Lyonene slept later the next morning since Lucy was not there to call her. The sound of horses, of metal striking metal, woke her. She opened the shutter a bit to see below. Her father had made a list, a long field dug out and filled again with fine, soft sand. Here she now saw the Black Guard in full armor, the iron hauberk and chausses showing black in the early morning sun. Never had she seen her father’s men train so enthusiastically or so hard as Ranulf’s men. Two men wrestled with one another, two slashed at each other with broad swords. Another jumped onto his horse again and again using no hands, bearing the weight of the iron-link armor easily. Her heart pounded as she saw her Lion ride toward a thick post set in the ground and cut it in half with one blow.
She smiled in satisfaction and closed the shutters. When she was nearly dressed in an ivory wool tunic and a loose scarlet wool surcoat, she heard a trumpet that heralded the arrival of more guests. Her heart fell because she knew more guests would mean more work and less time spent in pleasure.
She heard the voices as she neared the Great Hall. Her father introduced her to two men, Sir Tompkin and Sir Hugh, one tall, one short, both stocky, square-shaped men. Melite bade Lyonene show Sir Tompkin to a guest chamber.
All the way up the stairs, the man talked of his daughters—of their beauty, their charm, their marriage prospects. Lyonene hardly listened, so distraught was she from having her day ruined.
“Warbrooke!” the man snapped. “See that my mail is cleaned, and do not neglect your duties now that that brother of yours is come.”
Lyonene’s head came up abruptly at the name Warbrooke, her Lion’s name. She guessed the blond boy she saw was brother to Ranulf. As he left the chamber, Lyonene made excuses to follow him.
“You are brother to the Black Lion?” She caught him in the dark hallway. He was very different from his brother—fair, with laughing blue eyes and a gaze that roamed roguishly over her body.
“And now what has my brother done to cause interest from so lovely a lady?”
Lyonene blushed; her feelings were too obvious to everyone.
Geoffrey smiled at the pink-cheeked girl. Ranulf had done well for himself this time he decided; usually he found his brother’s taste in women appalling. Some of the hags he knew at court! They were enough to turn a man’s stomach. “I take it you are Lady Lyonene? Sir Tompkin has been fuming about you for days. It seems too many would-be suitors to his hideous daughters speak overmuch of your beauty. I can see now their reasons for rapture.”
Lyonene smiled at him. “You are well taught in the manners of courtly love. And you are not at all like your brother, although your smile is somewhat the same.”
Geoffrey’s face lost all expression. “Smile? And what know you of my brother’s smile?”
“Why, that he has a pleasant smile and that his laughter is a good sound, although almost overly loud.”
The young squire stared at her for so long a while that she frowned at his intensity.
“I seem to have said something wrong. I meant no criticism of your brother when I said his laughter was too loud, but the walls almost shook. My maids wondered greatly at the sound.”
Geoffrey recovered himself. “Ranulf waits below and…”
“Oh no, he is on the lists with his men.”
He gave her a wide grin and she looked away. “Come with me to the lists then that I may greet this laughing brother of mine. In truth I believe you mix him with another. He has black hair and…”
“Oh, yes. And black eyes, and his horse is most gentle.”
Geoffrey drew his brows together and shook his head. “That Ranulf would allow someone else to touch that precious horse of his is beyond understanding. I can see this information will pale beside what is obviously of a much greater concern to you, but my name is Geoffrey de Warbrooke, lowly squire to Sir Tompkin.”
She looked up at him. “You are not at all like Lion. There he is!” She hurried forward.
Geoffrey stared after her, bewildered. Ranulf had always hated being called the Black Lion; in truth, he had always hated any reference to his blackness, for a reason unknown to Geoffrey. He had heard the stories of his brother and seen the way he was feared by the common folk. Only at court, among his peers, was he treated without fear. This girl, a mere baron’s daughter, had called Ranulf Lion.
“I can see I am most unneeded here,” Geoffrey said as he stood by his brother, who stared down into Lyonene’s eyes.
