The Black Lyon

by Jude Deveraux

  It was in late June as they sat in the solar, Brent drowsing on a sun-warmed carpet, wrapped around the puppy Ranulf had given him, that a servant announced a fire in the village. Ranulf went immediately, Brent not far behind.

  It was late when the Black Guard returned with their master, their bodies blackened by the smoke.

  “We could not save the houses, but the people are alive, although burned. Could you see to them?” he asked tiredly as the men wearily walked to the river to wash.

  Daylight saw a lord and his lady who had not slept at all through the night. The climbed the stairs to their room, arms locked, eyes barely open.

  “Here you go.” Lucy handed Lyonene a basket, which she took only because of a remembered response. “No one will let you sleep here. Soon the whole castle will awake, and then William will have a problem that desperately needs solving and then Bassett will ask for her ladyship’s help. You must go. I have prepared you food and that mean, devilhorse of yours is saddled, so off you go. I do not wish to see you until nightfall.”

  Ranulf seemed to shrug his weariness away easily. He ran a hand down Lyonene’s back and firmly cupped her behind, grinning impishly when she jumped. “Lucy, you are after my own heart. I am so pleased that I do not even defend Tighe’s abused name. Come, Lioness, I know a glade that you will enjoy.” He took her hand and near pulled her to the door. She had only time for a smile of gratitude to Lucy.

  The glade proved to be more than Ranulf had promised. It was sheltered and private, the ground soft with moss and tiny pink flowers.

  Lyonene wore only her linen undertunic and Ranulf his loincloth. He leaned against a tree and Lyonene snuggled her back against his chest, his arms encircling her.

  “You are no longer unhappy you married me?” she asked.

  “I was never unhappy.”

  She smiled and moved closer to him, her hand running idly along his thigh. “You are pleased also with Brent?”

  He turned her to look at him, lifting one eyebrow. “Why all these questions? Has aught displeased you?”

  “Nay.” She lay back against him. “I am happy. I but wondered how you felt towards me and towards … children.”

  He snorted. “You are a troublesome baggage, but men must make do with their wives. As for children, or at least Brent, I grow fonder of the boy each day. Brother Jonathan says he is most bright and can write his own name. Corbet has been teaching him…” He stopped abruptly and turned her again to face him, a black scowl on his face. “Why do you ask me these questions?”

  She put a hand on his chest and laughed. “I am not your enemy, Ranulf, that you must turn such a face on me.” She winced. “You hurt me!” He released her so quickly she almost fell backwards.

  She smiled secretly and took her place against him again. “To answer you, I am but curious.” She felt him relax against her. “Whatever did you think me to mean, my lord?”

  He took a deep breath and sighed, totally relaxed. “You startled me, ’tis all. I thought, for a moment, you meant to say you were with child.”

  “And if those were my words?”

  He tightened again and then relaxed. “I would force myself to bear such news with the courage that befits a knight and an earl.”

  She was glad he could not see her expression. “And what courage could you speak of? I see no great feat for a man to create a babe.”

  “It is not the creating, but the eternal responsibility. A child is a serious undertaking.”

  “And you would bear the news with the gravity that befitted the occasion?” If he could have seen her eyes he would not have fallen into her trap so readily.

  “Most assuredly. All in all, I am glad you are not breeding, for I have not had the time to think on the duties of being a … father.”

  Her heart fell somewhat. “But what of your daughter?”

  Ranulf was quiet. “I was young then and…” He paused. “Let us not talk of this more.”

  She turned to him then. “But, my husband, we must speak of this, for at Christmas, I plan to present you with a most special gift.”

  He grinned. “And what can it be? There is naught that I do not have.”

  She shook her head at him. “Mayhaps I should have Brother Jonathan create a mind for you from paper. It could not be of less substance than the one you now attempt to use.”

  He frowned at her and then all color drained from his face, his eyes wide.

  She looked down at her hands. “Please do not say you are displeased. I do not think I could bear it.”

