her flesh, pinching, nipping, but the slight pain only increased her need for him.

“Nay, do not remove it, come to me.”

She pulled him to her on the velvety ground, relishing in the contrast of his warm, sweet-dampened skin against her legs and the massive hardness, coldness, the total maleness of the iron against her soft breasts.

They came together almost violently, Lyonene crying out at the first moments of painful pleasure. Her hips rose to meet his need of her and they soared together to new heights of fury, of storm-tossed seas and a bursting of lights of fulfillment.

They lay together, locked tightly to one another, their hearts thundering, complete in the dewy aftermoments of their love. Ranulf rolled from her, but kept her to him with one leg over her thighs, his hand caressing her cheek, his eyes soft and happy.

“I think you please me more than I remember.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she smiled up at him. “I would but please a man as powerful as the Black Lion is at this moment.”

“You give me overmuch credit. I fear the Black Lion has no power at this moment.”

“You are wrong, for the stench of you may lay me low.”

Ranulf grinned at her. “A wench who would have me come to her clad in iron is not a lady of delicate sensibilities.”

She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her in a fierce hug. “Nay, I fear I am not a lady when I am near you.” She pulled back and kissed him. “I will help you remove this heavy thing and then we may return home. Mayhaps I will share a tub of hot water with you.”

“A delightful prospect.”

She helped to pull the mail from him, and he pulled her close to him. “You have not told me the cause for your anger at me. Do not say you felt no anger, for I have come to know you.”

“Nay, it matters not my reasons. The anger and the reasons are at an end now. You are with me and naught else matters.”

“I have become as an old woman since I took you to wife and fret overmuch on too many things. I do not feel your troubles are at an end and will not be unless you tell me the causes. Am I so formidable a husband that I am not worthy of your trust?”

“Nay, it is not your trust in me that plagues me, but mine in you. Do not question me more. It is gone now and we are together. I ask for no more.”

He kissed her forehead, not really sure of her answer, but helpless to learn more. He held her at arms’ length, studying her body. There was a little more fullness in her breasts, her stomach harder, only slightly rounder. He ran his hands over her, impersonally.

“I hope I meet with your approval and you make your purchase.”

He ignored her. “I thought women were ill when they carried children. You do not seem affected by my son.”

She shrugged. “I believe some women are. I am glad not to be ill. My husband causes me enough worry without his son adding to it.”

“I am a sweet-tempered man and never give you cause for concern.”

“Aye, it is me that creates my own troubles.”

He frowned at her, her acquiescence more alarming than her anger. He held her against his chest, almost frightened by her strange words. “I will listen, whatever your troubles.” His grip on her tightened until she could not breathe. “There is no other man you desire?”

She hit him with all her might, with her fist, just under his ribs. “You have a meager brain and I will not glory your question with an answer. Now dress yourself so we may return home.” As he turned away smugly, she could not resist a jibe. “There could be no other man, for you took all the most handsome when you took your guard.” His hand gripping her wrist caused such pain as to bring tears to her eyes. “Ranulf, you hurt me! I do but jest. I want no other man. Release me, you great oaf!”

He let her wrist go and then smiled at her, as if ashamed. “I fear there are some jests I cannot see humor in. I have told you I will never share you.”

Her eyes blazed intensely. “And what of you, my husband, am I to share you?” Her voice was serious, almost a whisper.

He seemed startled, her question surprising him. “I have not thought of it. I think it is different with a man than a woman.”

“Are my feelings of hurt and jealousy less than yours because you are a man?”

“Nay, I cannot answer. I have never considered the idea ere now.” He was serious, his brow creased as he concentrated. “All men go to war and there are always women. I do not think it would be the same.”

“All women must wait while their husbands are at war and there are always men.”

“It would matter to you that I had other women?”

“Think you could bear another man’s hands on me? Nay, do not bruise me again, I but use words. I, also, do not like to think of another woman touching you.”

He picked her up then, his arms about her waist, lifting her and holding her above his head. “I have heard that lions take only one mate; mayhaps I am a true lion. Your words are new to me and, in truth, the idea had never crossed my mind. Even King Edward … nay, I will spread no court gossip. I will think on this novel idea. Now I grow hungry. Can we not find that ugly animal you ride and return home?”

