The Black Lyon

by Jude Deveraux

  Brent is well and we talk of you always. The ribbon never leaves me.

  Your loving husband and weary knight,

  Ranulf

  She sank onto the bed and cried. The letter was so gentle, with none of the arrogance he usually displayed, and she knew how lonely he must be. She cursed herself, in a very limited vocabulary, for doubting him for an instant. It took a long while, but she was at last purged and smiled again for the first time in days. She took time to write her return letter to Ranulf, assuring him of the health of herself and their child, telling him of the castle happenings. Only at the last did she add some of what she felt:

  Kate worries that I become as you once were, for I find naught to make me smile.

  Your Lioness

  Her mood had lightened by the time she went to the solar to dine, Amicia her only company.

  “Your letter contained pleasant news?” the woman asked.

  “Aye. I fear there is to be a siege and Ranulf may be gone some time.”

  “Oh, yes, there were four meetings with the baron, but none were successful and now tunnels are being prepared and… You must forgive me. I am sure he wrote you much the same.”

  “I do not seem to know quite as much as you do. Perhaps the man who wrote you is a more prolific writer.”

  “Aye, Lord Ranulf wrote me a great deal.”

  “Ranulf! What is this you say?” Lyonene demanded.

  “Why, my lady, I assumed you knew. You assured me my hints were most unsubtle.”

  “Are you making an attempt to tell me that my husband sends messages to you?”

  “You cannot blame a man if he is attracted to another woman.”

  She rose from her chair. “I believe you not. You must show me this letter.”

  “My Lady Lyonene, I can see this must be your husband’s first … infidelity, shall we say, and I do not wish to repay your kind hospitality by showing you something that will surely cause you distress.”

  “I will go to my husband and he will deny your lies.”

  “Most assuredly he will. You would not expect him to boast of his women to you? You did not think him to be a monk before his marriage, so why ever should he change just for a few vows before some witnesses? And he has fulfilled those vows; you certainly seem to have all a woman could desire. Please, you must eat. You must think of your child, who grows larger each day.”

  The food stuck in Lyonene’s throat. She would not believe the woman’s words! She would ride to Ranulf and… Would she believe him if he denied an interest in this woman?

  Amicia chattered about the food, the insolence of the Malvoisin servants, but Lyonene heard not a word, her thoughts too desolate to allow her to hear aught else.

  The next day Lyonene donned old clothes and spent hours working in her garden. She pulled at weeds viciously.

  “There you are, my lady.” Amicia’s voice made her carelessly grab another bunch of weeds, only to find her hand cut and bleeding from a sturdy thistle. She sat back on her heels and wiped the dirt from her palm.

  “I do not know how you bear the dirt and sweat of gardening. I would have thought a lady … oh, yes, you are but a baron’s daughter, are you not?”

  “I do not have time for your insults this morn. If you have aught to say to me, do so, but get to your meaning quickly.”

  “I seem ever to displease you. I came but to the garden to enjoy it. It already holds many sweet memories for me.”

  “My Lady Lyonene,” Kate called. “You must come inside from the sun. Lucy frets for you and the babe.”

  Silently, Lyonene followed her to the kitchen. She knew Amicia would not enter such a room.

  “Lady Lyonene, if your mother saw the way you worked and you carrying a babe.” Lyonene thought of her mother as a cool haven. “And Lord Ranulf,” Lucy continued, “he would be angry to know you would harm his babe.”

  Lyonene slammed the mug of ale down. “Lord Ranulf! I hear naught but his name. I will deliver the child he so craves, but I do not know that I shelter his mistresses much longer.”

  “What do you speak of, child? Lord Ranulf has no mistresses. Why, I have never seen a man love a wife so. The man dotes on you.”

  “Oh, Lucy.” She clung to the fat old woman who had always been with her and began to weep on the ample bosom.

  “Come, upstairs you go. You are to go to bed.”