Ranulf turned in surprise. “Geoffrey!” He grabbed the much smaller boy and hugged him, kissing each cheek and then a hard kiss on the mouth. “I did not know you came. Where is that odious old man you follow about? Do not tell me you have been knighted and come to join my Black Guard?”
“You know there is another year before my knighting, and I am too lazy to join such a guard as yours. I will not sweat myself to your high stench each day. I do not know how this lovely lady abides you. I had not heard of this passion of yours. You have kept the secret well.”
Lyonene turned to watch one of the Black Guard throw a long lance at a far target. She avoided the stares of both men. “I must return to the donjon. I will see you at dinner?” She gave Ranulf a fleeting glance.
He took her small hand and caressed it before holding it to his lips. Neither of them was aware of the people who watched. She lifted her skirts and began to run to the old stone tower. Only at the wooden steps that led to the second floor did she remember to walk correctly.
“What think you of Lady Lyonene?” Ranulf tried to control the excitement in his voice.
Geoffrey was not fooled; he knew his brother too well. “I have heard she has the temper and quarrelsome nature of a magpie and…” Geoffrey laughed aloud when his brother turned to him a face so distorted with rage as to be hardly recognizable. “Do not murder me, brother, please. I do but jest.”
Ranulf relaxed and looked away sheepishly. “I admit she has had an effect on me. But tell me true what you think of her.”
“I hear she has made you laugh.” He watched his older brother’s slow smile, amazed.
“I do not understand myself, but the girl has bewitched me. Is she not the most beautiful woman alive, for all she is but a child?”
“Come sit by me, brother, and tell me of this girl. You have known her long?”
Ranulf leaned back against the wall behind the stone bench and ran his hand over his eyes, through his sweat-dampened hair. “I came here to see you, and but met my Lioness yestermorn. I do not know what has overtaken me. From the first moment I saw those green eyes I have seen naught else. I did not sleep much last night, and now I fear I will kill myself, for I cannot keep my mind about my work. What is wrong with me?”
It took Geoffrey a while to answer, so stunned was he. “I think, my brother, you have fallen in love with the girl.”
“Love!” Ranulf sneered and then relaxed again. “I have thought of this but cannot credit it. She is a child. My daughter, Leah, would have been near as old as she.”
“Well, you could always make her your mistress and when you tire of her, give her to one of your men for wife.”
Ranulf turned a scowling face to his brother, but Geoffrey only laughed. “Then you must marry the girl. I can see she is eager for you, although I do not understand why. I am sure you will make a poor husband.”
“I cannot marry her.” His voice was barely audible.
“Ranulf, you must forget Isabel! Many men have unhappy first marriages. You were but a boy, and she several years older than you. You cannot live always in the past. This girl adores you, so marry her before another takes her. Of course she is but a baron’s daughter. Mayhaps the great Earl of Malvoisin will not lower himself to… You understand my words? If you do not take her, another will. What think you of the idea of another holding her, kissing her… Ranulf! Unhand me!”
Geoffrey picked himself up from the dirt at Ranulf’s feet. “I go now to clean Sir Tompkin’s mail. You will think on my words?” He left his silent brother alone.
* * *
“Lyonene! I have repeated my question four times. Where is your mind?”
“I am sorry, Father. What did you ask of me?”
“It does not matter now. What is wrong with you this day?”
“I think,” Melite said, looking at her husband over her sewing, “that the problem with our daughter stands outside on the lists.”
William frowned. “Sir Tompkin?” His voice was incredulous.
There was disgust in Lyonene’s voice. “Hmph! Sir Tompkin indeed! That fat old man!”
“I’ll not have such disrespect in my house, girl.”
“William, it is the Earl of Malvoisin who causes Lyonene so much trouble,” Melite whispered.
“Ranulf de Warbrooke!” He looked at Lyonene’s bowed head. “You moon for the king’s earl?”
Lyonene stood before the fire, stretching with a catlike grace. “Is he not handsome? Is he not the kindest, gentlest man? And does not his hair curl most splendidly?”
