The Black Lyon

by Jude Deveraux

“Aye, I understand too well,” came Lyonene’s bleak reply.

  “I go now, but early on the morrow you must ride out on that black horse of yours. Say the packs carry cloth for the serfs, if anyone asks, but do naught to arouse suspicion. The ship will be gone when they discover you missing.” She left the room.

  Lyonene did not move, but later, when Kate helped her to bed, she began to cry and did not stop until the sun showed pink through the glass windows. It was to be her last night as mistress of Malvoisin, her last night in Ranulf’s bed. She rose late—not until the sun was full up—and hurriedly slung garments into the leather bags. She took no jewelry save the lion belt. As a remembrance, she took a small ivory box of Ranulf’s, carved with the lion of Malvoisin. It was made to hold his seal, but now it stood empty.

  She gave one last look at the bedchamber where she’d been so happy and shut the door.

  Her passage to the ship that waited at St. Agnes’ Point was quite easy. Only Kate had mentioned her mistress’s swollen face from the long night of tears, but Lyonene easily explained that away with a short sentence about pains caused by the babe she carried.

  Her stomach was definitely rounded now and she stroked the curve of it, again hoping she did the right thing in her flight.

  She could see the sails of the ship ahead, knew it to be one of several belonging to Ranulf, used to buy and sell goods with other kingdoms. Amicia came to her from her hiding place among some brush.

  “You are late and Morell needed to make excuses for not sailing,” Amicia said, accusingly.

  “Morell?”

  “You do not think I could arrange your escape alone? Sir Morell is one of Ranulf’s garrison knights, although he should, by rights, be one of the Black Guard. But this is no time for that. Here, you must hide your clothes and your hair.” She handed Lyonene a cloak of russet.

  Lyonene dismounted and donned the mantle. “You will see to Loriage? That he is returned?”

  “Now is no time to concern yourself with your precious horse. Aye, I will see to the beast. We must go, now. Morell is not sweet-tempered when his plans are mislaid. Keep your head down and look at no one. I do not wish the guards to see you.”

  She followed Amicia onto the ship, standing quietly as the Frankish woman spoke to a man she couldn’t see.

  “Get her below then,” came a querulous voice, and Lyonene looked up to see the man who was to take her to Ireland. She had seen him but few times before, yet each instance was etched in her memory. She recalled the times she had seen him standing in shadows where only she could see him, a smirk on his face. He always looked at her as if he seemed to know more of her than he did, as if he but waited for a time when he would discover all that he desired.

  Instinctively, Lyonene turned away, her steps going toward the side of the boat and home.

  “My Lady Lyonene.” The blond knight held her arm. “Do not be afraid. I will take you to your father’s relatives, and I will protect your safety and your honor with my life. Come below. I have seen to your cabin myself, for I would that you were comfortable.”

  She could not look at him.

  “I am Sir Morell, late in your esteemed husband’s employ. I say late for I do not think he will care much for me now that I take his wife away, albeit for a good cause. Come with me and be assured that you will be given every consideration.”

  Lyonene allowed herself to be led below, more unsure of herself each moment. The cabin was tiny, cramped and airless.

  “Lady Lyonene,” he said to her, moving his head nearer hers.

  “Yes.” She forced herself to look into his blue eyes. He was handsome in a way, fashionably fair, with brilliant eyes, a thin nose and a straight, firm mouth.

  He seemed to understand her scrutiny of him and gave her a one-sided smile. “Lady Lyonene, I must beg an indulgence from you. My men are not knights; in truth, they are not honorable men, and although I would protect you with my life, I fear I have only one life. You are a beautiful woman and I would not like to risk such beauty in contact with the coarse men who ride with me.”

  “What is your meaning?” She managed to get words out at last.

  “I would protect you from my men.”

  “Can you not order them to stay away from my cabin?”

  He smiled, his eyes devouring her, the hair cascading about her shoulders, the rise and fall of her breast, the swell of her hips beneath the coarse woolen cloak. “I fear I am not a man to be feared such as the Black Lion; nay, I am more of a lover than else.” He touched a curl along her breast, and a frown creased his brows when she jerked away.

