She left the room, and the monk sat blinking for a moment before refilling his cup and taking her chair. Ah, the young, such tiny problems they had in the world. He wondered again what had caused Lyonene’s distress. Probably a spat over a new dress, or mayhaps not that serious.
Ranulf did not return to Black Hall that night, and Lyonene lay quietly in the big bed, staring upward, unseeing. She felt that it had all been her fault, that her husband hated her for something that she had done. She thought of Brother Jonathan’s words and she made a vow that someday she would prove to Ranulf that her love for him was true, that she loved no man but him.
In the morning she went to the south of the isle to see to the welfare of the serfs there. Sir Bradford, one of the youngest garrison knights, joined her for the ride back to the castle.
“I think I feel a touch of spring in the air,” he said. “Or mayhaps it is just my hearty wishes that make it feel so.”
She laughed. “I, too, grow weary of this cold. On the morrow I shall follow the river and look for signs of early crocus.”
They both looked up to see Ranulf thundering down on them, his face black with rage. With one arm he pulled Sir Bradford from his horse and then leaped from the Frisian’s back to stand above the boy, hand on sword hilt.
Lyonene jumped from her own horse’s back and threw herself between them. “What is this you do?” she demanded. “Why do you draw sword against this boy?”
“That, I think, you can more easily answer than I. Did you think you could meet so that I would not know? I have warned you, but you have ever defied me, and now you have gone too far.”
She stood straight before him, refusing to bow to him. “What you say makes no sense. The boy did but ride by me this day and we talked, no more. It is you with your temper that has made it more.”
“Ah!” he said with a deathly coldness. “You have given me no reason to doubt you? On our wedding night you meet another boy, one I must later kill. You steal from me to pay your lover and now you start afresh with this boy. Do you wish to see his blood also? Does your greed include his death as well as his seed?”
Anger near blinded her. “You are the only man I have allowed to touch me, and each day I regret that anew. Would that I had gone away with Giles or anyone, better to have taken my own life before I said vows to one of your vile nature.”
Ranulf’s hand swung and hit her across the mouth, cutting her lip and sending her sprawling. “Then we will undo what we have done. On the morrow I travel to Wales and when I return, do not let me find you here.” He mounted his horse and rode away.
Lyonene lay still a while, blood trickling from her torn and bruised mouth. She waved away Sir Bradford, and the boy left her alone. Tears came first, tears of despair and desolation. She had not meant to say what she did, but always her temper made her words uncontrollable. So what now of her noble vows to prove her love? Her husband had ordered her away from him, and there would be no more opportunities to prove aught to him.
“Ranulf,” she cried into the grass, feeling the sobs tear through her. On the morrow he left for Wales and it was over between them.
Suddenly she sat up and stared through her tears into the distance. Was she named for a lioness for naught? Had she no more courage than a serf? She would not give up so easily as this.
Her head spun with ideas. If he traveled to Wales, he would not travel alone. There would be women to clean and cook for the men.
She wiped her tears away and began to smile secretly. He would not refuse her again once his anger was gone. She knew that if she had more time, she could make amends for what had passed. She knew she could find some way to prove her love for him.
Confident again, with a purpose in mind, she rode back to Black Hall. There were many things to do before the morrow.
Chapter Eight
The wagons stood ready in the outer bailey, and Lyonene pulled the russet cloak closer about her, the hood hiding her downturned face. It had taken quite a bit of preparation to execute this plan and she wasn’t going to ruin it through a chance recognition by someone in the courtyard. Her new maid, Kate, had been willing enough to follow her mistress’s plan, although Lyonene had felt her staring once with a strange expression on her face. The girl was to pretend that Lyonene had an illness and that no one was to disturb her except Kate. By the time the deception was discovered, Lyonene might well be in Wales.
