The Black Lyon

by Jude Deveraux

  Ranulf took one great stride across the room and lifted Lyonene into his arms, hardly looking at her. “Herne holds the horses below. See you to my weapons,” he instructed, nodding to Corbet.

  Lyonene buried her face against Ranulf’s mail-clad neck, the smell of blood overpowering. She did not know whether it was the smell or her terror, but her stomach tightened and pained her. There was time only for a brief farewell look to Alice.

  Eight black horses awaited them outside the donjon, with Tighe at the head. Ranulf lifted her into the saddle, and she clutched the pommel as another pain gripped her.

  “You are unhurt?” Ranulf demanded, his haste making his words harsh.

  “Aye, I am well.”

  “Then I must see to my man.”

  She turned in the saddle to see Maularde being helped to his horse. His left leg was bleeding profusely and his tabard showed a long, jagged cut.

  Ranulf exchanged a few words with his knight and then returned to Lyonene, mounting behind her.

  “He can travel?” she asked.

  “Aye, for a while. He took an ax blade in his leg. He must have it attended soon or he may lose his leg, if not his life.”

  Lyonene looked ahead as Ranulf took the reins and spurred Tighe into a gallop. Another pain left her breathless, and she realized the babe had decided to meet his father. She gave a silent prayer for time, time enough to escape Sir Morell’s army that followed them.

  They rode fast and hard for near two hours when Ranulf called a halt. Lyonene clutched her stomach, grateful for the stillness, the relief from the jolting horse. Ranulf dismounted and walked to Maularde.

  “I fear he has fainted, my lord.” She heard Hugo’s quiet voice.

  Lyonene whirled to look at the guardsman. The strong, dark knight slumped forward over his horse’s neck. Blood covered one whole side of rider and horse. The sight did nothing to relieve the pains she already felt.

  “He can ride no further,” Ranulf said, his voice serious. “My wife also grows weary. I will stay here with them, there is a shack beyond those trees. You must ride even harder than before, for if Morell’s men see you and know I am not with you, they will return here and find us.”

  The six men nodded gravely, understanding the situation.

  “Dacre’s men await you. Give me any cloths you have for Maularde’s leg. Go now and do not return until it is safe.”

  They nodded and several prayers for safety were said as they quickly removed extra clothing from the leather bags behind their saddles.

  It seemed incredibly quiet when they were gone. Ranulf took the reins of both horses and led them into the woods to a little stone cottage with a pegged, half-missing thatched roof that offered some shelter. Ranulf left the horses and riders hidden under some trees as he drew his sword and thoroughly checked the property. Only when he was sure that it was empty did he return to the horses. He lifted Lyonene from the horse and set her to her feet. She leaned back against a tree for support.

  Removing Maularde from his horse with the gentleness that was needed was not an easy job, but Ranulf knew the man’s life depended on his care. Ranulf’s legs bent under the weight of carrying his guardsman into the dark hut. He carefully stretched him on the dirty floor rushes.

  Lyonene clutched her stomach as another pain gripped her. They came closer together now, and each was stronger than the last. There was no time to be frightened as she thought of Maularde’s life. She entered the little cottage.

  “Here,” she said as she knelt by Maularde. “I will tend him. You must lift him as we remove the chausses. Fetch the extra cloths. Can we not have a fire?”

  “Nay, we cannot. I but hope Morell’s men do not see this place. Morell! I should like to meet him myself.”

  “Do not waste the time thinking of him. Go and find water and a vessel to hold it. I must cleanse this wound and bind it.”

  Ranulf left her silently, before he saw her eyes close against the tightening of her stomach.

  “It is the babe?” came Maularde’s ragged whisper.

  She smiled at him and smoothed back his sweat-dampened hair. “Do not speak now. We will care for you and you will be well, but you must rest also. And aye, it is the babe, but do not say so to Ranulf.”

  “I think he will know soon enough.”

  “I fear your words are true. Quiet now. I will hurt you more, for I need to remove some bits of iron from your leg.”

