Kate came and escorted Amicia back to her chamber.
“You hardly spoke during supper. I do not like your being so rude to our guest.”
“I was never rude. I am sure I spoke whenever there was a chance to insert a word.”
“Come here.” He pulled her to his lap. “I am not so sure I like this much jealousy. I have never seen you treat another so. Even Lady Elizabeth at court did not cause you so much anger.”
“You do not understand. This Amicia is not as they are. They cared for you, in a way. This woman cares for naught but herself.”
“How can you say such when you have but met the woman?”
She sighed against him. It was hopeless to continue. She had heard her mother spend hours trying to persuade her father of the character of a person, a person just met, and Melite had always ended in failure. She seemed doomed to wait until Ranulf slowly came to the same conclusion that she had already reached. She just hoped it was not long.
The morning dawned bright, the sun hot, as the earth tried to repair itself from the damage of the storm.
“I will spend the day with my men and will not return until supper. See you that our guest is made welcome.”
She grimaced but nodded that she would attempt the task.
When Amicia arrived in the solar, she wore Lyonene’s clothes, and the countess wondered at her boldness, for she had never been asked for the loan. Amicia’s eyes dared Lyonene to question her use of them, but Lyonene merely laughed, for the clothes hung on the woman’s boyish frame.
“It seems we must spend this day together, for my husband’s escapades of yester eve have torn his clothes badly. Would you care for the wherewithal to embroider?”
Amicia did not deign to look at Lyonene. “Nay, I do not sew. A lady has servants to perform those duties for her.”
“Of course. I must then inform Queen Eleanora, for she ever embroiders her own clothing.”
Amicia shot her a quick hateful look before turning to the window seat, her finger running along the diamond-shaped panes of glass. “Lord Ranulf is the Black Lion, is he not?” She did not wait for an answer. “I have heard of him even in France. My father, the duke”—she made sure Lyonene heard the words—“often spoke of him. He even once considered him for my husband.”
Lyonene did not look up from her needle. “My husband is an amiable man and might have agreed to the marriage, for he proved in his first marriage that he does not object to a wife older than himself.”
There was silence between them.
“You seem secure in your marriage… Lyonene, is it not? An odd name. I suppose you brought his lordship an enormous dowry.”
“In truth, I did not, but I do not see that that is something for us to discuss.”
Amicia ignored her. “Then it is a love match.”
Lyonene stopped and considered. “I believe it to be.”
“Lord Ranulf does not swear his love for you each moment of the day, then?”
“You are a guest in my house and I must treat you so, but I will not discuss the private lives of my husband and myself with you.” She tossed the sewing down on the nearest stool and left the room. She did not hear the little laugh of triumph Amicia gave.
Lyonene went toward the Jewel Tower, intending to see if there were any people hurt in the storm. Amicia had put a seed of doubt in her mind that had never been there before. Of course Ranulf loved her; had not theirs been a love match? But he had never said the words. She was a silly woman, she told herself. Words were not important. Of course he loved her, just as she had told him many times of the love she bore him.
She shook her head and made herself attend to her work, but the question plagued her: Would he care for her when she was old and ugly?
Amicia joined them again for supper. She was all smiles and apologies for all the work she caused and hung on Ranulf’s every word. He did not discourage her.
Alone, at last, in their room, Ranulf asked after her health. “
The babe does not trouble you overmuch? You seem quiet.”
She pulled away from him. “The babe troubles me naught. I sometimes think he is the only perfect thing in my life.”
He held her close to him, stroking her hair. “What troubles you? I would make it well if I could.”
“Would you? Would you make me able to bear your son and not grow fat, or grow old with the years?”
He smiled down at her, his thumb brushing the corner of her eye. “You do well to be concerned. I detect a fold in your skin already.”
She pushed away. “I do not jest.”
He frowned at her. “There is something which troubles you. It could not hurt to share it with me.” He saw tears in her eyes. “I have never seen you like this. You are ever of high spirits, even when I am not so pleasant to be with.”