  He stepped back from her, seeking to control himself.

  “I… I wish to leave this ship.”

  “To leave, so soon? But our journey has just begun—our long, slow journey, I might add.”

  “There is something wrong. I do not know what, but I have decided that I would rather face my husband than … than what lies before me.”

  Sir Morell strove to control his anger. “My lady, your fears are foundless. There is no one here who seeks other than to help you. I know all concerning Lady Amicia, and you must consider your child.” His eyes went to her gently rounded stomach and she covered herself. He continued, “You have made the wisest decision, and when you are safe again amongst your relatives, you will realize it. Until then you are surrounded by strangers and it is only natural that you have some reservations. I am older than you, have seen more of the world, have seen too many young wives discarded for another. Here, sit, my lady.”

  He guided Lyonene to the narrow bunk, his fingers running along her forearm for an instant before he relinquished his hold on her.

  “I must continue what I began. To assure myself that you are in no danger from my unchivalrous men, I must lock your cabin door.”

  “You would lock me into this tiny place?”

  “It is for your own safety, no other reason. Trust me. I will help you escape what could be a dangerous situation.”

  “I do not know…”

  “I have paid homage to Ranulf de Warbrooke, and whatever else you seem to think me, I am a man of my word.”

  She nodded then, submitting to what the future held for her.

  “You will not regret your trust of me. I go now to see to the safe passage of the ship. I will return soon with food, and mayhaps I may join you in your dinner.”

  He left her and Lyonene heard the key turn the lock. She felt helpless, beyond despair, and she could only lay back on the hard cushion and stare, sightlessly, into space. It seemed that her life was at an end.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hodder rode straight through the night and only by chance met the Earl of Malvoisin as he returned home from the long siege. Corbet helped the tired little man from his horse.

  “I must speak to Lord Ranulf.”

  “I am here. What has happened? Why have you traveled without guards?”

  “My lord…” he gasped, sitting on a rock. The moonlight made eerie figures of the seven dark guardsmen and their even darker lord. “She has gone,” he continued, panting to catch his breath.

  “Who has gone? That Frankish woman? I am well rid of her.”

  “Nay. It is the Lady Lyonene who has flown.”

  Hodder found himself lifted from the rock by his shoulders. Eight faces glared at him, and he couldn’t help his shudder of fright. “I could not hear what was said and so did not know her plans. She rode into the village this morn with cloth for some of the serfs, but at sunset she still had not returned. I alerted the guards, and the island was searched. We spent hours, but she was nowhere to be found.”

  “We ride.” Ranulf turned to his men. “Hugo, assign a man to care for the baggage. My guard goes with me to Malvoisin. Hodder comes with us. I would hear more of the searches made.”

  It was not easy to talk on the long journey back to the island. Hodder’s head near burst with the pressure of yelling above the horse’s thundering hoofs, but Ranulf showed no mercy to the man
. After awhile, Ranulf stopped and put Hodder on the back of the Frisian and the man continued his story.

  Ranulf knew that Hodder was an accomplished eavesdropper, but even he was unaware of the valet’s expertise. He doubted if there was a word he’d ever said to anyone in his own house that Hodder had not heard.

  Hodder told Ranulf all of Amicia’s treachery. He told of the letters, the ribbon, the woman’s braggings.

  “Lyonene did not believe these things the woman said?”

  “Aye, she did, but not at first. She was angry when she felt the woman’s words to be true, but she believed you meant no ill toward her as your wife.”

  “That was good of her,” Ranulf muttered sarcastically, barely heard above the noise of their fast travel.

  “You cannot blame Lady Lyonene. Even I would have believed the woman’s threats did I not know you so well.”

  Ranulf half-turned in the saddle to stare at his valet. “And what reason do you have to believe in me when confronted with such proof?”

  Hodder shrugged. “I but looked at Lady Lyonene and then the bony Amicia. I have come to know the type of woman your greedy lust leads you to.”