William’s eyes widened to the fullest possible and his mouth fell open as he looked to his wife, who sat with a satisfied grin on her face.
“Lyonene,” Melite said quietly, “go and comb your hair. Have Lucy build you a fire and stay in your room until dinner.”
Lyonene did not question her mother’s highly unusual request, but just obeyed.
“Now, wife, I pray you to tell me what happens in my own castle. My daughter is moonstruck for the Black Lion? She cannot expect aught to come of such a dream. She would be as likely to marry an earl as I would to marry the king’s daughter.”
“You have yet to ask him.”
“Ask him! Are you daft to think I would do such? He will laugh in my face. It is well enough to tell my friends an earl has visited me, but that I aspired to an earl for a son! Nay, I’ll not hear such laughter!”
“William, have you not also seen that our earl ‘moons,’ as you say, for our daughter?” When he did not answer, she smiled. “Go and look to the lists. You will see the truth in my words.”
Unbelieving, William walked to the shuttered windows, pulling one of the louvers down so he could see out. Ranulf sat on a bench, his head back against the wall, staring into space. As William watched, a few of the Black Guard turned puzzled stares to their master.
William returned to the fire and sat down heavily.
“I do not know that he will accept our daughter in marriage, but we may ask. Was there not an old story that the Earl of Malvoisin was once married to a baron’s daughter, a woman he loved?”
William’s face lit. “It is so! When he was a lad, he caused great scandal by marrying the girl. King Henry was said to be greatly angered. There was a child born but five months after the marriage. When the woman and the child died but a few years after the marriage, it is said he near went insane with grief, that his pain was so great that he has never laughed since.” He whirled to face his wife.
“Go on. And what of the rest of the gossip?”
“That whoever makes him laugh will be…”
“His bride, I believe the silly saying goes. I am sure it began as a jest, but, for whatever reason, Lord Ranulf is not a happy man.” She smiled sweetly at her husband and knew he remembered Ranulf’s laughter of the day before. “Shall I send a page to fetch our guest? I do not believe we should prolong our lovers’ agony. I do not wish my grandchild born only five months after the wedding.”
They sat in silence until Ranulf sat before them in his training costume, tight hose with a short tunic and tabard that barely reached midthigh. He kept looking about the shadows of the Great Hall and then toward the yawning black stairwell.
“My Lord Ranulf,” William began. He could not see what his women saw in the massive form of the man before him to cause so much love to be directed toward him. He could not control his shudder as he remembered the strength he had seen the man demonstrate this morn. He loved his daughter and hoped he did not make an error. “My daughter, Lyonene, is … unmarried and of a marriageable age. She has near driven me mad for a year, for she has turned down dozens of men who have desired her for wife.” It was difficult to continue, for Ranulf’s brows had drawn together in a black look.
Melite decided to help her husband. “What William means to say is that we have reason to believe Lyonene would accept you, and therefore we offer you our daughter in marriage.”
William continued. “I can offer a dowry of two and a half knights’ fees. Lyonene is also my heir and upon our death stands to inherit all of Lorancourt.”
Ranulf tried to calm his racing heart. He cared naught for the dowry, but he must, for William’s sake, appear to consider it. The Warbrooke estates contained twelve castles, one of which was Malvoisin. The other eleven all at least equaled Lorancourt. A castle was supported by so many knights’ fees, ranging from five to over a hundred. Ranulf did not know how many hundreds of knights’ fees he owned.
Melite seemed to know his thoughts. She put a hand over his large one, which rested on his knee. “I believe I am right that you have grown to care for my daughter. My interest is in her welfare, not talk of knights’ fees and inheritances. Do my eyes and senses tell me true?”
“Aye. She is the prize. Not any dowry could equal her.”
William missed the messages that Melite and Ranulf passed to one another. “Then it is agreed?” He was astounded.
“On a condition. It must be put to Lyonene as a request. I will not have her forced into a marriage.” His eyes narrowed with memory. “She must agree freely. There is no other man, no previous betrothal?”
William waved his hand. “None, and, if my wife is to be believed, the girl will agree readily enough. You will be wanting guests of the court?”
