Ranulf sat down on a stool near the fire. He tried to keep his mind from her transparent dress, her eyes sparkling in amusement. He was acutely aware that they were alone in the quiet little room. He knew he should dress and go to his men, but he could not. He could not yet cover his skin where she had touched him.
“I would hear this story.”
“It was in this very room when I was but ten and two.”
“A great time ago, I am sure.”
She ignored his sarcasm with dignity. “An old knight came to visit my father, and I thought him to be a silly man who often asked me to sit upon his knee.” She did not see Ranulf’s frown. “He wore a beret with a great red feather that curled about the top of his head and moved when he talked, which he did continuously.
“I often came in here to play and escape him. One morn I brought my new tiercel with me and also my puppy. We played for awhile, but then Lucy called me to help her at some task, I left my hawk and puppy behind. When I returned, my mother was here helping the old man to bathe. I did not see my animals, but thought my mother had shooed them from the room.
“Below stairs, Gressy and the cook began a terrible battle and my mother left the room, telling me to finish the bath.”
“Just as today,” Ranulf added.
She looked at his near-nude body, the power and strength of it obvious, leashed for this moment only, and thought there was little resemblance between the two men.
“Everything happened at once. I walked to the fire for a moment and the old knight jumped from the tub and started to pull on his braies. He made a lunge for me, the tie string broke, the breeches fell to his ankles and he tripped on them, landing face down on the rushes. My hawk screamed and my puppy ran from the shadows, making a leap for the red-feathered hat that lay on a stool.”
Lyonene was encouraged by Ranulf’s smile, the light in his eyes.
“What happened then? I hope you ran for your mother.”
“Nay. I could not, for I fear I began to laugh. The door burst open with my father yelling that I was not to be left alone with any man, but then he stopped, for there was the old knight lying face down in a pool of water, the tiercel flying round and round his head and my puppy perched on his skinny behind, tail wagging and a broken red feather dangling from his mouth.”
Ranulf began to laugh, an almost forgotten occurrence. “I can just see him!”
“He kept screaming that he was attacked by demons, hundreds of demons.”
They both laughed together at the conjured picture. “I am sure your laughter did not help the poor man’s temper. I hope your father made you apologize.”
“Nay, he did not,” she laughed. “He said naught to me, but carried me to my room.”
“Carried you!” Ranulf wiped a tear from his eye.
“Aye,” Lyonene gasped, dissolving again. “I was laughing so hard I fell to the floor; I could not walk.”
Melite quietly opened the door. She was greeted by a wet Lyonene and a nearly nude Ranulf crying with laughter. Lyonene looked up to see her mother smiling at them. “I was telling the story of the old knight with the great red feather.”
Melite came closer, laughter twitching the corners of her mouth. “My daughter knows not the whole story. After her father carried her to her room,” she continued, looking in mock reproach at Lyonene, “the old knight refused to stay a moment longer at Lorancourt, so William and I solemnly helped him pack his bags and saddle his horse, but we dared neither look at the other nor mention the happening in this room. Just as the man mounted his horse, the tie to his hose broke and it fell about his ankle. William and I, it is shame to say, fell together in laughter as helpless as Lyonene’s. The man rode off screaming at us that he was going to London to sue us. We never heard from him again.”
Melite’s added story brought new peals of laughter, and the three of them laughed until their sides ached.
It was Melite who reminded them that it was time for supper and that their guest needed to dress.
Clothed again in perfectly tailored hose, a tunic and tabard, Ranulf prepared to leave the room. Melite went ahead of him to find servants, and Ranulf had a few seconds alone with Lyonene. “I have never enjoyed a bath so much as this one. I do not think I have ever laughed so. Thank you.” He looked at her lovely face, eyes bright from laughter, and he imagined her at Malvoisin and liked the idea very much.
Supper was a light meal, soups and stews, twice baked bread, fruit preserved in honey and spices and cheeses. The jongleur that William had hired finally arrived and the meal was quiet as they listened to the man’s long tales of ancient knights, Robin Hood and King Arthur’s court. Impromptu, he composed a song about Lyonene’s beauty. He sang it with gusto, for usually barons’ daughters were not so pretty, yet custom demanded a song of praise of the marriageable young women.
Ranulf remembered the jongleur’s songs about Isabel, the songs that had great influence on a boy of only ten and six years. He looked at Lyonene as she smiled at the jongleur. In a pique of jealousy, he thought of taking the lute from the singer and singing to Lyonene himself, but he knew there would be time for such things. Yes, he was beginning to feel there would be time for such things. The smile that she flashed up at him warmed him and he returned it.