  Ranulf returned with a large pottery bowl of water. “It is broken, but it still will hold some water. Maularde speaks to you?”

  “Aye.” She looked at the guardsman fondly. “He worries for my safety.”

  Ranulf looked at her for the first time, saw the strain on her face. He touched her hair, caressing her cheek.

  Lyonene bent forward against a pain. Ranulf pulled her to him.

  “The babe kicks you again?”

  “Aye, he kicks most vigorously. Now tear some linen and wet it so that I may help your man.”

  They worked together, silently, as Lyonene carefully removed the bits of iron with a green stick that had the bark stripped from it. She had to stop often to hold herself against the pains that were closer and closer together. Ranulf said little when she bowed her head against the pain, but supported her back and shoulders.

  At last Maularde’s leg was bound, and although they thought he slept, he opened his eyes and spoke to them.

  “Now it is your turn, my lady.”

  “Aye,” she agreed, smiling, “I fear you are right.” The pains had little time between them now.

  “What is this?” Ranulf demanded.

  “Your babe comes, my lord,” Maularde whispered.

  “It cannot. There is no woman here to tend to the birth.”

  Lyonene managed a bit of a laugh as an even stronger pain gripped her.

  “Lyonene, you cannot deliver now. You must wait until I fetch someone.”

  “Nay, Ranulf, do not leave me. Help me to lie down.”

  He pulled her to his arms gently and she felt his strong body begin to shake.

  “I fear I add to the blood on you, for birthing is messy work. Ranulf! I but meant to make a jest. Do not take on so. It is easy work.”

  He laid her carefully on the rushes. “I will fetch moss to make a bed for you.” His voice showed his strain. “There is time?”

  “Aye, a few moments.”

  Ranulf hurried from the cottage.

  Another pain gripped her, and as her hands clawed at the floor rushes, she felt a warm, solid hand in her own. Maularde’s strength and nearness reassured her.

  Ranulf returned quickly and spread the moss beneath her. He saw the hands held between his wife and his guardsman. He did not break the contact, but was glad for it. Lyonene drew her legs up, pushing downward at each pain.

  Ranulf took charge of himself and used his estoc to cut her underclothing away. He wiped her forehead and murmured encouragement to her as the pains shook her. They were quiet as they heard the sounds of a hundred horses nearby, knowing it could be but moments before Morell found them. They all sighed in relief when the riders passed.

  There was not long for stillness, for Lyonene’s water broke then and Ranulf, having helped with many foals, knew the babe was coming. Maularde dragged himself nearer her head and kept her from screaming as the baby’s head appeared. Ranulf did little more than catch the babe as Lyonene gave one last push.

  Quickly, he removed the cord from the child’s neck and the mucus from its tiny mouth. The child let out a great wail of protest at its new, cold environment and Ranulf hurriedly tended to cutting the cord and discarding the afterbirth.

  Maularde seemed to have been invigorated by the child’s birth, and it was he who wiped the squalling child with a square from a velvet tabard. He wrapped the infant warmly, gently touching the thick crop of black hair that covered the wrinkled head.

  He handed the child to the exhausted Lyonene, and she touched the little face, the tiny ears.


  “I would see this child of mine,” Ranulf said quietly and took it from her. It was night and they dared not strike a light, so Ranulf held the babe in the moonlit doorway and removed the swaddling cloths to study the small body.

  Lyonene could see his profile, the glow of the black eyes as he held his child; it was a private moment for the two of them that no one else could share. The enormous hand of the Black Lion was gentle when it touched the tiny fingers, and Ranulf smiled when the babe curled its fingers around its father’s dark, war-scarred finger.

  Ranulf replaced the clothes and returned the babe to Lyonene’s arm. He touched her cheek gently, his eyes liquid, showing the depth of his feelings. “I thank you for my son,” he whispered before he stretched out beside her and slept.