  Lyonene leaned on the woman and allowed her to undress her and put her to bed. Lucy stroked her forehead, too warm, and noticed circles under her eyes. “Tell me what troubles you, child. Lucy will listen.”

  “He does not love me. He has never loved me.”

  “How can you say that? The man never leaves your side when he can prevent it. Was there something in the letter that has made you sad?”

  “There are other women.”

  “Sweet, all men have other women. It is their way, but it does not mean he does not love you.”

  Lyonene’s tears began at Lucy’s words.

  “Sleep, child, and the pain will ease.”

  Gradually. Lyonene’s sobs ceased and she did sleep, fitfully, feeling worse when she woke to an empty room, an empty bed.

  She avoided Amicia for the next few days, taking meals in her own room, keeping from the solar, an exile in her own house.

  “She is gone, my lady.” Kate came to Lyonene’s room.

  “Gone? Who has gone?”

  “The woman, the Frankish woman. A messenger came early this morn with a letter for her and in moments she ordered a horse saddled and she was gone. She took no clothes. Think you she will stay away?”

  Lyonene’s heart quickened a bit at the thought of ridding herself of the hateful woman. “I do not know. This messenger, what banner did he carry?”

  “Why, that of Malvoisin, the Black Lion.”

  She could feel the color draining from her face. “Did you see the letter, Kate?” she whispered.

  “Aye, my lady. It lies on her bed now, but I cannot read.”

  “Bring it to me.”

  With trembling hands, she opened the stiff, heavy paper.

  Come to me.

  Ranulf

  It fell to the floor.

  “My lady, my lady!” Kate ran for a mug of wine. “Drink this!”

  Lyonene choked down some of the sweet liquid. It was all true! Every word was true! There was no mistaking Ranulf’s bold scrawl or the seal set in the wax. Only he carried the seal of the Earl of Malvoisin, and it never left his person.

  Amicia was gone for three days, three days of hell for Lyonene. She was past tears. Kate took care of her, and she was only vaguely aware of people around her. Lucy tried to help by telling her no man was worth so much fuss, that it had been a shock to her when her first husband took another woman but that she had had to go on living.

  Another letter arrived from Ranulf, and Lyonene’s answer was curt and brief, giving only an account of life at the castle.

  “Why, Lady Lyonene, are you ill? I have never seen you look so tired.” Amicia greeted her in the hall after her return. “I vow there is naught like a stay in the country to refreshen one, although a tent is a little too warm in summer, do you not agree?”

  Lyonene swept past her and left the house. The stable boy, no longer afraid since Lyonene had spent time with him and Loriage, saddled Loriage for her and she spurred the horse to run as fast as he was able, glad of the wind and the exercise. She was already there before she realized that she had traveled to the glade, the sweet place where she had told Ranulf of their coming child. She had been happy then, a happiness she knew she’d never know again. She lay on the mossy ground, her face buried in her arms.

  “I love you so, Ranulf, why could you not love me in return?” she whispered.

  When she returned in the evening, she had made some decisions. Ranulf had chosen her for wife, and even if he did not wish her as lover, she would perform her wifely duties as expected.

  “I am pleased you are feeling better and can join me at
table.” Amicia smiled at Lyonene. “It is a shame to be so heavy with child in the summer’s heat. I just hope I do not find myself in the same state.”

  Lyonene smoothed her skirts, her stomach hardly extended at all. “Can you talk of naught else but my husband?”

  “But I did not mention Lord Ranulf! Since you do seem interested, shall I tell you of the progress of the siege?”

  “Nay, I do not wish to hear it.”

  “I am sure I understand. We will speak of other things. I say that I grow quite fond of the boy Brent. There are times when he quite reminds me of Ranulf. It is something in the way they walk, I believe. Tell me, how did Ranulf acquire that awful scar that runs from his stomach to his … my pardon, my lady, we were to speak of else.”

  “Amicia, I have taken enough. What my husband does is not my affair, but I will not sit in my own house with your stories of your … of your actions. If you do not cease, I shall have you removed to the garrison hall.”