“Loriage is beautiful! You are but jealous that he is docile for me and no other.”

“Your words ring true. I hate all men near you, be they horse or even bird. Why could you not be as other females and ride a dappled mare?”

“If I were as other women you would not have me. I am the only woman who neither fears you nor dotes on you. You have been overly spoiled in your life. I wonder what your mother could have been like to rear such as you.”

“My mother was a lady, quiet and gentle, not unlike your own mother. I saw Lady Melite shudder more than once at your wayward behavior.”

“I was never wayward!” she declared as he helped her into Loriage’s saddle. “It was your fawning over me. I could not help teasing a man who looked at me with such great, liquid eyes.”

“ ’Twere I not exceedingly hungry, I would make you regret those words.” His arm flashed out and encircled her, pulling her onto Tighe’s back in front of him. “I think I may yet. Now try to play the lady for a few moments.”

“Being a lady does not get me such rewards as being mauled by a handsome knight.” She wiggled her behind against him.

“You are the mauler, I am…”

“Spare me. You are ever kind and sweet-tempered, I have heard before. Tell me how you came by the name of the Spawn of the Devil, then?”

He ran his teeth along her neck and the beginning of her shoulder, causing chills along her spine. “It was not from being led about by an insolent bit of a girl.” His arms tightened about her. “I have always been content wherever I was, but now I find I cannot bear to be far away from you. You are like food or drink to me, a thing I must have to live. You do not know how your anger made me feel. You will send no more ugly messages through my boy?”

“Aye, I think I will, for it has brought you to me as no sweetly written words could have.”

“You have no respect for the duties of your husband.”

She lifted his hand from her waist and kissed it. “A husband has other duties besides war.”

They rode together to the towering, gray walls of Malvoisin, content and happy at being together again. As hot water was brought to their chamber, the sky outside darkened and it began to rain. A small fire was lit against the chill.

Lyonene bathed Ranulf, with both of them laughing and enjoying their loveplay. Only one moment marred Lyonene’s happiness.

“What has become of our Frankish guest? Do not tell me you gave rein to your anger and slipped a dagger into her? Although I vow there were times when I wished someone had.”

“And what times do you speak of? You know her but a few days. She could not have made her character so well known to you in so short a time.”

Ranulf looked away from his wife’s intense stare. “I have come to know of the woman, but let us not waste our few hours with talk of her. For whatever reason, I am glad she is not here.”

Lyonene did not wish to pursue the subject further either, for Ranulf’s manner showed he concealed something, and in this pleasant moment she did not wish to break the spell with talk of what had destroyed her peace for the month past.

“When must you return to your men and your siege?”

Ranulf stepped from the tub, nude, wet, his skin glowing in the golden firelight. He pulled her to him, the water from him wetting her clothes to the skin. He kissed her and she moved closer to him. “You are a grand substitute for a towel,” he murmured. “I leave on the morrow. Ssh,” he said, putting a finger to her lips. “Do not protest and make the leaving more difficult for me. I am not a man to leave my men to fight my causes alone. We have this night together and it is a long while till morn. Let us make the best use of our time. And do remove those wet clothes! You drip on my floor.”

She grinned at him and began to peel the wet clothes from her body. They made love slowly, lingeringly, not hurrying as before, but exploring and searching one another’s body.

Lyonene was exhausted from the tension of the past month, and the release from worry, from her concern for Ranulf’s wandering affections, gave her a blissful, peaceful sleep. When Ranulf began to move from her, she clutched at him in her sleep. He sighed with pleasure and held her to him.

“Can you know how much I love you, little Lioness?” he whispered to her sleeping form. “Can you know the longing I feel when I am away from you?” He kissed her forehead and slept, his arms tightly holding his wife to him.

Lyonene awoke first and opened her eyes to gaze on Ranulf’s sleeping face. The sooty lashes were almost like a girl’s, his lips soft and sweet. She moved a bit and kissed the thin scar along his cheek and he woke. He smiled into her eyes, one hand tenderly brushing a fat strand of hair from her face.

“I am happy to see you again,” she said quietly. “I began to doubt you remembered me.”