  Ranulf would have laughed had not the moment been so serious. “These letters are what caused my wife to refuse to answer my letter. I knew something was awry when I returned home. The woman is a fool, a brainless fool, to think I write words of love to one woman and then neglect my duties when I but think my wife has a low mood. There is joy in a wife, but there is much pain. Think you twice before you take a wife, Hodder.”

  The valet was indignant. He recovered himself and continued. “She was happier after your visit, but Amicia brought more news.”

  “What news—more letters?”

  “Nay, my lord. She came with the news that she carried your child.”

  “My child! That any man’s seed could take root in that barren ground is a wonder. Lyonene did not believe her?”

  “Nay, she did not. She said she would go to you and see that there was naught between you.”

  “This is the only bit of sense I have heard. She did not come, though.”

  “Nay, but she did. Kate and I rode with her to your camp.”

  Ranulf was silent for a moment, cursing the foolhardiness of a wife who would travel across the turbulent Engish countryside with only a girl of a maid and a thin, weak man for protection.

  Hodder understood his master. “We dressed as merchants’ apprentices. We had no trouble.”

  “Why did I not see her then?”

  “We sat on a hill by your tent and watched.”

  “Go on, man! There must have been more reason as to why my wife refused to see me, why she has fled me.”

  “She saw the woman Amicia in your embrace, my lord.”

  “Nay, she could not have!” Then he remembered the time when Amicia had barged into his tent and he had gone outside to escape her. There she had kissed him, and he had had to control himself from striking her. She was no better than a bitch in heat. She came often to his camp during the siege, and from the sounds, several of his garrison knights had enjoyed her favors. She had made numerous advances to Ranulf, but he had been repulsed by her—her long thin arms, her whining voice, her false avowals of being a duke’s daughter.

  The day after the storm Ranulf had sent a message to France to learn of the Duke of Vernet. The answer had arrived only this morn. The Duke had indeed been on the wrecked ship, but the man was near eighty years and had never had a daughter. Amicia had merely used the story for a purpose as yet unknown to Ranulf.

  Filled with foreboding, Ranulf urged Hodder to continue his story.

  Hodder told of Amicia’s last visit, how she said King Edward would force Ranulf to marry Amicia to prevent a war. Ranulf could only shake his head in amazement that Lyonene could believe such a story.

  “What of the rest of it? You have not explained where or why my wife is hiding. Have you searched all the cabins, the glade?”

  “Aye, everywhere, and she is not to be found.”

  “I shall shake her teeth from her body when I find her,” he said through a clenched jaw.

  “I believe the woman Amicia had some hand in planning Lady Lyonene’s hiding.”

  “I do not understand you.”

  “The woman is most clever. I could not listen longer for she routed me from my place and fell into whispers. I should have guessed her intentions.”

  They rode on, silently, to Malvoisin, Ranulf alternately cursing and praying for his wife. His pride wounded, he berated her for her lack of trust, for believing that he would choose such a woman as Amicia for the reasons that had been given. He cursed himself for leaving her to such a villainous woman, for not forcing her, when he had returned to Malvoisin, to tell him what plagued her.

  Hodder repeated more of Amicia’s words concerning the babe; how Ranulf intended the child to be servant to Amicia’s and how Lyonene’s child would be known as bastard. Finally, he revealed Amicia’s offer of the earldom to Lyonene’s babe.

  Ranulf began to see what had caused his wife’s fears. She knew little of court laws. Ranulf could choose what son or even adopted son he desired to pass on his wealth and title to. It did not go by birth, as Amicia had insisted.

  The ferry to the island seemed to go tediously slowly, and the expressions on the faces of his men were as grim as Ranulf’s. He told them briefly of the treachery that had been wrought in his absence, for he had begun to suspect a plot from Hodder’s story. The men were divided into pairs and given areas of the island to search. Before the ferry came to rest, men and horses were already wading ashore.

  The Black Guard went first to the castle to change horses, but Ranulf stayed on Tighe, the horse having been bred for stamina and endurance.

  The entire island was roused, torches lit, and not one person was not called into the search. Beginning to fear that she had been taken to be held for ransom, Ranulf sought to find the hiding place of her captors.