  Amicia’s eyes narrowed. “Nay, my lady, I do not think you should do that. Nay, I would not.”

  “Do not threaten me. I have the power of the castle in my husband’s absence and no one could say me nay ’twere I even to order your hanging.”

  “Your threats do not frighten me. You would not hazard Ranulf’s wrath, and although I have had no occasion to see such anger, I can imagine it is no pleasure. I would suggest you must bear my presence with as much fortitude as you may summon. Ranulf will make his own decisions as to my placement in this household.”

  The two women stared at one another, neither relinquishing her hold until Hodder came to remove the soiled dishes.

  Exhausted, Lyonene fell into a heavy sleep that night.

  The morn brought a messenger with a letter from Ranulf.

  It is late now and I cannot sleep. My page would not think me a man ’twere he to know I pine for a bit of a girl. I sense you are troubled. Would that I were with you now.

  Can you not write to me else but of William de Bec? Send me one of your damned roses you think so much of.

  There is not a moment I do not think of you.

  Ranulf

  She held the letter close to her. How could he write such letters to her and then send for Amicia to stay with him?

  Could Lucy be right, that a man could truly love one woman yet bed many others?

  She forgot Amicia for a few moments and ran to write a return letter. She told of her loneliness, of her journey to their glade, but she made no mention of the hurt she felt that he could turn to Amicia. Had he but hinted that he wanted his wife to come to him, Lyonene felt she would run to him, in her bare feet if need be, but he made no mention of such a possibility and she was careful not to tell him of her feelings. She sent a separate letter to Brent, telling of horses and hawks.

  When the letters were prepared, she had Dawkin fill a box with honeyed fruit and a crock of his special, hot pickles. She then went to the garden and fair stripped it of flowers. The messenger boy began a protest, but Lyonene silenced him with one look. The stems were wrapped in damp canvas, then packed in moss and put again into several layers of wet canvas. William de Bec solemnly supplied a hard, molded-leather bag that would protect the huge bouquet on the back of the horse.

  She attached one tiny rosebud with wax to the bottom of her letter to Ranulf and then sealed it. For Brent she sent a new leather belt, stamped with the Malvoisin lion, a tiny emerald in its brass buckle.

  As the boy rode away, she felt happier than she had in weeks. She did not see the angry face of Amicia as the woman watched from the solar window. “You have had all in your life and now it is time you share some of it. I shall have the rich husband and the love of the servants.”

  Lyonene was smiling when she started up the stairs, thinking of Ranulf’s reaction when he received the flowers.

  “You seem well pleased this day. I am happy you are not ill as you have been of late.”

  “Yes, thank you. I am quite well.”

  The little object made only a slight sound as it fell from its hiding place under Amicia’s skirt. Lyonene bent to retrieve it. To say her happiness left her would be too mild, for she held the ribbon, the copy of the lion belt, that she had sent to Gethen Castle with Ranulf.

  “How came you by this?” she managed to choke out from her dry throat.

  Amicia tried to take the ribbon, but only shrugged when Lyonene held it fast. “It was given me when I requested it. It is pretty, do you not think?”

  Lyonene walked ahead to her room, the ribbon clutched firmly in her hand. Once in the room, she threw the ribbon to the farthest corner with all her might. “I send you flowers and you present my gifts to another. Tell me, do you plan to be so generous with our child?”

  She did not cry, but went to the solar and resumed her embroidery. She would not think on the fact that the garment she sewed was for a husband who sent her false words of sweetness and in truth was a treacherous man. When Amicia entered the room, Lyonene smiled sweetly at the woman and Ranulf was not mentioned between them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was three days later when Ranulf’s next, longest letter arrived.

  The flowers arrived perfectly. I parted with seven of them to my men, for they seem as weary as I. My head is sore this morn, for I spent yester eve with a barrel of wine and Maularde. I did not know the man had so many words. He loves the girl he met at Edward’s tourney and wishes to marry her. I will have them live at Malvoisin, for I cannot relinquish my men.