“I did forget at times, but a few things were there to remind me of you.”

“And what were they, my lord?”

“The sun, the moon, wind, grass, small things only.”

She laughed and moved nearer to him. “I would that you did not return to your battle. I am afraid somehow.”

“There is no danger, but fear of a drunk hurling a wooden cask at my head.”

“Nay. I do not jest, and it is not the battle I fear, but else.”

“You should fear the wrath of the Black Lion do you but talk his time away. Can you find no better way to send your knight into battle?”

She turned in his arms and for a while her fears were forgotten, but later they haunted her again as she watched Hodder help his master dress in his heavy chain mail.

“Do not look at me as if ’twere the last time. Go and tell Dawkin to prepare some food to carry back with me.”

While she was gone, Ranulf’s eye caught a faint glow of something in a dark corner. He bent to retrieve it and saw it was the ribbon Lyonene had sewn to resemble her beloved belt. He frowned at it, not understanding how it could have gotten there, for he had last seen it in his own tent, far away at Gethen Castle. There was something that worried her and she refused to tell him its nature, but he knew the ribbon was connected with her troubles. He sighed and slipped the ribbon into the pouch at his waist. When she trusted him, she would confide her fears to him. Until then he must wait, for he guessed that anything less than torture would not force her to answer his questions.

Lyonene did not cry when he rode away, his guard following, but stood silently in the courtyard. She had a heavy feeling in her breast, as if a weight pressed upon it. She sat alone in the garden for a time, trying to rid herself of the ugly feeling but could not.

A week passed quietly and Lyonene almost forgot her fears. But noise below stairs one day set her heart racing. The solar door burst open and Kate pushed through.

“My Lady Lyonene, forgive me, but she has caused a great ruckus. She says she must see you at once.”

“Send her in.” Neither Lyonene nor her maid felt they needed to explain exactly who “she” was.

Amicia came into the room slowly, looking about regally, as if appraising the beautiful proportions, the tapestries, the ornaments. She was, if possible, even thinner than before.

“It is as I remembered.”

“No greeting, Amicia?”

Amicia smiled. “It is Lady Amicia, I think you recall. Nay, no greeting. The Countess of Malvoisin need give no greeting to barons’ daughters.”

“You have me guessing at your riddle, for I am both countess and the daughter of a baron.”

“Such daughter you will always be, but I am not sure you hold your title as well.”

Lyonene felt her anger rising. “Do not hide your meaning, but speak your words clearly. You have something to say to me, so get it done and be gone.”

“Lady Lyonene, you betray your fear of me. I have news to give to you and would that we could have a peace between us.”

“There can be no peace between us. What news do you bring?” Lyonene’s face lost color. “Ranulf! Has aught happened to my husband?”

“Nay.” Amicia ran her hand across the mantel. “He is well, most well and vigorous when I saw him last. Your concern shows on your face. Do you love him well then?”

“What I feel for my husband is my own concern. If you have naught else to say, then leave me.”

“Nay, my lady, I have much to say. The love you bear your husband concerns me greatly, for it is a love we share.”

“I will not begin this afresh. I believed your lies once, but now I do not. Go from my sight.” Lyonene rose in anger.

“You will hear me, for your life may depend upon it.” Amicia’s voice was deadly. “Aye. Your very life may center upon my words.”

Lyonene sat down again, unconvinced, but feeling the woman capable of anything. “Have your say quickly and be gone.”

“Lord Ranulf has shown himself to be a fickle man, I believe, when it comes to women. Look at how he betrothed himself to you after but one day’s meeting with you. I have given you warnings which you heeded not and now you must pay for your disbelief, and most of all for your treatment of me.” Her pale eyes glinted like a snake’s. “As Ranulf de Warbrooke chose you in haste, so he will discard you in like haste.”

“I believe not a word of your sayings. My husband has but left me not a week past. His behavior did not point to his tiring of me.”

“You see, I know Ranulf as you do not. I know he needs women, many women, and I am willing to accept such behavior. Are you, Lady Lyonene?”

She could only stare at the woman, hating her, yet listening in spite of all reason, which told her that the words were false. “I accept my husband as he is, as I must.”

