The stallion did run for her, and the rain and wind cut them, lacerating the rider and horse that had become as one, their purpose agreed upon.
There were many horses and men overlooking St. Agnes’ Point. Lyonene knew if she were seen, one of the Black Guard would return her to the castle. She left the horse near some rocks, not tying it, knowing it was trained to stand.
No one noticed the dark form that followed the cliff wall down to the beach. When a streak of lightning showed her the boats, she saw she was too late. Three boats were already upon the turbulent water, Ranulf easily discerned in the farthest boat.
She knelt in a shadow of the cliff and began to pray with more fervor than she had ever thought possible. The storm continued, soaking her, lashing her, pulling and plucking at her clothes, but she did not notice. She only prayed, keeping her face turned toward the black sea.
It was hours later when she first saw the light specks of the returning boats. She ran to the shore, the salt water spraying her, heedless of the men who ran toward her. Someone’s arm went about her shoulders, but she did not look, for her concern was only on the returning boats.
She saw instantly that he was not there.
She began to run into the sea, but something about her waist stopped her, held her.
The boats came near her and still she could not move.
“I am sorry, my lady,” one of the men yelled over the fury of the storm. “He saw a head and fell over trying to save the bloke. We searched for hours but could not find him.”
Strong arms pulled her around, and her face was buried against a wet shoulder, hands stroking her back, comforting her.
“Nay!” The word bubbled inside her, boiling, festering. She pushed hard against the man who held her, and when she turned to the boatman again, the man took one step backward. The woman had gone mad! Her face was distorted with rage.
The sweet-voiced Lyonene was no longer present. The voice that bellowed across the wind and rain was not even that of a woman.
“You will know hell on earth do you not find him and return him to me—alive! There are no tortures even in Castile that will equal what I will do to you.” She stepped forward and the men around her retreated. She was possessed by something they did not wish to fight.
“Are my words heard? Do not return without him.”
No man protested as they returned to their boats and vigorously began to row themselves out into the deathgiving sea.
There were no protecting hands now as Lyonene sank to her knees, but all hands were clasped together as they followed suit of their mistress and began to pray.
There were watchers from the hill above, and the sight of the tiny girl kneeling in the sand and surf, surrounded by seven dark knights, also on their knees, made them forget the wet, the cold, and they joined in the prayers for the return of their beloved master. No one of them moved or lost fervor even when a faint light began to show and the storm lessened in its fury. There was not a man in the returning boats who did not cross himself and offer a silent prayer at the sight that greeted them.
A hand on her shoulder made Lyonene look up to see the boats. Other hands helped her stand. She did not see him at first, his head bent low. When she was sure he was there, she collapsed, her face buried in her hands, the release making her shoulders droop, her body weak.
Someone knelt beside her and put an arm about her shoulders. When she meant to rise again, she was supported.
She walked to the side of the boat and saw Ranulf, intent upon a long, wet bundle across his lap. When he saw her, he was startled and then angry. He looked up at the man next to her.
“She should not have been allowed here.”
“She has saved your ungrateful life, so do not speak of her so!”
Ranulf was even more startled at the tone of his man, for none had ever dared speak to him in such a manner. “We will speak of this later. Take this.” He handed the bundle to Sainneville. “It is a girl, so treat it with care.”
The rain had dwindled to a drizzle, and the sun made a valiant effort to show itself. Ranulf stepped from the boat his clothes soggy and cold. He looked in puzzlement at the rather skittish behavior of one of the boatmen towards his wife. The man acted almost as if he were afraid of Ranulf’s little wife.
“What have you done in these few hours that has caused my man to rebuke me and these others to fear you?” he asked, frowning.
“Ranulf…” Her lip trembled and then she was in his arms, her sobs racking her body with their violence. He held her to him, frightened himself at the fierceness of her emotion. He pulled the hood away and stroked her wet hair, soothing her.
“Come, my sweet. I am well. I am returned. Do not cry so. Please, you must cease; I can bear it no longer!”
