The Black Lyon

by Jude Deveraux

  “Why? Why do you do this?” she had asked.

  He had sneered insolently at her. “Is not the great wealth I will receive from your husband enough?” His eyes raked her soft form. “Is not the person of the lovely Lady Lyonene enough?”

  She had raised her head and met his eyes steadily. “No, it is not. I have been a fool to not believe in my husband, but you I do not think are a fool. There is more behind this than gold.”

  He smiled slightly and looked into his empty chalice. “Such knowledge from one so young! Shall I tell you a story?”

  She had not answered and he had continued.

  “You did not know your husband as a young man. He has changed greatly since he has known you. I came to him as a squire, as one of several young men, soon after his wife’s death.” He did not notice Lyonene’s pained look. “Young Lord Ranulf! So strong, so ungiving, so black!”

  He refilled his cup. “It is a simple story really. I was a young man, eager to please, anxious to do the bidding of a lord no older than myself. It is strange how we hate the people who take and then discard our first innocence. I served him for four years, four years of life I gave to that man and then I was not chosen for his guard. Nay, he said all his men must have his devil’s blackness. So, for a bit of fair hair I was used and then tossed aside like so much rubbish.”

  He threw his cup violently toward the fire, hitting a glancing blow on the shoulder of one of the hounds, which leaped, yelping, and ran away.

  Lyonene sat quietly behind the shield of her four guards. “Could there have been another reason? Mayhaps he chose his men because he saw something in their character which he liked.”

  Morell stood and stared at her, unaware of the guards’ hands moving to their weapons. “I gave him everything! I was not sunk to the character I am now.”

  She met his stare, feeling inside her that Ranulf had seen then the man Morell could have been. Her husband was not so vain as to turn aside a good knight for so little a flaw as the color of his hair. “Is a man today what he was not yesterday?”

  Morell’s face had turned red and he had taken a step toward her, and then he felt the heavy hand of a guard on his shoulder. He had shaken it off, his eyes still on Lyonene’s. “He will pay for what he has done,” he said hoarsely, “and neither will I forget your words.” He turned and angrily strode from the hall.

  Lyonene shook her head as if to clear away the ugly thoughts and looked down at her enormous stomach.

  Alice ran firm hands over the mound each day to check the progress of the growing child. Lyonene was sure her skin would split, so tautly was it pulled, but Alice reassured her it would not and that the babe was already turned correctly for its birth. Lyonene was growing anxious to deliver the child and rid herself of the heavy burden. She closed her eyes and thought of the moment of joy when she’d hold a black-haired, black-eyed babe in her arms.

  Alice touched her on the shoulder and she jumped.

  “I did not hear you come in. Aye, I would like to go to the Great Hall. I get some pleasure in seeing Morell’s disgust at my waddling. If I were not so tired of carrying my own stomach about, I would wish I could remain so for a long while. Think you he would tire of me if I remained so for several years?” She rubbed her stomach happily. “What think you of twins? Ranulf once said… Nay, I will not cry again.” She laughed at Alice’s quelling look.

  “Well, I see our countess deigns to visit with us—two days together. We are indeed honored,” Amicia said, greeting her. The Frankish woman smiled as Sir Morell looked away. “Morell, does she not look fit? I am sure she carries at least two children in that great belly of hers.”

  Morell gave Amicia a quick look of contempt and left the hall, and the woman smiled triumphantly.

  Alice led her mistress to a stool by the fire. Lyonene smoothed her skirts as she looked about the hall. Lady Margaret knelt on the floor, the rushes swept back to make a place for her to roll dice with two of her men. Her laugh rang out across the hall. Occasionally, she ran her hand over the thigh of one of the men, and Lyonene looked away. Amicia was making her way to the gambling group. Some serfs—two men followed by another—carried firewood into the hall. The man behind was large, and something about him made her stare. Alice touched her shoulder and frowned; it was not seemly that Lyonene should stare at the serfs, especially not at men.