“Well spoken by a loving wife. Will you feel the same when this husband sets another in this fine hall, puts another by his side at table? What say you when another child is favored over yours?” She near whispered this last sentence.

“What is your meaning of another child? Ranulf has no other children but the one I carry.”

“He will soon, my innocent lady, for I carry one now that is as much his as the one you give shelter.”

“Nay! I do not believe you! It is another man’s bastard—if indeed you do hold a child in that fleshless belly—and you try to convince me it is my husband’s.”

“I have given you warning and I have shown you proof of your husband’s love for me. Shall I show you the letters again, for I know you have seen them? Shall I describe the intimate moment of passion when he gave me the ribbon with the lions that you took from me? Nay, I see you know my words to be true.”

Lyonene tried to still her racing heart, calm her emotions and think rationally. When she spoke, it was quietly and deliberately. “Many women must look aside when their husband’s bastards are born. I am no less strong than they.”

“Ah, a most sensible way, but I think you forget King Edward.”

“And what has the king to do with such an ugly matter as you have placed before me?”

“Much, I fear.” Amicia watched Lyonene, studying her reactions to the words. “As has been mentioned, you are but a baron’s daughter, while I am heir to the Duke of Vernet’s properties and fortune. King Edward would like much to have England associated with such lands. Has he not expressed his doubts as to his earl marrying so low-born a woman?”

Lyonene could not answer, but her mind filled with memories.

“Do you know the story of Gilbert de Clare, the Earl of Gloucester? He has obtained his divortium and will soon marry the Princess Joanna. What think you King Edward will say when he finds the Duke of Vernet’s daughter carries the child of the Earl of Malvoisin? Think you he will laugh and pat Lord Ranulf’s shoulder? Or will he think of the war such a great insult to France might bring?”

Lyonene could not reply.

“What will you do then?” the high voice continued. “Will you sit calmly by as the Pope dissolves your marriage? And what of your child? Your child whom you thought to inherit will be cast aside and mine will become the Earl of Malvoisin. Will you remain here and share Lord Ranulf’s bed as his mistress? He seems to enjoy you well. I am sure he will continue to do so, even when you are not tied to one another with a marriage document. Mayhaps you will return to your parents. Will they not be proud of their daughter? Married once to the renowned Black Lion, his son in tow. You will be a prize, and your father will have little difficulty in finding you another husband. What say you to sharing a bed with another man? Mayhaps he will not be so strong as Lord Ranulf or so handsome, but he will have the hammers and iron to forge new babes.”

“Cease!” Lyonene put her hands over her ears. “Leave me! I can bear your presence no longer.”

“It is not my presence that troubles you, but the truth you hear in my words. I will go, but you are far from rid of me.”

Alone again, Lyonene sat, stunned, unable to make a coherent thought. Kate came and went, her questions unheard, unanswered. The woman’s words did indeed have the ring of truth. She seemed to remember every word spoken at court, every hint at her unsuitable marriage to an earl.

What of Ranulf? He seemed to sneer at convention, but he loved his king, and his honor was a matter of great importance to him. What if he were pressured by his king? She knew the answer, knew Ranulf could not disobey his king. Had he not once mentioned Simon de Montfort with hate, saying how the man had risen against his king, tried to overthrow King Edward’s father? Nay, Ranulf was an honorable man and would do what his conscience dictated.

She tried to sew again, but could not. What of Amicia’s crude statement? The idea of another man touching her brought a shudder of revulsion. Yet could she stay and become his mistress, see Amicia in his bed?

Nay! she thought, she could not.

Food was brought to her but she noticed neither it nor the hands that served it. She paced the floor, then stopped to stare through the glass of a window. The courtyard lay below and the retainers of the inner bailey walked about normally, as if this were not a day when Lyonene’s world had shattered.

Ranulf seemed to come to her from every corner, his face, his voice, his words. She had no faith in him! The thought brought new hope to her breast. Perhaps Amicia did lie. The letters could have been forged, the ribbon stolen. She had not seen them together, had no proof of her own that Amicia’s child had been fathered by Ranulf. If the child were not his, then King Edward would not force Ranulf to dissolve his marriage.

She must go to him, yes, she must see for herself if there were any truth to Amicia’s words. A glance at the window showed it to be late, too late to begin a journey.