  They sat in silence for what seemed to be hours, and then Ranulf lifted her chin with his fingertips. She could almost swear that the strong, masculine hand, the hand of the Black Lion, king’s champion, trembled. His eyes held a strange expression.

  “This is true? You will bear me a babe?”

  She nodded, not sure what she saw in his face. He dropped his hand and stood up with lightning speed, his legs wide apart, hands on hips, and threw back his head, giving the loudest, ugliest, most terrifying war cry she had ever heard. She covered her ears against that hideous sound, which sent tremors of unknown terror through her body.

  The sound carried for a long way, and those who heard also shuddered at the sound, never before given off a battlefield.

  Lyonene still sat with her hands over her ears when Ranulf looked back at her. He pulled her to him to study her face and then kissed her mouth, hard.

  “I may take it that the news does not cause your displeasure?”

  He swung her into his arms. “No man has ever been happier.”

  “You do not think of responsibilities and duties?” she teased.

  “Your fun of me is at an end. I should like a son first and then a score of daughters. I will need a boy to help me protect my beautiful daughters. And I shall never allow them to marry, but keep them by me always to fetch my slippers and tend to my wine.” He paused a moment. “Of a surety, Edward will take credit for this.”

  “What has the king to do with our child?”

  “If it is to be born at Christmas, then it had to have been created at the Round Table.” He gave her a mocking look. “My poor brain has always been good at arithmetic, if not at women’s riddles. Edward will say it was the white wine he had me mix with your red. Of course everyone else would agree, for you had an unwholesome look on your face when I carried you from the hall.”

  “You did not carry me!”

  “I most assuredly did. There were great cheers and not a few suggestions as to how to proceed from there, but I fear you outdid any suggestion a mere man could create. Yes, I am sure ’twas that night that made my child.”

  He laughed when her fist pelted his naked chest. “What will our boy say of a mother who beats his father?”

  “He will probably join me, or it would be my good fortune to bear a braggart just like you. His first steps will no doubt be a swagger, his first words a boast.”

  Ranulf laughed hard and hugged her to him. “Then you must indeed have my daughters, for who else will listen to us?”

  “I am sure you will find someone.”

  “That is true, but they all sit in rapture of me. No other woman makes me work so hard to make an impression or beats me when I go too far.”

  She laughed with him and put her arms about his neck. “I shall bear you hundreds of whatever you wish.” They kissed, quietly, sweetly. “You are glad then, truly glad?”

  He nibbled her ear. “You are hard to persuade. There is naught I can say. I look forward eagerly to my first child. Now I should like to return to my house and put you to bed and then go and brag to my men.”

  “Release me and do not act such a fool. I am well, and the strength I build each day flows to the child and gives him strength.”

  He set her down carefully and seemed to consider her words. “I do not know… Lucy and Kate will care for you and keep you from building too much strength, as you say. Now dress that we may return.” His eyes widened. “Should you rid
e?”

  She kept her face perfectly calm. “Nay, I should walk back to the castle.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do not grow too saucy, wench. There are ways to punish you that will not harm the babe.”

  She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “And how may that be, my lord?”

  He grabbed her arm and with deadly seriousness began to tickle her until she cried. They fell together on the ground, Ranulf ignoring her pleas for mercy. The undertunic, caught beneath his knee, tore away and revealed her breasts. His attentions turned from thoughts of revenge.

  Their lovemaking was sweet and gentle, a fitting crown to the news that bound them together, each of them aware of the life they had created in their joy of one another. In a state of sensuous rapture, they fell asleep amidst the moss, the flowers, the trickling water, the lazy drone of insects and the soft warm summer breeze.

  Lyonene sat quietly in the solar, a new tabard for Ranulf under her needle. The sounds of the Black Guard from the Great Hall made her smile, for the cheers were loud and growing louder. The comradeship between her husband and his men was a deep friendship, built over years of war, battle, pain and joy, and, she guessed, no small number of kegs of wine.