She stamped her feet and scratched at the coarse wool of her serf’s garb; it was cold in the early morning half-light. Lyonene thought again of what she was doing, wondering at Ranulf’s reaction when she revealed herself to him. He had said he did not want to see her again and she dared much in this masquerade. She grimaced at her lack of clothing other than the rough serf’s wool. But try as she might, she could find no way to conceal a thick bundle of fur-lined garments in the wagons, for they were checked constantly by several men and the discovery of such a bundle would expose her and ruin her plan.
“You, girl!”
Lyonene looked to see a woman calling her. She ducked her head and fought the quick anger that threatened a rebellion at this coarse woman’s commands.
“Do not stand there all day! Come and help me with these barrels!”
Lyonene followed the woman into the inner bailey, her heart pounding, for before her stood the entire Black Guard mounted on their great steeds, and in their midst stood the riderless Frisian. Lyonene looked quickly at the beautiful black horse, the mane full and lush, the thick tail falling all the way to the ground, and the lovely hair that flowed from knee to hoof now moving gently as he lifted one great hoof in impatience to be gone. He was a fitting horse for such a master as the Black Lion.
Lyonene held the little wooden barrels, one under each arm, and began to follow the woman to the outer bailey, when she paused abruptly. Lyonene followed her eyes. Ranulf walked to his horse, and she felt a surge of pride as all eyes in the courtyard flew to him and his men straightened in their saddles, obviously proud of their master.
He swung one great leg across the Frisian’s broad back and paused as he stared at one of the windows in the second floor of the Black Hall. Lyonene gasped as she realized it was the window to her little bedchamber.
“May the tortures of hell descend upon that woman!” the woman beside Lyonene hissed between her teeth.
Lyonene looked at her for the first time. She was older, near as old as her mother, but the bones in her face showed that once she had been handsome. In fact, even now her eyes riveted Lyonene’s, for they were very unusual—narrow, slanted, almond-shaped and exceptionally beautiful. She narrowed them now as she stared ahead to the object of Ranulf’s gaze, and Lyonene was astonished at the malevolence they contained.
“It is said that she does not care for my Ranulf.”
A flash of anger tore its way through Lyonene and she controlled it only with great effort. “What mean you by your Ranulf, does he not have a wife?”
“Aye, he has a wife.” Her voice was a sneer and she turned to look with interest at Lyonene, but the younger woman looked away. She looked back at Ranulf, and Lyonene clenched her fists as the woman’s strange eyes melted into an adoring gaze. “He has a wife, but one who does not care for him as he deserves.” She gave a low, throaty laugh. “She is a fool to forsake my Lord Ranulf’s lovemaking for that of another.”
“What know you of my Lord Ranulf’s lovemaking?” Lyonene could not keep the anger from her voice nor help the slight emphasis she placed on the word “my.”
The woman lazily looked at her, and Lyonene met her smirking eyes with a smoldering gaze that she did not try to conceal.
“Ah,” she drawled. “So my Ranulf has found one to replace me. I have not heard of you; he hides you well. But then as his mistress you must know of his particular skills, and you have me to thank.”
Lyonene frowned and was about to ask her meaning when they both became aware of the movement of the horses. She turned startled eyes up to see Ranulf towerin
g above her as he sat atop the Frisian, but Ranulf’s eyes were not for her but for the woman standing next to her. Lyonene covered her face with the shadow of the hood before he saw her.
“Maude, it is good to see you this lovely morn. I am glad that you travel with us again.”
“Only with you, my lord. I travel only with you, and should there be anything you need I will gladly … provide it.”
Lyonene stole a glance at Ranulf, and her teeth clenched tighter at the soft, adoring expression he wore as he gazed down at this brazen old woman. He did not care that everyone in the courtyard heard their words and knew well their meaning. She looked away before he should turn and see her, as if he would ever notice her while this fat, slant-eyed woman so obviously offered herself to him.
“Ah, Maude, I miss you much since you went to the village. Have you … entertainments planned for this lonely journey?”
“I have boxes of colored silks and whatever else will be needed.” Her honey voice was a caress, and Lyonene knew she was going to give herself away if this did not end soon.