Her mind worked quickly and she planned her journey with care. Once before she had used a disguise and she would do so again, only this time she must travel as a man, a boy at least. Clothes, she thought. She would need clothes; not rich ones to encourage robbers, but those of an apprentice, perhaps, on an errand for his master. She would need an excuse to be traveling alone. Once the thought of danger crossed her mind, but she shook it away. Her future and that of her child were paramount.

She rummaged through a chest of Ranulf’s and tried on some of his clothes, but they were hopelessly too large and the fabrics too rich for a poor boy.

“Kate, come here,” she called. She knew the girl looked with suspicion at her mistress’s wild-eyed look. “Kate, you have helped me before and now I need your help again. I must go to my Lord Ranulf, but I must do so in secret. No one but the two of us must know.”

“You cannot travel to his lordship without guards.”

“Nay, I must. I have to learn something. If I am right, then I will show myself and there will be no need for secrecy, but if I be wrong… Nay, I do not wish to think on it. But I must have your help. I need a boy’s clothes to fit me, as might befit an apprentice to a guildman. Think you that you can get these? Oh, and make them clean. I do not wish for vermin to infest my skin.”

“Aye, my lady. I can get them.”

Lyonene waited nervously for Kate’s return. She took the offered garments. “You told no one?”

Kate shook her head.

“They look to be of a good size. What else do you hold?”

“They are the boy’s clothes I shall wear.”

“You? But why should you dress as a boy?”

“When I travel with you.”

Lyonene stopped her examination of the garments. “Nay, Kate, you do not go with me. I must go alone.”

“I go with you or I will cry to the castle your intentions.”

Lyonene’s eyes narrowed. “Do you threaten me?”

“Aye, I do.”

Lyonene couldn’t help her laugh. “Then I must retreat. We will leave early on the morrow. You are sure you wish to risk this?”

“Do not force me to think of your folly,” the girl said as she helped Lyonene undress and get into bed.

Lyonene’s last thought before sleep took her was that she was cursed with insolent maids. She sighed and gave a silent prayer of thanks for both Kate and Lucy.

Early the next morn, as Kate and Lyonene packed their clothes, Hodder entered the room. The thin man had never really befriended his new mistress, and the two rarely spoke.

“Yes, Hodder, what is it?”

“I have arranged suitable horses for the three of us. They wait outside the castle walls.”

Kate and Lyonene exchanged glances and then the countess turned back to her husband’s valet. “I do not know your meaning. I have asked for no horses.”

“You could not expect to look as an apprentice astride an animal like Loriage. There is not a robber within England who would not attack for such a horse. Do not stand and stare at me, we must go.”

“Hodder, how…”

“Suffice to say that there is naught that goes on at Malvoisin that I do not know of. You belong to my master and he bid me care for you and I will do so. Now finish with your garments. I have spread the word that you go to the village and will not return until dark. That will give us time before a hue and cry is raised.”

Too astonished to ask further questions, Lyonene obeyed him.

They did not change into their disguise until they were at the ferry that took them from the Isle of Malvoisin to the coast of England. Hodder kept his identity and said he took the two freemen to Lord Ranulf. Kate and Lyonene carefully hid their faces and passed, unrecognized by the ferryman.

They rode hard for all the day and most of the night. When they stopped, Lyonene wearily fell onto the blanket Hodder spread for her. The ground was warm but hard, and when she awoke, her body ached in several places.

It was near sunset when they reached Gethen Castle, but Lyonene, spurred by a nervous energy, was unaware of the long, exhausting journey she had just completed. As the pennants of the Black Lion came into view, she slowed her horse and every nerve in her body screamed for her to return to Malvoisin; she did not want to know if Amicia’s words were the truth.

Hodder sensed her fears. “We can return, my lady,” he said quietly.

“Nay. I must know.”

The camp was not heavily guarded. The knight who did see the three riders saw there was no threat and so did not challenge them. The Black Lion was famous throughout England, and many people came to stare at his camp, hoping for a glimpse of the earl or his Black Guard. Consequently, Hodder was able to lead the two women to a slight ridge very near the enormous black tent Lyonene knew so well.