  The four slept peacefully, bound together by shared hardship and shared joy. The babe woke them, and they all joined in the pleasure of the child’s nursing, in his new delight in that age-old bliss. In the early dawn hours there was no separation between lord and vassal or even father and friend, but instead a union caused and blessed by a new life, an innocent being, whose wondrous presence transcended earthly bonds. The three adults smiled at one another and were as one.

  They slept some more, and the sun shone brightly on the new day when they awoke again. Ranulf helped his guardsman outside the cottage to relieve himself and then carried Lyonene outside, the baby left with Maularde.

  They sat together, Lyonene in Ranulf’s lap, for a few moments before returning. He kissed her mouth gently and sweetly.

  “I take it then that the boy pleases you?” she teased.

  “Aye, he is the most beautiful of babes. I am sure there has been no finer,” Ranulf said in all seriousness.

  “You do not think him ugly and red as most fathers do?”

  “Nay, he is not red. He has my skin color and my hair. Have you seen the way it already begins to curl about his neck? And he shall have green eyes like his mother. Already he shows a strength befitting a knight, and he has a headstart on being a large man.”

  “Aye, that he does, I thought he might split me in twain with the size of him.”

  “Nay, you are wrong. He did all the work. He fair pushed himself into the world.”

  “Ranulf!” Then she laughed, for she saw his beginning smile. “You did not look so sure of yourself at the time.”

  Ranulf clutched her close to him. “I will say my fear now, but I did not know birthing was such hard work. You are so small and my son so large.”

  “I remember no pain now, so do not fear for me. It is enough that I have pleased you.”

  He leaned back against the tree. “Aye, Montgomery is perfect and I shall…”

  “Montgomery! You have named him and not consulted me? What if I have chosen another name and do not like your name for him?”

  Ranulf shrugged his shoulders. “It would not change me. My son’s name is Montgomery de Warbrooke, Fourth Earl of Malvoisin. It was my grandfather’s name and shall live again in my son. We shall return soon to my island and he shall be baptized. Dacre will come and be his godfather and Maularde shall be his other godfather.”

  “Maularde? Should you not ask Geoffrey, your brother?”

  “Nay, Geoffrey would much rather have a girl to treasure and spoil. My man has earned this honor.”

  “He has. For godmother I shall ask Berengaria, if that suits your preconceived plans.”

  He ignored her snide remark and his eyes held a faraway look. “I would that my mother could see him. She longed so for a household of children.”

  Lyonene searched for some words of sympathy but could find none. “I am sure she must have been somewhat content to give the world such a handsome boy as you.”

  He looked at her and then grinned. “It is true, for she agreed with your opinion of me. Mayhaps it is good she never saw how worthless Geoffrey has grown.”

  “You have little opinion of your brother. I find him quite handsome and sweet-natured.”

  “You do not rile me this day. I am too pleased with my son.”

  “I but pray he only looks as you and does not possess your vanity or arrogance.”

  He kissed her neck. “Nay, he will be a sweet child with the honeyed words of his mother. Have I said I love you this day? That I love you more each day?”

  “Nay,” she whispered, “but had you done so, I would have welcomed your words.”

  He abruptly moved his lips from her skin. “You are a curse to me. You leave me alone for months and I can find no woman to my taste and when I do see you again, you rival my horse for size and now I must wait until you heal from my son. I do not think I will kiss you until I can finish the matter.”

  “You are a most considerate husband.” She ran her lips along his neck.

  “Lyonene! You will cease this behavior. Now tell me what gift you desire in reward for my son. I will fetch you a crown of stars if that is your want.”

  “Ah, my most gallant knight, you are most generous, but I will leave the stars for all to enjoy. There is naught I desire but to return home to Malvoisin, to the people I know and love, and I wish for the health of my son.”

  “There must be some small thing you wish, some jewel?” She thought a moment. “I would like the return of my lion belt.”

  Ranulf flashed her a broad grin and fumbled beneath her to the pouch at his side. His eyes sparkled as he handed her the beautiful belt. “Your merest wish is my command.”