A faint smile began to appear through her tears. “I am most happy to hear you say what I have always known.”
“Come to bed before I beat you as you deserve.” He pulled her to him, his hand rubbing her bare stomach, as if he inspected the growth his child made each day.
“And what will you think when my stomach sticks out to here?” she whispered.
“I will hope for twins,” he murmured as he fell asleep.
When Lyonene said she was to ride to the village the next morn, Amicia declared herself well enough to ride with her.
Since the stable boy was afraid of Loriage, Lyonene had to saddle him herself.
“You do not have him whipped?” Amicia asked in astonishment.
“He is but a boy. Later I will show him Loriage is gentle if spoken to correctly.”
“I am sure he is easy to ride and you but create the story of his fierceness. I may show you?”
“Certainly.” Lyonene stepped back.
The black stallion did not even allow the woman to sit in the saddle, but reared and fought her as she slipped one foot into the stirrup. Angrily, she walked away.
They paused in the outer bailey to greet one of the cooks, who held some especially fine cabbages for Lyonene’s approval. Off to the side skulked the man Lyonene instinctively recoiled from.
“Who is that man?” Amicia asked.
Lyonene turned toward the knight. “I forget his name. He seems ever to be idle and his ways are too insolent to my taste.”
“You do not think him handsome?”
She did not look back at the smirking man. “Nay, I do not.” She spurred the stallion ahead.
Many serfs gathered around their mistress in the village, and she gave her attentions to new babies, flooded fields and the egg production of some famed hens. She looked up once to see Amicia in deep conversation with the garrison knight from the castle. They deserve one another! she thought.
It was well past dinnertime when the two women returned to the castle. Ranulf stood with the Black Guard in the courtyard and introduced the seven men to “Lady” Amicia. Lyonene noticed that Hugo and Maularde regarded her honeyed words with the same suspicion that she herself felt.
When Lyonene entered the hall, the first person she saw was Brent, absent from her for two long days. She had not realized how much she had missed the boy. “Brent!” She knelt, holding her arms out to the child, and he ran to her, giving her a rather fierce hug to show his growing love for her.
Remembering his manly status of page he released her as if disgusted by her embrace. He looked quickly to see if his Lord Ranulf had seen his lapse, but the Black Lion stared intently out a window.
Lyonene stood, not allowing herself to further caress the boy. “You have spent the days in the Great Hall of the Black Guard? You must tell me of it, for I have never entered it.”
“You have not?” Brent was astonished.
“Nay,” Ranulf answered. “Only men are allowed in my guard’s hall.”
“But there are women in…” He stopped at Ranulf’s broad wink. “Oh, aye. No lady-wives are allowed.”
Lyonene smiled innocently. “Then you must tell me
about the place. Is it dark and dirty and full of spiders?”
Brent walked proudly ahead of her and then tossed over his shoulder, “Only a few, but I did not notice them.”
Lyonene wanted to share her laughter with Ranulf, but saw he held the same expression as the boy. She rubbed her stomach and gave a silent prayer asking for deliverance from bringing a third such braggart into the world.
Brent stopped at the doorway of the solar, where Amicia already sat. “Who is she?” he whispered to Lyonene.
They both watched as Ranulf went forward to greet the woman. “Lord Ranulf saved her from the sea. Did not the men tell you?”
“Oh, yes, Martha said that Lord Ranulf saved her and you saved Lord Ranulf. Is that true? You are too small to save him. The Black Lion needs no one to save him.”
“I am afraid you are wrong. Brent,” Ranulf said to him. “Come and meet Lady Amicia and I will tell you how my tiny wife quelled over twenty men, and even made a storm abate to appease her wrath.”
Brent hardly noticed the pale woman to whom he was introduced, but waited intently for the promised story. Ranulf began, ignoring Lyonene’s whispered question of, “Who is Martha?” He was a good storyteller and created a colorful tale from what Lyonene considered rather ordinary happenings.