“I will look forward then to the evenings.” He did not even glance at Lyonene’s concealed face before he turned and left them, with the Black Guard following.
Maude, beside her, made a noise and Lyonene looked up to see her mocking eyes. “You are possessed of a strong will.” She smiled at Lyonene’s still blazing eyes. “Were I in your place I would not have been able to control my anger so well.”
Lyonene’s chin came up. “I know not of what you speak—this anger.”
The low throaty laugh came again. “You need not fret that I will take your place with my lord, for my days are over and I must live only with memory of his sweet ways.”
She tossed her head. “I know of no sweet ways.”
The laugh came again, only longer, deeper. “So that is the way of it. You do not know his touch yet, you only wish to.” She glanced toward the window of the Black Hall and her mouth hardened, her voice flinty. “She shuns him, so I hear—may the Devil rot her—so mayhaps Maude can give you your desire.”
“You speak lightly of the Devil rotting a woman you do not know. Mayhaps Lord Ranulf shuns her and it is not as you think.”
Maude was staring at her intently. “Then she must be very ugly or ill-tempered so that he cannot bear to touch her. Mayhaps she has the pox.”
“She does not!” Lyonene said hotly and then stopped at Maude’s piercing stare and looked away.
“You seem to know much of the matter. How are you so sure I do not know my Lord Ranulf’s wife? And you seem to harbor much pride, too much pride for a serf.”
Lyonene’s blood seemed to freeze, for she had come close to giving herself away and she could give no answer.
Maude broke the deafening silence. “Come, we take these barrels to the wagons and begin the journey. There will be enough time to learn your reasons, but more important there will be time to teach you to please my Lord Ranulf so that you may learn all you desire of his sweet ways.”
Lyonene bit her tongue to still her retort to the old woman’s jibes. She wanted only to get to Wales to meet the queen. What happened on the journey did not concern her.
Lyonene rode uncomfortably on the little donkey behind the four wagons and the Black Guard and Ranulf. She could not see her husband, and several times she had to look away as she caught Maude studying her.
For some reason known only to her, Maude seemed to help Lyonene remain anonymous and thus several awkward situations were avoided. Lyonene was thankful that the Black Guard were not as her father’s men, from whose advances a serving girl was never safe. She looked now to the ground where the men sat under several trees. They were polite as Maude served them with food. Lyonene stirred the cauldron over the fire with sharp jabs as Ranulf said something to the woman and Maude’s throaty laughter floated across the breeze.
Ranulf had been correct when he had said they would travel fast, and at the end of the day there was little time for anything but a hasty meal. Not accustomed to cooking, Lyonene had trouble helping Maude prepare the meal and was grateful for the woman’s patience. She glanced at Ranulf’s great black serge tent and felt glad that Maude took his food to him, although she found herself holding her breath until the old woman returned. Maude threw her a taunting look and laughed.
She watched Maude go to a wagon and carefully remove a wooden box.
“Come,” she called over her shoulder. Curious, Lyonene followed, although she did not like the way the woman assumed she would go wherever she called.
The cooking fire was hidden from the four tents of the men and Lyonene had wondered why, but she now felt it had been for secrecy’s sake. The box was inlaid with hundreds of tiny pieces of mother of pearl and silver that glowed in the reflected firelight. Almost with reverence, Maude lifted the lid and withdrew what seemed to be a garment of softly transparent silk. It was like a man’s braies, only longer, with jeweled cuffs at a length that must be the ankle. About the wide waist was also a band of gold and sparkling jewels.
Another garment was brought forth, a gathered strip of silk whose function Lyonene could not guess. A jeweled vest came next, delicate, tiny, transparent. Then there were many veils, soft and alluring; Lyonene had never seen such silk. She knelt, tentatively touching the finery.
“It was my mother’s and then mine. Now I have grown too fat to wear it.”
“What is it and how could anyone wear such a garment? It would reveal more than it covered.”