  No one had crossed the ferry to the coast of England who could have been Lyonene, so he did not believe her to have left the island. The hounds were brought into the search and given free rein in following the scents they found.

  Dawn came and still no sign of her or of Amicia. The beginnings of fatigue and blind grief blurred his thoughts and his vision. He went into the chapel at Mottistone and began to pray, the only course he knew to take to clear his cobwebbed brain. After a few moments’ meditation, he knew—knew the island search to be fruitless, knew there had been a ship that had taken her away, knew for sure that this was no simple case of a jealous wife running away, but the result of a careful plan.

  He left the altar, grateful to the saints for giving him the answer.

  He rode quickly to St. Agnes’ Point, tearing up the stone steps to the guard’s post at the top of the stone tower.

  “Did a ship leave here this day?”

  “Aye, my lord.” The man was more than a little frightened at his master’s black, stormy face. “Two ships; your own, both of them.”

  “Two! There are no ships that should sail today. What excuse was given for my ships sailing unbeknownst to me, and who sailed them?”

  “William de Bec sent one to France with the cargo of wool to be woven; the other went to Ireland to buy more cloth.”

  “What cargo went to Ireland?”

  “None, your lordship. It sailed empty.”

  Ranulf’s eyes bored into the man, his voice deadly. “Have you ever known one of my ships to either leave or return empty?”

  “Nay, my lord, but Sir Morell said you were in a great hurry to purchase more finery for the new wife you dote on. He said…”

  “Sir Morell!” Ranulf sneered. “The man has ever plagued me. Who went with him?”

  “Only his crew, my lord, and some serfs and … that Frankish woman. She went to choose the colors, they said.”

  “They said! You have proven you have ears but naught between. They found you an easy mark. Go from
my sight before I remove you from the earth. They have taken my wife on their empty boat, no doubt dressed as a serf. A moment more and you shall answer for your indulgences.”

  The man near fell down the stairs in his haste.

  Ranulf whirled when a hand touched his shoulder. Herne stood there.

  “We have all come to the same answer. You agree with the stench of this matter? Have you found aught that is useful?” the guardsman asked.

  Herne nodded at Ranulf’s answer, then continued, “We must go to prepare, for I do not think you wait for a message of ransom. We travel soon. I hear tell Ireland is a small place and so will be easily searched.”

  Ranulf spent a day in preparation, allowing his men to rest and sleeping himself for a few hours. He knew little of Ireland, but he knew Dacre had cousins there. He sent messages to his friend and to Lorancourt. He thought he remembered his father-in-law mentioning relatives in Ireland. If Lyonene managed to escape, she would go to her kinfolk and Ranulf must know where they abided.

  Through all his actions was a slow deliberateness, knowing the long battle that lay ahead for him and his men. He was no longer angry at his wife, but felt there was some flaw in him that made her doubt him.

  The Black Guard met him in the courtyard, clad in their heaviest chain mail, their coarsest wool tabards. The heavy weapons of war hung from the saddles of horses that were also covered in the iron-link armor. There was neither word nor acknowledgment of one another as Ranulf mounted the enormous black Frisian. Their purpose together was united and held by a deathly bond.

  It took them two days to reach Dunster, and there the answers to Ranulf’s messages awaited. Dacre offered help, if needed, and the names and places of his kin. William Dautry also gave the name of his daughter’s cousins, and Melite sent her word of continued prayers.

  The ferry took days to reach Waterford on the coast of Ireland. The sight of the unknown land only heightened Ranulf’s fears, for it seemed impossible to search the entire island. He and his men broke into four pairs, Maularde beside Ranulf, and began the search.

  The ship began to move and Lyonene felt the uneasiness in her stomach almost instantly. The nausea kept her mind from thinking of what she had done. She stretched out on the little bed, and Ranulf seemed to come to her from everywhere. She might never see him again or be able to touch him. Their child would be born and Ranulf might never even see the babe. A sharp pain in her stomach kept the tears from filling her eyes. Would the child be dark like Ranulf or have her light locks?