Ranulf considered for a moment. “Nay, I can ask no one, for Edward and Eleanora would come and bring all their retainers, near three hundred people, and few of the other earls travel with less people.” He watched William’s stare of horror—to feed and lodge so many people! Ranulf continued, “It is cold, too cold for a tourney now, so if it does not offend you, your lovely wife or my Lady Lyonene, the marriage will be simple and I will leave with my bride soon after for Malvoisin.”
William’s feeling of relief was almost tangible. “Aye. It will be as you wish. Now, for the day. The banns must be posted for three Sundays. This is Saturday. If you were to sign a betrothal agreement today, we can plan the wedding for three weeks hence. Does that suit you, my lord?”
“Aye, of course.” He rose to leave. “Then I leave on the morrow, for there are many preparations to make, and I will return in three weeks’ time.” His eyes gleamed as he looked at Melite’s smiling face. Impulsively, he placed his great hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
She took his arm and walked with him to the stairs. “It is near time for dinner. I have sent a message to your men; mayhaps you would like to change your clothing.”
Quietly, Ranulf went up the worn steps to his room. As he slowly washed and changed into a dark-blue velvet tunic and tabard, he chuckled to himself. What would his Black Guard think if they knew their leader was as nervous as a green boy, all because of an emerald-eyed lioness?
Lyonene stared through the open shutter, needing the blast of cold air to revive her. Her back was to her father, and his news had nearly felled her. Lord Ranulf had agreed to marry her! She could not help a rebellious feeling over the fact that the marriage had been arranged without her knowledge. She thought of her cousin Anna. A page had come and said her father wanted her below stairs. Moments later she had found herself married to a man she’d never seen before.
Lyonene took a deep breath of air and thought that, all in all, she was blessed with a good father. Of course it had been Ranulf who had stipulated that she must agree freely to the marriage. She closed her eyes and leaned forward, the air biting her cheeks. To spend all the days of her life such as the last one! To have him kiss her at any time she desired.
“Daughter, will you give the man your answer?”
“Aye, father, I will marry him,” she said quietly.
William shook his head and silently left the room. He could not grasp the idea that his daughter was to become a countess. He did not see Ranulf until he walked into him.
“She did not agree,” the dark knight stated flatly.
“Nay,” William answered, “she has agreed.” He looked at Ranulf with something akin to horror—the Black Lion was to be his son-in-law. Was not the son supposed to be afraid of the father? “Go to her. I am sure she would care to see you.” Then he shrugged and went down the stairs.
Lyonene did not leave the open window when she heard the door reopen. “Lucy, come here and see this glorious day.” She whirled at Ranulf’s deep voice.
“And what makes this cold, drear day so glorious?” He was very serious.
She felt shy of a sudden, for, after all, he was a stranger to her. Ranulf walked to the carved oak chest that stood against one wall. He lifted her ivory comb and studied the figures on it. “You have spoken to your father and agreed to the … bargain?”
“Aye,” she answered quietly, “but is not a marriage more than just a bargain?” She began to smile, “At least this marriage, for I fear you do not bargain to gain, since you chose a poor baron’s daughter to wife. Would you not want a rich wife with green estates and…”
“Knocked knees, mayhaps?”
Her eyes sparkled. “And how do you know my knees do not knock?”
He did not smile, but the corners of his eyes showed merriment. “That is true, I do not know, so I shall find out. I do not propose to marry a woman with ugly legs.”
She stepped backward from him. “Do not come near me. I will call out.”
“And who will dare to stop the great Black Lion? I shall toss all the men out the window and then I shall still have my way with you.” He leered at her, and she tried to cover her giggles as they escaped her.
He threw an arm about her waist and then sat on the bed with her in his lap. She uselessly tried to pull away from him, but her laughter made her even weaker. Ranulf made half-hearted attempts to lift her skirt. He held both her hands in one of his.
“Now, this ankle is not too crooked.”
“It is not crooked at all!”
“If it is not, then it will not mate with the other, which is most definitely bent.”