Brent watched her with awe. “Can you do it again? Can you make your voice so loud it will crack the stone walls?”
“Ranulf! The boy believes your lies.”
Both Brent and Ranulf were indignant. “A true knight does not lie,” they both exclaimed, echoing one another.
She could not help laughing; they were so much alike.
Amicia, ignored for so long, destroyed the gaiety. “I must not intrude on so happy a family scene. I am feeling a bit weak and must retire.”
“Pardon our rudeness, Lady Amicia,” Ranulf answered her. “Supper will be served in here and you must dine with us.”
“You do not set a table with your retainers?”
“Nay. They each have their own homes. I grew used to being a bachelor and still keep to my old ways.”
The woman’s light eyes were only on Ranulf’s dark, somber ones. “You have been married recently, my lord?”
“Aye, it is now…”
“Six months,” Lyonene supplied.
Ranulf turned and grinned at her, and she looked interestedly at the window.
“Oh, Hodder comes with the food. You will join us?”
“How can I not when so pleasantly asked?”
Lyonene saw Hodder sneer as he set the table. She rarely agreed with the pompous little man, but in their opinion of this woman, they did. For the first time ever, their eyes met briefly in accord.
Amicia talked throughout the meal, complimenting Malvoisin, pleading for Ranulf to tell her of his trials on Crusade, praising his superior talents in designing such a castle as Malvoisin. Brent listened raptly to Ranulf’s stories, but Lyonene thought she glimpsed a surreptitious look at Amicia now and again. It did not help matters to know that even a six-year-old boy could see through the woman.
Early the next morn, Ranulf stormed back into the house. “Hodder!” he bellowed. The house rocked as he thundered up the stairs, two at a time. “Where is that man! Hodder, if you value your life, you’ll come this instant!”
“What is it? Ranulf, why are you so angry?” Lyonene asked.
He jammed clothes into a leather satchel. “Pack my mail and all my armor and make haste!” He threw the words at Hodder as the man entered the room. “No, not the silver. I make war, not merriment.”
Lyonene felt her knees weaken. “What is this talk of war?”
“That damned blackguard! William’s threats were not enough. Now he sends serfs to farm my land.”
“What land? What is this you speak of?”
“Gethen Castle, your castle! My steward, your steward, hell! I do not care who owns the place. Sang de Dieu, I will kill the man with my bare hands. He dares to question my boundaries.”
Lyonene was almost afraid of her husband and wondered at Hodder’s steady hands. She watched with a stomach that churned as he pulled mace, flail, battle ax and war hammer from the walls.
“Ranulf, could you not talk with this man?”
“Talk! The time is past for talk. He should hope his castle is well provendered, for I may hold siege. We will see how long this lowly baron holds against the Black Lion. You will see to the castle while I am gone. I take my guard and a hundred garrison knights. Should I need more, I will send a message and you will send them. You understand your duties?”
“I am well trained,” she said icily.
He gave her a quick look, but his anger did not abate. “Brent goes with me.” He stood dressed in the sturdy travel clothes. “Now come and kiss me that I may remember it for a while, and give me no cause to worry for you. It is your castle I defend.”
She did not tell him her thoughts—that she would not give one day of his company in exchange for the unseen castle. She held her tears, and her protests, as he kissed her, his anger and urgency creating a violent, bruising kiss.
“I will send you news of our happenings.” He ran down the stairs, Lyonene trying to keep pace.
“Wait! Wait!” She ran back up the stairs and hurriedly found the jeweled and embroidered ribbon she sought, the copy she had made of the lion belt. Ranulf was already in the courtyard, his men waiting. She put her arms about his neck, then put one hand inside the fitchet opening of his tabard, looping the ribbon over his leather belt. What else she did with her hand made him gasp and push her away.
“You forget yourself.” But his eyes twinkled.