Although the knight on watch thought little of the three strangers, there was another man who was most interested. He circled the camp and saw with satisfaction that the horses were indeed from Malvoisin. He studied the backs of the three people and grinned broadly when he saw a tawny strand of hair fall from under the too-large cap and then a small hand push it back in place. He fair ran back to his own tent, which he shared with many other of the garrison knights.

Lyonene was the first to see her. Amicia walked confidently to Ranulf’s tent, and Lyonene knew her heart must have stopped along with her breath. So the woman did not lie; she did indeed go to the camp.

“My lady, you must make yourself known. You cannot let that woman go to your husband’s tent.” Kate was indignant.

“Nay, I cannot present myself, for…” She stopped as she saw Ranulf come out of the tent. Her heart lurched at the sight of him, so tall, his dark hair even darker in the fading sunlight, every part of him reminding her of their moments together—such brief moments, she thought now.

Amicia came from behind Ranulf and took his arm, then turned to look up at him, one hand on his chest, caressing it.

The three people could no longer see Ranulf’s face as he turned toward the thin woman. Amicia was talking to him and he was listening earnestly. Her arms slid around his neck and she stood on her toes to press her lips to his.

Lyonene rose and turned back to the horses. “I have seen more than I cared to. We ride for home.”

The return ride to Malvoisin was lost in Lyonene’s memory. The vision of Amicia in Ranulf’s arms was all she saw. So it was true! All that Amicia had said was true. She thought her love for Ranulf was strong enough to bear his children from other women, if need be, but she could not stand by and see him marry another—or find herself married to another man.

She allowed Kate to care for her, blindly doing as she was told. She was not even aware when they arrived at Malvoisin, or when Kate undressed her and put her to bed. She slept fitfully, feeling worse when she awoke.

For two days she was aware of nothing, only sitting in the solar and idly staring or making half-hearted attempts to sew. She felt no anger—no emotion of any kind—when Amicia stormed into the solar one morn.

“So, you know.”

“Aye, I know.”

Amicia grinned slyly. “And what say you now to your fine hopes for the child you carry? Mayhaps Lord Ranulf will allow him to stay and serve my child.”

Lyonene only watched, dully.

“I did not think you so selfish as this,” Amicia continued. “You seem to give little thought to your child, but brood continually on your own broken heart. Many women have found their husbands to stray, but they at least sought to protect their children.”

“I know of no way to protect my son. How can I work against the evil you plot? I am an apprentice to your mastery of devilwork.”

Amicia sat next to Lyonene and took her cold hand. Lyonene frowned at the woman, whose face had changed to show great concern. “My Lady Lyonene, I beg your forgiveness in this matter. I know it was due to you that I was saved from the storm and I owe you my life. I did not mean this to happen, but Lord Ranulf, I cannot explain, the man but looked at me and… I see you understand.”

Amicia leaned closer. “I was a virgin when he took me and I could not resist.”

Lyonene looked away.

“I have never loved a man ere now and I will say that I want him, must have him, just as you want him. I have no right to ask your forgiveness, but there is a way mayhaps I could atone for some of my ill deeds.”

“There is no manner in which you could repay me for what you have done.”

“I know, my lady, and I am ashamed. You were happy before I came and I have taken away your happiness. If I did not carry his child, I would not press the matter. I would return to France and try to mend my broken heart, which would surely be the case were I to leave Lord Ranulf.”

“So what way do you plan to give me back some of that which you have stolen?”

“I cannot save you, but I mayhaps could save your child. Even now a messenger wings his way to King Edward with news of my presence in England and also tells him of the child I carry. The divortium, I am sure, will come soon.”

“How will this save my child?” Lyonene asked, her mouth a grim line.

“If you cannot be found before your child is born, he will be heir to the earldom.”

“I do not trust you. Why would you risk losing a title for your child by telling me this?”

Amicia shrugged. “I owe you my life and, too, there is a chance your child will be a daughter. Also, Ranulf must leave his title to his first-born son. Not so his estates. I do not risk so much as it seems.”

Lyonene considered for a moment. She would not have believed her had she seemed to sacrifice all for Lyonene’s child, but it was true she owed her life to Lyonene and might wish to repay her in some way. “So, you have a plan, it seems?”