  Even Brent grows tired of this ugly battle. He was most affected by your mention of the hawks. He never is without the belt you sent. He will not bathe and another week and I shall refuse him my tent.

  Someone has stolen the ribbon you so prettily gave me. I have torn the camp apart but it is not to be found. Forgive my carelessness.

  I had the rose from your letter sewn into my leather hacketon. Do but remember me.

  Your knight,

  Ranulf

  He wrote that the ribbon had been stolen when he knew Amicia had it. The woman could not have gone to the camp and not have been seen by him. Nor was it possible for Amicia to have sent her own messages or have access to Ranulf’s seal. Lyonene remembered Gressy’s stories of Ranulf’s first wife. It was said the woman attempted to kill herself, so unhappy she was. What treachery could make a woman try to commit a mortal sin?

  She had been married to him only six months and already he was a master of lies and deceits. What heights could he climb to in three years? A man does not earn the title of Spawn of the Devil for naught.

  She took quill and ink and paper into the solar. She would not let him know she knew of his dishonorable behavior. He should have been honest with her and told her he no longer desired her, rather than sending letters of kindness and practicing deeds of deception.

  Amicia stood by a window, her letter in her hand. “You write him?”

  Lyonene nodded.

  “I am to go with the messenger when he returns. Mayhaps I may deliver it myself. I must prepare a few things.” She swept from the room.

  Her letter lay open on a chair seat and Lyonene could not refrain from walking to it. She did not touch it—there was no need. The last line was quite clear.

  I love you, my Amicia.

  Ranulf

  When Amicia returned, Lyonene was seated again at the little table, but the letter she had begun was crumbled before her. She walked down the stairs to the courtyard, where the messenger waited. Amicia walked ahead to the outer bailey, presumably to obtain a horse for her journey.

  “You have a message for me to return?”

  “Nay, I do not. Do but tell my husband his child is well and his castle is well cared for.”

  The boy looked doubtful, but turned and led his horse toward the gate where Amicia had gone.

  The woman was gone only one night, and when she returned, she proudly showed Lyonene a beautiful little jar of rock crystal and gold that contained a small, precious amount o
f perfume. The Frankish woman reeked of the scent.

  “It is an expensive gift and, he says, well deserved. I vow I have never had such a night as this last. I do not wonder you are breeding already with such a husband.”

  “Out! I will have no more! You spend your nights as the lowest of women, yet you brag and display your ill-gotten goods. I will bear no more of your insults. William! Show this woman new quarters. She may stay inside the castle walls, but not in the inner bailey. Throw her to the garrison knights for all I care!”

  Even through her blaze of anger, she thought she saw a faint smile on the steward’s mouth.

  Amicia smiled lazily, knowingly. “You will regret this. It will be you who will leave this fine house and I who gives the orders.” She jerked away from William’s arm and went down the stairs before him. At the door she stopped, not turning, and laughed, an ugly laugh that filled the hall, making the hearers’ flesh crawl.

  Almost instantly there was a lightness in the house, now that the woman was gone. Familiar noises returned and servants walked more quickly. Lyonene even thought she saw Hodder smile. She had Loriage saddled and fled to the private glade, where she could be alone.

  Dismissing Amicia had not dismissed her troubles. She could still see the letter that told of Ranulf’s love, a thing she had come to want greatly, but the words had been said to another. Why did he marry her? It was not for gold, he had proven not for love and he had not shared her bed until recently; what then was his reason?

  A slight noise broke through her thoughts, a remembered sound of metal against metal. She turned over and saw that he stood above her, his face grim.

  Her heart began to pound wildly. Ranulf was before her, the man she loved so intensely—yet one who gave his love to a woman he had known only a short while, and not to her. “Your … siege is finished?” The whispered words near choked her.

  He sat down beside her, heavily. “Why did you not return my letter?” His voice sounded almost dead.