  “Oh,” she cried as she clasped the gold belt to her cheek. “You do not know the agonies I have endured over this belt. All else was taken from me and I had naught else to use for a bribe. I have never owned aught that I love as well as this belt.”

  Ranulf continued to smile. “What of me, Lioness? Do I not share in some of that love as one of your possessions?”

  She smiled up at him. “I do not own you, Ranulf. No one could own you.”

  His face was serious. “I fear you are wrong, little Lioness. If ever a man was owned by another, it is I.”

  Their eyes locked together in a moment of deep meaning and timeless love that went past a day-to-day existence or fleshly rapture. Their souls touched one another.

  The baby’s crying brought them back into the present, earthly time. “Montgomery cries for his mother.”

  Ranulf stood easily with his wife in his arms. “Then we shall bring him all that he desires. The son of the Black Lion will find the world is his if he but asks.”

  Lyonene laughed. “I can see I will be cursed with two of you, for you will certainly make the boy in your own image.”

  “Aye, and our Lioness will adore us both.”

  “I fear you know me too well.”

  This time, when Lyonene nursed her son, Maularde discreetly turned away.

  “He is a fine boy, is he not?” Ranulf bragged.

  “Aye, my lord. The strongest I have seen at his age. I wonder if it could be the great mop of hair?”

  “What think you of being the boy’s godfather?”

  Maularde was speechless for a moment. “I would be honored,” he said in his quiet voice. “In truth, I do not feel myself worthy of such honor.”

  Lyonene covered her breast and held the sleeping child against her, toying with a lock of black hair that was beginning to curl beneath his little ears. “I think you have earned the honor, since you helped bring the child to the world. Not many godfathers can claim such a deed.”

  The dark knight smiled. “I will love the boy as my own, you can be sure.”

  “I think you begin to already,” Ranulf said and then was quiet as he listened. “Someone comes.” Ranulf drew his sword and Maularde pulled himself to his feet, braced against the sharp stones of the cottage wall. He put himself between Lyonene and the door.

  As Ranulf stood on the threshold, he looked in question to his guardsman. “While there is life in me,” was the grim answer.

  Lyonene sat quietly, protecting Montgomery from even a thought of harm. She looked quickly at the b
ack of Maularde and saw his leg had begun to bleed again. Yet he stood firmly, disregarding the pain and the fresh tearing of the wound, faithful to his duty to protect his mistress and his new lord.

  “Hail the Black Guard!” They heard Ranulf’s voice from somewhere above the crude cottage, a hidden place where he watched and prepared for attack. He dropped to the ground before the narrow door and then disappeared as he ran to greet his men.

  Maularde sat down again, heavily, keeping his leg straight before him. He allowed the pain to show on his face. He gave Lyonene a timid grin. “ ’Twere I alone I fear I would set up a howl. It is good that I am in your presence.”

  She could not return his smile, knowing his light words did not cover his pain. They could hear the laughter of Ranulf and his men. How Ranulf had changed in the last year! Maularde seemed to read her thoughts and they shared a smile.

  “We have a visitor,” Ranulf said. “Nay, he is a most welcome visitor and I was well able to handle him alone. He is a strong warrior. Already his strength has frightened me.”

  The Guard were silent, not understanding their lord’s words.

  “Maularde,” Corbet called. “Are you finished now with your shamming and ready to return to work? My lady, I did not see you at once…” He halted as he saw the babe.

  Sainneville looked in puzzlement at Corbet, wondering what could ever silence such a man. He also stared at the tiny black-haired infant, who slept in his mother’s arms.

  As each man of the Black Guard entered the room, he paused and then dropped to one knee, head bowed. It was a full moment and a great tribute to Ranulf as first one man and then another kissed the little hand and paid homage to their lord’s heir. Lyonene blinked back the tears at this honor. She saw also that Ranulf’s jaw seemed to be less securely held than usual; indeed, it seemed to tremble.

  “Hail to the son of the Earl of Malvoisin,” they shouted, the stones quivering with the resonance of their voices. Montgomery did not care for the noise and set up a howl that was easily heard above the men’s voices.