Amicia put her finger to her lips and silently walked to the door, searching the empty corridor. She came back and sat next to Lyonene, her voice a whisper. “This must be done in secret. No one must know of it, that nosy valet or your maid. Agreed?”

Lyonene nodded.

“I risk much to plan this and I do not wish to be caught. I have heard your father has relatives in Ireland. This is true?”

“Aye, but I do not know them, although my father has talked much of them.”

“Think you they will harbor you until the safe delivery of your child?”

“Aye, I think they would if they knew he were in danger.”

“Good,” Amicia whispered. “Then I will arrange for a ship to take you to Ireland. You will abide there until after the child’s birth. Then, when the child is safely delivered, you may return to England, to your father’s house. I am sure the divortium will be final by then, but the church will not allow another marriage until you are found. Therefore your child will be first-born and earl.”

Lyonene frowned. “I do not understand. If the divortium is final, how will I still be married to Ranulf?”

Amicia looked about her, wildly, for a moment. “It is too complex to explain. You must trust me, for I am the daughter of a duke and I know better the ways of court law. You agree to this plan?”

“I do not know. I am confused. I…”

“You are selfish!” Amicia said in disgust. “I offer you some safety, a means to escape the plight ahead of you, that you even stop to consider is an indication of your selfishness. Think you of your son when he is twenty and turns to you and asks why you did not consider him in this matter, but only your lust for his handsome father. Then you will have naught, this husband you crave or your son’s love. Will you speak of confusion then, ask his forgiveness when he is little more than a beggar, declared bastard of the Earl of Malvoisin? Mayhaps he will one day see my sons and be reminded…”

“Cease! You go too fast.”

“There is need to haste, for I believe the siege to be over soon.”

“Then Ranulf will return and I may speak with him.”

Amicia threw back her head in a high thin wail of what passed for laughter. “You are more a fool than you seem. You would rather hear my words from this man you simper over? Think you he will allow you to go to Ireland and foil his king’s plan of his earl’s heir being the grandson of a Frankish duke? Nay, my lady, if you leave for Ireland, you do so quickly and before he returns.”

“I… When would the ship leave?”

“On the morrow.”

“So soon? I have had no time to think.”

“I have arranged the time just so, so you could not reconsider. I have watched you and know your lust for him will betray you. You must decide now, this moment, aye or nay, and in a short time you will be off.”

Lyonene could not think. She saw Amicia kissing Ranulf, thought of Ranulf’s relationship with his king and then she thought of their child. “Aye, I will go.”

Amicia gave a smile of triumph. “You have made a wise choice, my lady. This night you must pack only what you can carry in leather bags that go on a horse, no more. And you must let no one know of your plans. No one! Do you understand?”

“Aye, I understand too well,” came Lyonene’s bleak reply.

“I go now, but early on the morrow you must ride out on that black horse of yours. Say the packs carry cloth for the serfs, if anyone asks, but do naught to arouse suspicion. The ship will be gone when they discover you missing.” She left the room.

Lyonene did not move, but later, when Kate helped her to bed, she began to cry and did not stop until the sun showed pink through the glass windows. It was to be her last night as mistress of Malvoisin, her last night in Ranulf’s bed. She rose late—not until the sun was full up—and hurriedly slung garments into the leather bags. She took no jewelry save the lion belt. As a remembrance, she took a small ivory box of Ranulf’s, carved with the lion of Malvoisin. It was made to hold his seal, but now it stood empty.

She gave one last look at the bedchamber where she’d been so happy and shut the door.

Her passage to the ship that waited at St. Agnes’ Point was quite easy. Only Kate had mentioned her mistress’s swollen face from the long night of tears, but Lyonene easily explained that away with a short sentence about pains caused by the babe she carried.

Her stomach was definitely rounded now and she stroked the curve of it, again hoping she did the right thing in her flight.

She could see the sails of the ship ahead, knew it to be one of several belonging to Ranulf, used to buy and sell goods with other kingdoms. Amicia came to her from her hiding place among some brush.

“You are late and Morell needed to make excuses for not sailing,” Amicia said, accusingly.

“Morell?”