“Do but remember me,” she whispered, blinking hard to restrain the tears.
“I could do naught else,” was his equally serious reply.
As he rode from the courtyard, her sobs were echoed by four women standing in the doorway across the way, the entrance to the Black Guard’s hall. The women looked at one another and did not speak, but there was a comradeship between the lonely women, doomed to wait and pray for men gone to war.
Lyonene and Amicia spent the afternoon in the solar, the countess with her sewing, the other woman’s hands idle.
“I envy you, Lady Lyonene, your serenity, your apparent peacefulness. I am sure I could not be so in your situation.”
“And what, pray tell, is your meaning?”
“I believe you carry Lord Ranulf’s babe. I assume it is his, but then one can never be sure.”
Lyonene gave the older woman a brief, cold look.
“I do not mean to offend. It is only that Lord Ranulf is such a handsome man. I am sure he must be quite popular with women. I know I find the man thoroughly fascinating.”
“I will not have my husband discussed so.”
“Pray forgive me. I do not, in truth, speak of your husband. I but wonder at you. ’Twere I soon to grow heavy with child, I would worry that my handsome husband is miles away, alone with men who are sure to introduce women—of the lower sort, of a surety, but women nonetheless—into the camp.”
“Lady Amicia, if lady you be, your hints are quite unsubtle and I do not like them at all. I request that you keep such thoughts to yourself.”
“I agree with you. I would not wish to be reminded of my plight, either.”
Lyonene merely looked at her.
Amicia smiled and ran her hand across a tapestry. “Even from my brief contact with him, I find Lord Ranulf to be … most susceptible to even the merest hint of … romance, shall we say? Tell me, Lady Lyonene, of your courtship. Did you find him a difficult man to bring to terms, or was he quickly snared? It would interest me much to know this. Did you know one another for weeks, months before the betrothal?”
Lyonene stared at the woman, speechless.
“I find it has taken but a matter of days…” She covered her mouth. “I am sure Lord Ranulf is not the sort of man to fall in love quickly; he is too serious for that. Oh, my pardon, you did mention that Lord Ranulf has not d
eclared his love for you. Mmm. I wonder what the kitchen people have prepared for dinner? I am feeling a bit weak and shall retire to my room. Good-day, my lady. I do so hope I have said naught to offend you.”
Lyonene sat stunned, and then shook herself. She had known the woman was evil and should not have been surprised when she was offered proof of it. What if Ranulf did take a woman while he was away from her? Most men did. It was natural, and she must accept the idea.
“Oh!” she cried aloud when she stuck the needle into her thumb. She looked at the new tabard she sewed and stuck the needle into it with vigor several times. No! No! No! her mind cried. She would not accept another touching her Ranulf.
Ranulf had been gone but four days when the first messenger arrived. She saw him from the solar window, saw that his horse carried a pouch stamped with the lion of Malvoisin. She ran down the stairs, almost tripping once in her haste. She did not notice Amicia close behind her.
The boy held two pieces of paper, each sealed with the Warbrooke lion. She near tore them from his hands.
“You are Lady Lyonene?” He held her hand from tearing open the missal.
“Aye, I am.”
“And who be Lady Amicia?”
“I am Lady Amicia.”
Lyonene stood still as the boy took one of the papers from her hands and gave it to the pale woman.
“Go … go to the kitchen, and take what you need.” Her first spurt of joy was dulled. Ranulf could not have written to Amicia! She watched as the woman eagerly tore the seal.
“He is well,” she murmured, then looked to Lyonene, holding her letter to her breast. “You do not hasten to open your letter?”
Lyonene walked past her and went to her bedchamber. Her first impulse was to toss the letter, unread, into the candle flame, but she could not.
It is a siege and I fear it may take months. I have sent men to Malvoisin for carpenters to build our weapons. I have offered the man every retreat, but he refuses me. I grow bored with this already. I have become soft in the last months and now wish only the comforts of my home.
The Black Lyon Page 20