Maude’s laughter escaped. “You are right—that is the purpose of a dancing costume.” She watched Lyonene’s puzzled eyes. “My mother was a Saracen, brought from the Holy Lands by my father. He fell in love one night while she danced in … in a place there. He was a good man and cared naught that my mother had often … danced.” Her voice was strained.
“He brought her back with him from the Crusade and he was good to her. I was not very old when he died, and overnight my mother turned into an old woman. Although she often danced for my father, after his death she never danced again. But she taught me the dance and gave me the silken clothes.” She grinned at Lyonene. “I have not been so faithful as my mother to any of my husbands.”
She stood up and bade Lyonene follow her example. A startled gasp escaped from Lyonene’s lips as Maude roughly ran her hands over the younger woman’s body.
“You will do,” Maude stated. “Now remove those garments.”
“I will not! I cannot imagine your reasons, but I will not remove my clothing.”
Unperturbed, Maude continued. “How else do you expect to wear the clothes if you do not remove your others? It will not fit over them.”
“I have no intention of wearing your dancing thing. The silk is nice but I do not intend to put it on.”
Maude’s voice sneered. “Do you think you are the only young girl brought on this trip to Wales? Have you not seen the other two who cast hungry eyes on Ranulf? They paid much to go on this journey and they did not pay with gold. So, you take my meaning? They know that Lord Ranulf sometimes chooses a young girl to pass the night in his tent on these journeys and they are willing to sell anything to get that privilege, for he is a gentle lover and pleases the women and afterward is very generous with his gold.”
She watched as Lyonene looked anxiously in the direction of Ranulf’s tent.
“There is no woman there tonight, but tell me of your feelings when one night you hear a woman’s low laughter coming from that tent and then her cries of pleasure? Would you then be glad you shunned my mother’s dancing silks? Could you be content to sit and listen to Ranulf’s sighs as he…”
“Cease!”
Maude smiled. “I thought as much. I will teach you the dance. It takes years to become expert, but these English soldiers are not taught to appreciate such a dance. My Lord Ranulf will see you only in the dim candlelight.”
Lyonene blanched. To wear that thing, and before a man! It was not thinkable.
Maude rea
d her thoughts. “If you do not go to him, then you will need to listen to the other women’s cries. Shall I describe what the last woman on the last journey told me of Lord Ranulf’s bed?” She laughed as Lyonene covered her ears. “Then come with me and we will see how well you learn the dance.”
With shaking fingers Lyonene began to remove her coarse woolen clothes as she stood before Maude, hidden among the trees. When she stood completely nude, Maude turned her again and again to inspect her, while Lyonene clenched her teeth, resolving with each second to remove herself from the old woman’s penetrating gaze.
“Good. Very good. It is hard to believe that once I had a body such as yours. Now we will dress you.”
About her hips and between her legs went a jeweled belt, barely covering her. The transparent garment went over her legs, the gold bands tight around her slim ankles. She saw then why the waist was so wide, for it did not reach her waist at all but rested on the belt above her hips, far below her navel. The slim gathered strip of silk went about her breasts, tied behind her back. Lyonene’s breath escaped her when Maude tied the fabric very tight, and she gasped when she saw that as a result of the taut fabric, her breasts strained and pushed and curved well above the silk, little of them concealed. The tiny vest only emphasized the curves of her breasts and the deep indentation of her waist, the hips that swelled above the sparkling belt.
Lyonene’s embarrassment was brief, for the beautiful clothes gave her a strange feeling of sensuality, and she liked the feel of her long hair as it touched her bare arms and the back of her waist.
“Yes, yes,” Maude trilled. “It has its effect on you. That silk is blessed with many nights of pleasure and it holds its memories.”
In spite of herself, Lyonene could not erase the feeling of sensuality that the bare skin and silken costume gave her.
Maude brought a strange stringed instrument from behind a tree, and Lyonene listened as she played a foreign tune for a moment. Then, humming, she rose to begin sensuous movements, moving her hips and stomach in a slowly rotating motion. She nodded for Lyonene to follow her actions and was surprised at the ease with which she made the intricate movements.
The Black Lyon Page 11