She sniffed and tried to calm herself. “When they returned without you, I could not bear it, I could not think… Oh, Ranulf, they would have left you.”
He looked around at the men near him. “What is this? They would have left me to drown?”
“Aye,” Corbet laughed. “We thought you done for, but your lady had other plans for you than a watery grave. She is tame now, but there has never been a storm to equal her. I vow she made my blood freeze with fear.”
Ranulf frowned, for he knew Corbet jested, but there was a ring of truth in his words. Then he grinned, flashing straight white teeth. “She is a Lioness,” he said proudly as he swept her into his arms and carried her to the top of the hill.
He set her down and left her for a moment to see to Tighe, who had stood faithfully by throughout the storm. Lyonene walked a few feet away to retrieve the waiting stallion from the rocks.
“My lady!” She looked in astonishment as Maularde made a leap for her. She jumped back and avoided the powerful body that flew towards her and landed heavily at her feet.
“Lyonene, be very still.”
She looked in puzzlement at Ranulf and the men staring at her, Ranulf advancing slowly, stealthily. She sensed some danger, mayhaps a wild animal near and so did not move. She was stunned when Ranulf made one quick leap and did but grab the reins of the black horse from her hands.
The horse threw his head back and neighed, his front feet prancing.
“What is this you do?” she demanded. “You frighten the poor animal.” She took the reins and stroked the horse’s nose to calm it, and the animal lowered its head to nuzzle her shoulder.
She looked back at her husband and his guard. There was open-mouthed astonishment on their faces and then, while she watched, all eight men began to laugh. It started slowly, but soon built into a torrent, gales of laughter. First one and then the other fell to their knees, holding their stomachs as they laughed. Eight men rolled about on the wet, mushy ground at her feet.
“Pardon me, my lord,” Sainneville gasped, his eyes tearing, “but you will frighten my horse.”
“The horse’s tail weighs more than she does.” Herne dissolved into more laughter.
“The boatman’s face!” New laughter.
Ranulf was louder than all of them. “She really did it? Edkins looked terrified!”
“I was also! I vow she was twenty feet tall and the storm was silent compared to her booming voice!”
“My lark?” Ranulf gasped. “I called her a lark to Edward. Would he could have seen her!”
Lyonene knew they laughed at her. She had done nothing laughable! “I do not wish to keep you from your fun,” she said icily, “but I return to my home and a fire.”
The men began to sober and sit up. Then each of them tensed and quieted as she first put her foot into the stirrup. When she sat atop the horse and gave them what she hoped was a quelling look, she felt disgusted when they fell again to the ground, their laughter harder and louder than before. She squared her shoulders and left them.
“Lyonene!” Ranulf thundered to a halt on Tighe’s back beside her.
She refused to look at him. “I hate you! You use me as a jest for all your men! You are detestable!”
“Do you not know the reason for our jests?”
She refused to answer him or look at him, urging the stallion ahead of Tighe. Ranulf moved beside her.
“Do you know of the horse you ride?”
She frowned at him, further angered when she saw his amusement. “It is from the stables. I have seen the horse before, ’tis all. I am sorry if I took someone’s personal horse, but there was no other available.” She gave his wet form a scathing look. “Had I thought twice of saving you, I do not think I would repeat the action.”
He chuckled. “But you have never seen the horse ridden?”
“Nay, I have not. He is a smooth-gaited horse, and I wonder now why he is allowed to grow fat.”
“The reason, my sweet, is that Loriage has never allowed anyone on his back for more than a few moments.”
“You jest! He has spirit, but is otherwise gentle.”
Ranulf took her hand and kissed it. “As you have tamed the lion, now you tame this beast. He is Tighe’s son, and I believe I promised you one of his offspring. Of course I did think more in the way of a pretty daughter—not this hellion of a son. I had already decided to geld him.”
As if the stallion heard, he lifted his forefeet from the ground, but Lyonene easily controlled him.