The meal was ended and the tables stacked against the wall. It was dark outside, and the castle grew colder. Ranulf was reluctant for the day to end for he feared to wake and find it had been only a dream.
Lyonene had no such fears, for she looked forward to the morrow as another day such as this. She bade her parents and her guests a good sleep and went up the winding stairs to her room. It was while she was before her door arguing with Lucy that Ranulf approached his chamber.
“May I assist in any matter?”
Lyonene gave him a look of desperation. “Lucy’s sister in the village is ill, but Lucy fears to leave me alone for even one night. I promise her I shall not come to harm surrounded by so many guards.”
Ranulf took the old woman’s plump hand and kissed it. “Will it put you at your ease if I swear on oath to protect the lady with my life?”
Lucy sniffed, but Ranulf’s treatment of her had more effect than she would admit—that the king’s earl should kiss her hand! “And who, pray tell, will protect my lady from handsome young gentlemen such as yourself?”
“Lucy!” Lyonene gasped.
Ranulf bowed low before the rotund little woman. “I have heard that Lady Lyonene keeps fierce dogs and a great hawk in her room that attack any intruders like a pack of demons.”
Lucy could not keep from laughing for she knew the story well. “The two of you are a pair—nary a serious bone in your body. I’m off then and…” She threw up her hands. “I hope I do not live to regret this.”
Lyonene and Ranulf watched as she waddled down the stairs, mumbling to herself. Awkward together in the ensuing silence, they were quiet.
“I hope you will like your chamber and that everything pleases you.”
Ranulf ran a finger along her jaw. “I am well pleased by Lorancourt and everything in it.” He knew he could not stand so close to her in the darkened hall and not pull her into his arms. “Good night,” he said abruptly and left her.
Lyonene went to her own chamber and began to undress. It was a good feeling of freedom to be alone without Lucy. She stood in her chemise before the fire. So much had happened this day. She remembered their laughter over the race, and the story she told, his blush, and then she remembered his kiss and the feel of his skin as she bathed him. She moved away from the fire, for she had grown very warm.
He had said he could not stay for two days more, and she dreaded his leaving.
She climbed into the high feather bed, pulling the thick woolen comforter about her. Exhausted, she soon fell asleep.
Ranulf paced the small chamber for a while, his soft leather shoes silent on the thick rushes. It had been ten and five years since the boy he once was had lain in a girl’s parents’ cham
ber and dreamed of a happy life. Since then he had changed, convincing himself that what he had once sought was not possible. There were few happy marriages, and he had no longer considered the possibility of such a future. King Edward pressed him to marry a Castilian princess, very rich and very ugly. He had almost resigned himself to the fate of such a marriage. But now there was Lyonene.
He must consider. Was it love he felt for her or just the sin of lust? He dismissed this. Lust he had felt often, but never had he considered marriage to the woman.
For a moment a picture formed of Lyonene sitting before the great fire in Malvoisin, a fat, healthy baby on a carpet at her feet. The lights played with her hair, and as he entered the hall, she would rise and greet him. He brushed the picture away with his hand.
He sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He had learned the ways of war and had often been afraid before a battle, but never had he felt such fear as now. Could he once again turn his life, his heart, over to a young girl? Could he overcome it again if Lyonene betrayed him as Isabel had?
Silently, he opened his door and just as silently made his way into Lyonene’s chamber. She lay on her back, her face turned toward him, her hair spread in a great waterfall about her. One hand was hidden beneath the covers, the other, palm upward by her face.
He touched her hair, lifting a healthy strand from where it fell down the side of the mattress, letting a curl wind about his wrist. Her lashes were little wings on her cheeks, her mouth slightly puckered, tempting him.
“What if I put my small heart in your hands, my love?” he whispered. “Will you care for it or shun it?” He played with the hair, rubbing the fine silky stuff between his fingertips. “If you are but kind to me, I will love you more than any woman has ever been loved, but…” His face darkened and had Lyonene awakened, she would have seen the countenance that had earned Ranulf the name Black Lion. “If you play me false, if you but play a game, you will know a hell on earth such as there has never been before.”
His features relaxed, and gently he touched her fingertips. She sighed in her sleep and her eyelids fluttered. He held his breath that she would waken. She turned over to the other side, exposing one bare shoulder. Ranulf stood and softly kissed the satin skin and pulled the covers closer about her. “Ere long I will warm you and you’ll have no need of cloth covers. Remember, little one, it will be your choice of heaven or hell.”
He left the room to seek his own chamber.
Chapter Three
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!”
The Black Lyon Page 4