  Lyonene looked away, but when she saw Alice return to her sewing, she could not help another quick glance. There was something about the man… Alice again caught her attention, and the maid left to fetch more thread. The four guards that were always near watched the people in the corner at their dice game.

  The three serfs came to the fireplace before her. She looked away, fascinated by the weave of her woolen gown. She lectured herself for her stupidity. She had seen hundreds of serfs in her life and not one of them had interested her in even the slightest way, yet now she found she wanted to see this man’s face. His hand took a poker and moved the logs in the fireplace. The action caught her eye, and as she stared at the dark hand covered in short, dark hairs, it stopped moving. She knew he stared at her, that all she had to do was lift her eyes and meet the owner of that familiar hand.

  She looked up slowly, very, very slowly, fearful of what she would or would not see.

  Ranulf’s eyes met hers in an expressionless stare, the black irises pinpointed as they looked at the emerald-green gaze. His eyes swept the length of her, quickly, and then seemed to dismiss her altered form as he returned to her face.

  She could but look at him in wonder that he should be standing before her, obviously unarmed. Should he be recognized, he would have little chance of defending himself against a man armed with a morgenstern. Yet underlying her fears was sheer joy that he should risk so much for her, that he had sought her out, that he did not lounge at court and forget her. She struggled to give him a word, a sign of her love, to tell him all her heart felt for him, to warn him of the danger he faced for her.

  “They have set me to chopping wood,” he said, his quiet voice conveying all the disgust he felt, the degradation of such a lowly task. Then he was gone; almost before she could blink, she sat alone again, his words hanging in the air.

  She sat quietly for a few moments staring into the fire. She felt the laughter rising in her, rumbling and preparing for a sweet release. She struggled for control and the repressed laughter changed to tears, a mixture of joy and misery.

  Four whole months she had not seen him and all the things that had occurred in those four months! She had been taken captive and held for ransom; not least, her body had greatly enlarged since she had last seen her husband. Now, as she sat amidst four fierce and horrible warriors, he calmly walked into the hall before everyone and what did he say to the wife he seeks? “They have set me to chopping wood.” No words of endearment, no sweet words for her health or even for his child that swelled her belly before her, but only an indignant utterance that she would cause him to stoop so low to rescue her.

  She buried her face in her hands, unable to still the emotions that shook her slight shoulders. He had come! Whatever he said, whatever he did was well, because he had come for her.

  Alice touched her shoulder, a question creasing her brow.

  Lyonene looked around quickly, but knew Ranulf was gone. “Is it time for dinner yet, Alice? I vow I am famished.” She smiled brightly up at her maid.

  Alice grinned her approval at her mistress’s hunger; too often she did not eat enough. But Alice also saw something else—a gaiety, a light in the green eyes—that had heretofore been missing.

  Lyonene’s feeling of anticipation buoyed her through the evening meal, yet more and more clearly was she aware of the danger that awaited her husband. She shivered as she thought of the audacity of him striding into the hall, so near people who could easily recognize him.

  “You are cold?” Lady Margaret asked her and at Lyonene’s negative answer, she continued. “I hope it is not the child. I am not prepared to
be midwife yet.”

  “Nay, the child does not come. I am tired only from carrying the load. I will go to my room now.” She rose and Alice followed.

  In her chamber again, Lyonene gave way to her fears as she sat dejectedly before the fire. Alice was concerned for her and Lyonene unsuccessfully tried to allay the woman’s fears. Lyonene did not tell Alice of Ranulf’s appearance in the castle; Ranulf’s life was too precious to entrust to anyone, even someone she knew to be her friend.

  She went to bed earlier than usual, hoping that sleep would wash away some of her fears. Alice left her to go to her mother’s cottage in the village, something Lyonene insisted on. It took her a long time to go to sleep.

  The first thing she was aware of was a hand over her mouth, cutting off her breath. She thrashed about wildly, clawing at the hand.