“You hurt her, you ugly beast, and I myself will break your neck,” Ranulf warned, seething.
Lyonene giggled when the horse rolled its eyes at Ranulf. “I am forgiven?”
She gave him a slight smile, not sure yet if he deserved forgiveness.
“You must see the humor, when we saw you leading, as if he were a lamb, this animal that has hurt several men.”
She leaned forward and stroked the animal’s velvety neck. “I have ever had success with the taming of great black animals. Come, Loriage, let us show these old men how fast youth can travel.”
They arrived at the castle gates at the same time, the speed of Loriage more than the heavier Frisian’s, but Ranulf’s dexterity and knowledge of his horse greater.
He swung her to the ground. “Do not ride so fast that you injure my babe,” he warned her.
She could not help smiling at him, pleased that he spoke of their child. He took her hand.
“Come and let us see what the sea has given us, or did you forget why I went bathing this morn? And then I am for sleep.” His eyes raked her. “Or other activities beneath the sheets.”
She squeezed his hand. “I am glad you are here and not…” Her eyes misted.
“You would miss me?”
“Never!”
He grinned and threw back his shoulders, looking ahead to the house. “You lie always.”
Chapter Twelve
They forgot the girl Ranulf had dragged from the sea.
“My lady,” Kate said as she met them. “We have put her in a spare bedchamber. Should we move her to the servants’ rooms?”
Lyonene was puzzled for a moment, then remembered. “I will change my wet garments and then see to her myself.”
“You cannot tend the girl. You have had no sleep for many hours. Send her to Jewel Tower.”
“Have you no interest in this child who near cost you your life?”
He shrugged. “Nay, I have interest in only one matter at the moment.”
She moved from his grasp.
He yawned and stepped into the soft bed. He was asleep before she finished dressing. She gave one last, longing gaze to his still form before she left the room.
The woman lay asleep on the wide bed; Lyonene saw instantly that she was no girl in spite of her slight form. She was pretty in a timid way, with pale blond hair and pale brows and lashes. There were sunken places beneath her high cheekbones and little color in her rather thin lips.
“She sleeps now, my lady, but I have given her some hot broth. She is very thin, almost like a boy. A shipwreck could not make the meat all leave one’s bones, could it?”
Lyonene laughed. “Nay, it could not. It is fashionable to be slim. Mayhaps the lady comes from a land where the fashion is carried too far. See that someone is with her always. I go now and sleep. Tell William to keep the castle quiet.”
She removed her clothes and slipped in beside Ranulf. He moved closer to her and sighed in his sleep. Content, she also slept.
The last rays of the sun were fading when they woke, the warmth of the bed making them drowsy and languid. As Lyonene made to rise, Ranulf pulled her back to him.
“You have escaped me once this day and you will not do so again. I will reward the one who saved me from an early death.”
His lips were on her neck, savoring the shape and texture of her smooth skin, as she murmured, “I am glad Hugo did not rescue you, for he would not enjoy your rewards half as much as I.”
Ranulf silenced her words with his lips. A loud knocking at the door interrupted them. Ranulf loudly cursed the knocker and returned his attentions to his wife. The noise continued.
Angrily, Ranulf flung himself from the bed; only Lyonene’s voice made him don the loincloth before opening the door. Kate stood there, craning her neck to see her mistress.
“I do not mean to disturb you, my lord, but it is the woman you found.”
“What woman?” He scowled at the already frightened girl.
Lyonene donned her robe and stepped before Ranulf, giving him a look of rebuke. “What of the woman, Kate? Is she not recovered as you thought?”
“Oh, yes, my lady. She has more than recovered. She is sitting in her bed and demanding to see his lordship.”
“Demanding?” Ranulf stepped forward. “I near die dragging the worthless piece from the sea and now she makes more demands of me? She should say prayers of thanks for me and her delivery from the sea.”
Lyonene tried to stop him as he pushed past her to stride angrily to the bedchamber. She was close behind him.