“You do not think I could arrange your escape alone? Sir Morell is one of Ranulf’s garrison knights, although he should, by rights, be one of the Black Guard. But this is no time for that. Here, you must hide your clothes and your hair.” She handed Lyonene a cloak of russet.

Lyonene dismounted and donned the mantle. “You will see to Loriage? That he is returned?”

“Now is no time to concern yourself with your precious horse. Aye, I will see to the beast. We must go, now. Morell is not sweet-tempered when his plans are mislaid. Keep your head down and look at no one. I do not wish the guards to see you.”

She followed Amicia onto the ship, standing quietly as the Frankish woman spoke to a man she couldn’t see.

“Get her below then,” came a querulous voice, and Lyonene looked up to see the man who was to take her to Ireland. She had seen him but few times before, yet each instance was etched in her memory. She recalled the times she had seen him standing in shadows where only she could see him, a smirk on his face. He always looked at her as if he seemed to know more of her than he did, as if he but waited for a time when he would discover all that he desired.

Instinctively, Lyonene turned away, her steps going toward the side of the boat and home.

“My Lady Lyonene.” The blond knight held her arm. “Do not be afraid. I will take you to your father’s relatives, and I will protect your safety and your honor with my life. Come below. I have seen to your cabin myself, for I would that you were comfortable.”

She could not look at him.

“I am Sir Morell, late in your esteemed husband’s employ. I say late for I do not think he will care much for me now that I take his wife away, albeit for a good cause. Come with me and be assured that you will be given every consideration.”

Lyonene allowed herself to be led below, more unsure of herself each moment. The cabin was tiny, cramped and airless.

“Lady Lyonene,” he said to her, moving his head nearer hers.

“Yes.” She forced herself to look into his blue eyes. He was handsome in a way, fashionably fair, with brilliant eyes, a thin nose and a straight, firm mouth.

He seemed to understand her scrutiny of him and gave her a one-sided smile. “Lady Lyonene, I must beg an indulgence from you. My men are not knights; in truth, they are not honorable men, and although I would protect you with my life, I fear I have only one life. You are a beautiful woman and I would not like to risk such beauty in contact with the coarse men who ride with me.”

“What is your meaning?” She managed to get words out at last.

“I would protect you from my men.”

“Can you not order them to stay away from my cabin?”

He smiled, his eyes devouring her, the hair cascading about her shoulders, the rise and fall of her breast, the swell of her hips beneath the coarse woolen cloak. “I fear I am not a man to be feared such as the Black Lion; nay, I am more of a lover than else.” He touched a curl along her breast, and a frown creased his brows when she jerked away.

He stepped back from her, seeking to control himself.

“I… I wish to leave this ship.”

“To leave, so soon? But our journey has just begun—our long, slow journey, I might add.”

“There is something wrong. I do not know what, but I have decided that I would rather face my husband than … than what lies before me.”

Sir Morell strove to control his anger. “My lady, your fears are foundless. There is no one here who seeks other than to help you. I know all concerning Lady Amicia, and you must consider your child.” His eyes went to her gently rounded stomach and she covered herself. He continued, “You have made the wisest decision, and when you are safe again amongst your relatives, you will realize it. Until then you are surrounded by strangers and it is only natural that you have some reservations. I am older than you, have seen more of the world, have seen too many young wives discarded for another. Here, sit, my lady.”

He guided Lyonene to the narrow bunk, his fingers running along her forearm for an instant before he relinquished his hold on her.

“I must continue what I began. To assure myself that you are in no danger from my unchivalrous men, I must lock your cabin door.”

“You would lock me into this tiny place?”

“It is for your own safety, no other reason. Trust me. I will help you escape what could be a dangerous situation.”

“I do not know…”

“I have paid homage to Ranulf de Warbrooke, and whatever else you seem to think me, I am a man of my word.”

She nodded then, submitting to what the future held for her.

“You will not regret your trust of me. I go now to see to the safe passage of the ship. I will return soon with food, and mayhaps I may join you in your dinner.”

He left her and Lyonene heard the key turn the lock. She felt helpless, beyond despair, and she could only lay back on the hard cushion and stare, sightlessly, into space. It seemed that her life was at an end.