  She was in bed when Ranulf returned, loudly undressed and fell onto the mattress beside her. He roughly pulled her to him as if she were a rag doll and caressed her hardening stomach. He gave a grunt of contentment and fell asleep, his face covered with her hair.

  It was two weeks later when the storm began. They woke to a gray sky, lightning flashing in the distance, the air cool and clammy.

  Ranulf stood with his men in the courtyard and studied the ugly sky. “I think we should make preparations.” He turned and saw Lyonene’s worried face. “Malvoisin Isle has terrible storms and I think this may be one of the worst. My men and I must prepare the villagers. See you that inside the walls all is secure; I do not wish loose boards flying about the stables or the mews. Assign a boy to each horse to stay the night and calm him. Find William and give him my orders.”

  “I am here, Lord Ranulf, and I have begun preparations.” The steward’s voice showed that he needed no one to give him orders. “The shutters are being nailed over the windows.”

  Ranulf merely nodded and was gone.

  The atmosphere inside the castle changed from its usual noisiness to an eerie quiet. The people seemed to walk on their toes, their voices whispers. The master carpenter and his apprentice carried the tool box about and put extra nails in worn partitions. The horses sensed the coming storm and became nervous and skittish, the boys calming and soothing them.

  The garrison knights saw to firewood piles and the storage of food in the stone towers. Leather goods, fabrics, small animals were all taken inside the towers. The courtyards and walkways were thoroughly cleaned to prevent the rain from mixing with the filth, thus turning everything into an open sewer.

  The first heavy drops of rain came in the late afternoon.

  “Lady Lyonene, you must come. Lord Ranulf said you were not to be outside after the first sign of rain.” Kate, who took her new responsibilities as Lyonene’s maid very seriously, near pulled her mistress to the safety of the stone house.

  Inside, it was dark. The windows were all completely shuttered.

  “Hodder, please see that a fire is lit in the solar, and fetch towels and robes for Lord Ranulf and Master Brent. They will be wet when they return. And see that Dawkin keeps food and wine hot.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Even as Lyonene mounted the stairs, the storm grew worse. The thunder cracked above their heads, the lightning felt rather than seen. She thought of Ranulf, Brent and the Black Guard outside and she shivered.

  The solar was warm and dry, yet each fresh rage of the weather brought a new frown to her face. She could not look out, for the shutters were on the outside, protecting the precious glass windows.

  “I cannot work on this!” she said, putting down her sewing. “Why do they not return? Go again and ask Hodder if there is word,” she told Kate.

  “My lady, I have but returned. The island is large and they must see to many people. All the watch towers must be lit.”

  “What is this? Why must there be a light?”

  “To warn any ships of the island. There are many shipwrecks at St. Agnes’ Point.”

  “Shipwrecks?” she asked quietly and sat down again.

  “Aye. Then the men, Lord Ranulf’s men, must go to the point and look for survivors.”

  “Why must he go? Are there not other men?”

  “Oh yes, my lady,” Kate answered. “But they are not as honest as Lord Ranulf.” She saw Lyonene did not understand, so she began to explain. “It is the law that whoever finds a ship with no survivors may have the cargo of that ship. If even one person survives, then that person owns the cargo, not the finders.”

  “I do not yet see how this affects my husband.”

  “Too often the finders will kill the survivors rather than give up their booty. Lord Ranulf goes to see they are not killed.”

  “Oh.” She leaned back and digested this information. “But is it not dangerous to go in a storm and search for these neardrowned people?”

  “Oh, yes, it is most…” Kate caught her words when she saw the wild look in her mistress’s eye. “Lord Ranulf does but give orders,” she lied. “It is not so dangerous for him. There are others, men who use a boat well who look for people.”

  Lyonene was relieved somewhat by the girl’s words, but not enough to continue sewing. “You do not think there is a shipwreck now?”

  “No, word would have been sent to us. The whole island knows when there is such an event, even in a storm.”