“Now, woman, what is this you demand of me?” His voice was quiet and heavy with sarcasm.
Lyonene looked at the woman’s pale-blue eyes and saw them widen at the sight of the near-nude Ranulf. The eyes were odd, searching, calculating, and now they narrowed shrewdly, seeming to figure a method of approaching the handsome man before her.
“Oh, my lord,” she said, pressing a tear from the corner of one eye. Her voice was high with a strange singsong quality to it. “I do not know what the maid has told you. I did but ask who was my rescuer. I owe you my worthless life.”
Lyonene looked at Kate’s startled face and knew the woman lied. Ranulf went to sit by the woman and took her hand. “You are safe now and there is no reason for tears.”
She leaned toward Ranulf and put one hand on his chest, the fingers twined in the thick hair. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “I will ever be in debt to you. I cannot repay you, for all my worldly goods went down with my father, the Duke of Vernet.”
“Your father is a duke? Then you must be Frankish.”
She nodded and another tear came.
“Then we are honored by your presence. You may stay with us until you can notify relatives of your whereabouts.”
She leaned even closer, her head almost touching Ranulf’s shoulder. “Alas, my lord, I do not have more relatives.”
“Well,” he responded, patting her hand, “you are welcome at Malvoisin for as long as need be. Now you must rest.” He rose. “Your name, my lady?”
“Amicia.”
“I am Ranulf, and this is my wife, Lady Lyonene.”
The pale woman gave Lyonene her first look. It startled Lyonene by the coldness of it, and then the little smile made chills on her arms; it was almost deadly. Lyonene gave the woman a brilliant smile in return, but the eyes that met hers held a challenge, a dare.
When they were alone in their room, they began to dress. “
The woman has missed her call. She should be in London. She is far better than any other mummer I have seen.”
“Of what do you speak?” Ranulf asked.
“Why, our Lady Amicia, most assuredly. If she i
s a Frankish duke’s daughter, then I am Queen Eleanora’s sister. I especially liked the ‘my worthless life’ part. Tell me, did you like those skimpy tears she managed to produce?”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his lap. “You are jealous.”
“Nay, I am not, for there is little substance on which to base a jealousy.”
“Oh! I think I like this. Tell me more. Did you not like the way her little hand touched my chest?”
“Ranulf, I am serious! The woman is bad; she is not as she seems to you. Already she has lied about Kate and…”
He pushed her from his lap and returned to dressing. “How can you judge her so harshly after but a few words? I found her but an ordinary woman, but she says she is a duke’s daughter, so she must be treated with respect. Now see to our food and do not complain to me of her again. She is but a woman. What harm can she do?”
Lyonene went to the kitchen herself to order food. Ranulf was unreasonable! She knew there was naught she could do to persuade him that the woman’s words were all mummery.
Dawkin met her at the door. “My lady, she is not to be pleased. She has sent her food back three times—it is not cooked enough, it is overcooked. Kate has near flooded my kitchen with her tears.”
She tried to calm the chief cook as best she could. “I will speak to her, but do not take this to Lord Ranulf.” She remembered his reaction to her complaints. If more were said against her, he would perhaps ask her to make Malvoisin her permanent home. She took a large tray of food and carried it to the solar for herself and Ranulf.
To her chagrin, Amicia sat near the fire, wrapped in a fur-lined quilt.
“Oh, Lyonene,” Ranulf said, taking the tray, “Lady Amicia has decided she is well enough to join us for the evening meal.”
“How thoughtful of her.” She met the woman’s eyes briefly.
“Tell us of your homeland. I have not seen France for several years.”
“Then you have seen it. I knew you to be an educated man when first I saw you. It is something in your eyes.”
No one saw Lyonene’s lip curl at the woman or her disgust at the way Ranulf reacted to the syrupy words. She listened as they talked, watching how the Frankish woman leaned toward Ranulf at every opportunity and touched his arm often. The only consolation she had was that never once did Ranulf smile at the woman or laugh at her statements.
The Black Lyon Page 19