“What is this?” Lucy demanded, appearing from nowhere. “I knew I should not leave this girl alone. You unhand my girl and leave this room at once! I will have no such play while I am near.”
“Lucy, we are to be married.”
The old woman may have missed one blink, but otherwise gave no other sign that she heard. “Well, until you are married, you are in my keeping. Now you, young man, unhand her ankle and leave this room. You are not allowed alone with my girl until after the wedding.”
Ranulf set Lyonene from his lap and bent to kiss her.
“No more of that! You have a life together. There be no sense in tiring of one another early.”
Obediently, he started to leave.
Lyonene’s laugh stopped him. “What of your threats now, Lion? Will you not carry them out?” She nodded her head to the open window.
Ranulf looked at Lucy, who ran to close the shutters. He grimaced. “I am not so strong as that. Mayhaps I should fetch my Black Guard.” He paused and frowned. “And the Frisian, and…”
Lyonene’s laughter followed him as he closed the door behind him.
“Is he not wonderful, Lucy? Is he not the kindest, gentlest…”
“Yes, yes.” Lucy was impatient and hardly listened to Lyonene’s prattle as she straightened the room.
“And does he not have the most perfect body?”
Lucy dropped the clothing she carried. “Lady Lyonene. You forget yourself! Your lady mother and I have taught you the manners of a lady, not those of … of the joy women.”
Lyonene looked at her in wide-eyed innocence. “Whatever could you mean, Lucy? I did but refer to his knightly form. You could not mean other than that.”
Lucy stared at her young mistress, realizing she had been trapped again. Happily the bell rang to announce dinner, and they went below.
Lyonene wondered how many years it would take before her heart did not jump at the sight of Ranulf. He stood with his back to her, talking to the much shorter Sir Tompkin. He seemed to sense her presence, for he turned and held his hand out to her. He did not release her as Sir Tompkin frowned and went to table.
“I am afraid the man is most angry, for he has tried for years to marry one of his wretched daughters to me.”
They sat together at the high table, the bread trencher shared between them. “Sir William says the betrothal can be signed after dinner. You are sure you wish to spend your life with me? To place your welfare in my hands?”
“I am most sure. It is you who should beware.” She ate a piece of salt-cured ham.
Ranulf frowned. “And what hidden danger awaits me?”
“Why me, of course. You know little of me but that I have straight ankles. You know naught of my character.”
“I am not convinced about the ankles, but tell me your flaws of character.”
“I have a terrible temper, my mother says I am very vain…”
“With good reason.”
“And I am too often not a lady and say what first comes to my head.”
“Those are grievous faults.”
“Do not laugh at me, Ranulf de Warbrooke! I see you also have faults.”
He could not contain the smile that spread over his face. “I am called the Spawn of the Devil and you dare to think I have faults?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “I am sure the name stands you in good stead during war, but what others call you is not your fault.”
“And what do you believe is poor in my character?”
“Excessive pride, truly an arrogance. There are others, but that is the greatest flaw.”
His kissed her cheek hastily and then remembered where he was and straightened. “Pride is the least of my faults.” His face hardened and he became very serious. “You are mine, and I will allow you not so much as to glance at another man. Remember that well.”
She gave him a radiant smile. “That is an easy request, for in all my ten and seven years I have never desired a man for husband until I met you. I do not think I shall see another man I fancy soon.”
“You are but ten and seven years? You are younger than I had thought.”
She laughed aloud. “I make long avowals of my fidelity and you exclaim over my age. Will you not say some such thing as you are near double my age? It is true you seem very old. I am sure you will not last the winter.”
“You are an impertinent wench! Do you not know the Black Lion eats three girls such as you each day afore dinner?”
Oblivious to the staring people around them, she put a finger on his lower lip. “I do not find that a horrible way to die at all,” she said gently.
He stared at her a moment and then bit her finger, a little too hard, until she drew back in pain. “Do you not know it is the man who is to pursue the woman? Behave yourself and eat your dinner. Even now I shall never be respected by my own men again, for they have seen me led by a chit of a girl for near two days.”