  The hours dragged and Lyonene walked again and again to the windows, forgetting each time they were covered. She heard noises and ran to the stairs to see only darkness below.

  It was late when she heard unmistakable sounds of doors and people. She barely touched the stairs as she ran below. She flew to Ranulf, mindless of his wet clothes. He held her to him, aware of her pounding heart.

  “Here, I am near drowned and you wet me more.” He kissed her tear-covered eyelids. “Let me go by the fire, for the cold and wet has gone to my bones.”

  “Brent! Where is he?” she demanded.

  “Corbet took him. Their women will care for him.”

  She could not help a pang of jealousy.

  Ranulf saw it. “You have not enough with me? You let me stand here and turn to ice? Mayhaps I should have followed my page?”

  She grinned at him and pulled him up the stairs, where she dismissed Kate. She hurriedly helped Ranulf peel off his sodden clothes and rubbed him briskly with the towels. Hodder brought a warm robe, fur-lined slippers, hot wine and a charger of soup and roasted chicken.

  Once warm, Ranulf attacked the food and drink.

  “This is one of the worst I have ever seen,” he said through mouthfuls of food. “I saw the wind lift a dog and carry it a cloth-yard away. Brent was holding onto his saddle with both hands. Hugo pulled him to the front of him and led the pony. The rain slashed so hard we could hardly see. We shall spend months repairing roofs after this. You prepared the castle properly?”

  She rubbed his calf muscles with the towel. “Aye, I am glad for the shutters. There is no sign of a ship?”

  He paused an instant over a chicken leg and then continued. “Nay. The fires are lit on all the towers and I have sent more men to St. Agnes’ Point. They are to ride at once to me to tell if a ship is sighted.”

  “You must go? You cannot send another to give your orders?”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Nay, no one else can … give orders.”

  Even as they spoke, Herne broke into the room. “There is a wreck and it looks to be a big one. The rest of the guard are dressing now.”

  Ranulf rose abruptly and strode into the bedchamber. Lyonene followed, watching silently as he pulled clothes from chests.

  “You cannot leave this to your me
n?”

  He turned a face to her as violent as the storm outside. “Nay, I cannot. Do not say so to me again.” His voice was low and deadly. He pulled on thick woolen chausses, then the linen undershirt.

  “Come here,” he finally said. “Do not look so at me. I must go and I do not wish you to plague me.”

  She stood before him, silently.

  “Where is my Lioness?” he demanded. “Fetch me my heavy woolen mantle. Are you not worth all the gold I spend on you or the food I feed you?”

  Her head came up then. “Mayhaps the rain will mold you into a chivalrous knight.”

  When he was dressed, he clutched her to him, his strength near cracking her ribs. “If you wish to help, go to the chapel and give us your prayers. I do not wish to fight the sea unaided.”

  As he ran down the stairs, he bellowed back at her, “And see the water wiped from my floor. I will not have my house harmed for a hundred storms.”

  She heard voices and then the heavy front door slammed. She stood silently in the vast emptiness, the rain blasting the roof, the wind threatening even the heavy stones of the house, before his words came to her—“ … to fight the sea…” He meant to join the men in the boats.

  Her mind moved rapidly. Of course! How else could he know whether there were survivors? Unless he was there, the men in the boats could easily remove any traces of people found alive. No one would ever know.

  She ran back to the bedchamber and tore through chests to find the wools she sought. In seconds she was dressed, near swaddled in the thick garments.

  There was only one horse left in the stable in the inner bailey, an unruly black stallion that she would normally have been afraid to ride. She talked to the sleek animal as she saddled it and it rolled its eyes at her but did not nip at her or kick.

  “You must run for me this night. We must forget our prejudices of one another, for Ranulf needs us. I must stop him from what he plans.”

  She led the big horse out of the stables and cast herself into the saddle. The horse made one small protest, but she jerked on the reins and he quieted.

  “There is no time for play. We must go.”