  “Be still, my Lioness. Do not take all the skin from my hand. Do you not still remember me?”

  She recovered some of her senses and looked into Ranulf’s eyes, soft and gentle, and so near her own. He moved his hand away.

  “So you know me. It has been so long I thought mayhaps…” He stopped talking when he saw she began to cry. Quickly he pulled back the covers and lay beside her, gathering her in his arms.

  She cried violently for a while, the deep sobs tearing at her body, then gradually beginning to lighten.

  “I take it you are glad to see me again?” His light words did not match his ragged voice or the catch in his throat. He ran his hand down her body, her shoulder, her arm and came to rest on the hard, enormous mound of her stomach, caressing, feeling the gentle movements of the babe. It was a quiet moment between them, a sharing of what they had created.

  He grunted, his hand still but possessive on her belly. “You are grown so fat I hardly knew you.”

  “I am … not fat.” She sniffed, controlling her tears. “It is only the babe who sticks out. The rest of me is the same,” she said in her defense.

  “Nay, you have not seen yourself from behind. You walk like a duck, swaying forward and back, from side to side. Even your feet turn out. Have they perchance turned orange?”

  “Ranulf! You are horrible! You should say I am beautiful when I carry your babe, not tell me of my ugliness.”

  He lifted her face to his. “Aye, you are beautiful.” He kissed her sweetly on her mouth, then on her damp eyelids. He saw that her tears began anew. “But you are still as a duck, a most beautiful duck, but a duck nonetheless.”

  She smiled, her tears ceasing and she snuggled again on his shoulder. “What think you of the duck you have made of me?” She covered his hand with her own and the child’s sharp kick was felt by them both.

  “Does the child move?”

  “Aye.” She felt him straighten in pride.

  “He is strong then.”

  “I am sure he shall be born with a lance in one hand and a sword in another,” she answered sarcastically.

  “I would hope he’d have more consideration for his mother. You have not changed. You are as insolent as ever.”

  “Then you do remember me? You have not forgotten?”

  “Forgotten? I could no more forget you than I could forget … to carry my right leg with me.”

  “Ah, so now I am compared to your leg. You are a most unromantic knight.”

  “You dare to call me unromantic! Look you at what I wear! I dress as a serf. This horrible wool has worn me raw as no chain mail ever could. I have even chopped wood so that I may be near you. And you say me to be unromantic. I have gone through hell to be here.”

  “Ranulf, my sweet. I am sorry to have caused you so much misery. It is all my fault.”

  “Here, do not cry again. The wetness makes the wool scratch worse and the smell blinds me. You will get no argument from me. It is all your fault and I demand to know why you left me. You constantly tell me I am ignorant, but never have I come near to equaling this stupid act of yours.”

  “I have not told you you are ignorant,” she said.

  “Do not evade me. Tell me why you left me.”

  “Ranulf, this is not the time. You must leave before those men find you are here. Alice tells me often of their treachery.”

  “Bah!” He waved his hand. “They are little more than an exercise before dinner. How can Alice tell you aught of them when she is a mute?”

  “You know overmuch of me. Why do you not kiss me some more?”

  “Nay.” He pushed her back down to his shoulder. “I will not fight my son for you. One of us at a time will be in you.”

  “Ranulf!” She gasped at his crudity and then giggled.

  “Now tell me why you left me.”

  “You are most persistent. I worry that my skin will never return to the way it was, that it will always be stretched and loose.”

  “It will always be filled with my daughters, Lyonene!”

  She understood his command. “I thought you would marry Amicia. She said…”

  “I know of this. Hodder has told me. I want to know why you believed the woman and why you did not trust me.”

  “I trusted you, but men always take other women.”

  “Do they? You know this for fact? And if they do, do they always marry them and forsake their wives?”

  “Nay, but Amicia said King Edward…”

  “Edward is my king, but he does not rule my life. He cannot force me to do what I would not.”