Happily, she gave her attention to her food and the songs of the jongleur. She had not even been aware that he had been singing.
The meal was cleared and the tables dismounted and stacked against the walls. Father Hewitt brought ink and quills and the betrothal papers to a small table set before the fire. Sir William signed them hastily, but Ranulf paused. The old priest put his hand on the man’s strong arm. “You are not sure, my lord?”
“I but remembered another time so much like this one.” He signed his name, a hard, black flourish.
“Now, it is customary for rings and kisses. Lady Lyonene, you have a ring I believe?”
She held out her hand for Ranulf’s and with trembling fingers placed a gold ring on the third finger of his left hand—the arm nearest his heart, the finger that contained a vein leading directly to his heart.
“I do not have…” Ranulf began, but then his face lighted and he put his hand into the fitchet opening of his tabard and unbuckled a leather pouch from his belt. He emptied the contents on the table—a few coins, several jewels including an enormous ruby, three iron keys and a bit of wool, ragged and worn. He took the wool and unwound it to reveal a ring—gold, with clasped hands on the back to represent unity and a sun and moon to signify the lifetime bond of marriage. There were three emeralds across the top.
“It was my mother’s ring. She bid me always carry it.”
“You cannot give it me, for then you will at times be without it.”
He took her hand and slid the ring into place. “I will wrap you in a bit of wool and carry you and the ring. Now go and find your mother, for I have sorely neglected my men, my horse and my brother.”
“You are to kiss me.” Her voice was almost hurt that he had forgotten.
He bent and kissed her cheek, but her arms went around his neck to hold him close. For a brief moment he crushed her to him. “Go,” he whispered, “before I shame myself and my king before your family.” He pulled her arms away. “Notice I do not include you in the shamed ones, for I vow you are a shameless hussy.”
She giggled at him. “Go to your horse then, and I will do my work and not give you another thought.”
Melite followed her daughter up the stairs. “Someday I shall pay for this,” she muttered. To see her daughter so happy was a joy to her, but she wondered where she had gone wrong that she had reared such a forward girl. “It is William’s fault,” she answered herself. “If he had named his daughter Joan as I wished, she would not be like this. No Joan ever threw her arms around a man not her husband and begged him for a kiss, at least not before her parents. But a girl named for a lioness!” She smiled. It was indeed fortunate that Lyonene was to marry a man like Ranulf and not a weakling like Giles, the young boy who lived on the neighboring estate and had since childhood vowed he’d someday marry Lyonene.
“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 eyes of her brother-in-law. He was more handsome at close range, with lashes that shadowed his cheeks. She watched with interest as he lifted her limp hand and kissed the back of it. His eyes sparkled into hers. “I may kiss you before we leave?”
As he took her slim shoulders in his hands, his eyes met Ranulf’s, teasing his older brother. His lips met Lyonene’s briefly, and they were pleasant and sweet. With a smile, he left her to finish with his horse. Lyonene turned to watch him mount. “Well, my brother,” he said, “why do you tarry? Kiss Lady Lyonene and let us be off.” He motioned his horse out the stable door, leaving Lyonene and Ranulf alone.
Her heart and breath had changed at the mere thought of kissing her Lion again. She turned to him, her face as serious as his. A big hand buried itself in her hair, and he roughly pulled her to him, his chest steel against her woman’s softness. His lips met hers in an urgency that she eagerly met. Her arms twined themselves about his strong body, pulling him closer to her. She could feel his thighs against her, and she instinctively moved her hips against his.
He almost threw her from him, and she leaned against the stable wall, her breast heaving, her lips parted and exceedingly soft.
“You expect too much of me. It is well that I leave.” His voice was harsh and low. “See that your mother keeps you safe.”
“You will not forget me?”
“Never, my Lioness. I will think of naught else.”
“Nor I.” Tears choked her words.
He kissed away each tear that formed on her lashes and then he was gone. Lyonene did not know how long she stood there, and even though the sun was shining when she entered the stone castle, for her all thought of sun was gone.