  “But what of Gilbert de Clare? He has left his wife to take a daughter of King Edward.”

  “You met Gilbert at court. You would compare him to me? He is a greedy man and Edward has been warned about him often. You will see problems with the man soon. He does not wish to please his king as much as equal him. Now what other puny reasons do you give for leaving me?”

  “I do not know. They seemed so logical, Amicia’s words. I saw letters from you. She had the ribbon. I saw you kiss her.”

  “Nay, you did not! You saw the woman wrap her ugly body about me. I had to restrain myself from tossing her to the ground.”

  “Ranulf, I have not seen you for a long while. Why must we speak of this unpleasantness? I have come to my senses. I know Amicia’s words were false. I heard her tell Sir Morell how they plotted it all.”

  “We have all night, for I do not plan to take you from here until dawn and I wish to know what caused you to believe the woman’s words. Had you more faith in me you would have seen a hundred letters and would not have believed them.”

  “It is as you say, but there were some things that I knew were certainly true.”

  “Name them.”

  Lyonene was silent for a moment, wishing Ranulf would not force her to speak of her doubts. “Amicia said that when she first looked at you… I know,” she cried desperately, “I know her feelings. It was the same with me. Ranulf! You laugh at me! I tell you my innermost thoughts and you dare to laugh at me!”

  He caught her hand as she swung to strike him. “You will not injure my babe by your headstrong movements. So, Amicia told you she could not resist me after even the first look at me.”

  “I do not understand it now, either. I vow I am a fool to want such as you. You are a vile creature.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You are a liar and I shall see your sins confessed when we are home. Lyonene, now, here in this dark place, I will tell you something, but I say it once and once only. Hereafter I will deny it was ever said.”

  She moved her head back on his arm to look at him. Ranulf’s honor was so strong that for him to say he might ever even consider a lie made her look at him in astonishment.

  He ignored her. “There are times when I boast to you of my beauty, but it is only because you look at me so. I will tell you that you fair drool at the sight of me. Do not protest, for I know I look at you in a like manner. But what you see in me is not seen by other women. They think me too dark or ungraceful in my form.”

  “What you say is not true! What of the women at court? I had to fight them from you.”

  �
��Think you they would be so interested in me if I were not so rich? It is Dacre who is the ideal of beauty.”

  “Dacre! Why, he is as the underbelly of a fish. His eyes and hair have no color, and he is so thin he casts little shadow, even.”

  “You seem to have spent overlong studying him.”

  She ignored him and ran the back of her fingers along the unshaved whiskers on his cheek. “And when he has three days’ growth of a beard, from a distance he looks to be a girl; you can tell no difference. Know you that in certain lights your beard shows almost blue?”

  He kissed her fingers and smiled at her. “It is good to know you feel so, but it does not change what I try to say to you. I wish, by this confession, to prevent what happened from occurring twice. Although you made a fool of yourself over me on the first day I saw you, other women do not.”

  “You lie again! I have never made a fool of myself over you.”

  “True, you have ever been calm near me, except mayhaps when you lusted after me when you bathed me, or threw yourself into my arms when I but showed you the longbow, or when…”

  “I acted no differently than I had with a hundred men. There! I have repaid you. Nay, I do lie, so do not glare at me more. And what of you? Do you marry all the women you meet after one day?”

  Ranulf pulled her back to his shoulder. “I see I accomplished little. You are stubborn and will not heed my words. But listen well and remember this: You need never fear another woman languishing about for me after a few brief meetings.”

  “Then you say she could after a few longer meetings?” Ranulf shrugged. “It has been known to happen. I am a most skillful lover.”

  “You are…”

  He kissed her and stopped her words.

  “I will not argue with you. Try only to remember my words when another woman, cleverer than you, seeks my gold.”

  “I cannot remember that I am to believe anyone thinks you ugly. Know you that your eyes have flecks of gold in them?” She felt him laugh against her.