The Black Lyon (3 page)

She turned to him, laughing. "I think there is little that my father can teach you."

Ranulf said not a word, but his expression showed that he agreed with her.

"You must show this Welsh longbow to him. He will train his men to use it."

"Nay, I do not think so. Even my own men refuse to use it. They think it an unchivalrous weapon and have a fear that it will somehow reduce them to foot soldiers."

"I see that you do not have such a fear yourself." Her eyes twinkled and laughter threatened to escape as he raised one eyebrow at her. "Think I could leam to shoot this long stick?"

"You may try." Ranulf demonstrated the proper handling of the new weapon.

Lyonene took it in all confidence but found she could not bend the bow more than an inch or two. She looked in exasperation to Ranulf.

Quickly, he stood behind her, his great arms about her, and pulled the strong bow back. As Ranulf bent to sight the arrow, he was aware of the fragrance of her—roses and smoke—and of her cool cheek so near his. He could feel every luscious curve of her against him, her buttocks pressed against his groin. He ached to turn her to him, longed to feel her softness near him, to kiss her moist lips, parted slightly now in concentration. He tried to give directions to her concerning the bow but found that his voice betrayed his desire since-her ear was so close to his lips; he could almost taste the flesh of her earlobe between his teeth. She released the arrow.

"I hit it!"

She turned in his arms, and he held her, lightly, not even daring to breathe for fear he'd crush her in his surging desire.

Lyonene felt her heart would burst, it was beating so hard. His arms were about her, his hands on her back, and she could feel the warmth of him through her heavy woolen surcoat. She looked from his eyes to his lips, and she hoped he would kiss her, yes, she wanted him to kiss her, and her heart beat faster as unconsciously she swayed toward him, her soft breasts touching his chest. She felt his sharp intake of breath. His face was so close that she could feel his breath, so warm and soft. How would it feel to kiss a man?

His arms dropped away.

"Dinner will be served and my mother will expect me." She searched for something calming to say. She smiled up 13

at him. "Thank you for the archer's lesson, and now, Lion, we needs must return to the castle, for my father's temper would make even a lion tremble when his viands are late."

At his look of puzzlement at her name for him, she continued. "It is strange, is it not, that we are both named for lions? M y father vows that on the day of my birth I gave him such a look of contempt that he named me for a lioness, but my mother says he thought of the name Lyonene because of the color of my hair."

Ranulf lightly touched a strand of her tawny hair. "I could not think you could give anyone a look of contempt."

She laughed. "You do not know me, for I am possessed by a terrible temper."

"Then the name well suits you, as I fear mine does also. At least you are not cursed with an ugly blackness such as mine."

"Bah! It is only the jongleurs who demand all men be fair with eyes of blue. You would make other men seem colorless." She turned quickly. "See the tree at the edge of the wood? I will race you." She gathered her skirts and mantle edge over her arm and ran.

Ranulf stood quietly and watched the lovely sight of firm, shapely calves and little feet running so inexpertly across the forest's floor. When she was halfway to the tree, he caught up with her in a few easy strides.

Lyonene looked over her shoulder to see him easily gaming on her. She remembered a trick she had used as a child to win races against the boys of Lorancourt. When Ranulf was nearly beside her, she sidestepped into his path, throwing him off balance as he swerved to keep from hitting her, and thus she gained a few seconds' time.

She heard Ranulf's snort behind her and laughed in satisfaction at her successful trick. Then the breath was near taken from her as he threw a strong arm around her waist, lifting her from the ground, still running, not even hesitating when he took on the added burden of her weight.

When Lyonene recovered from her surprise, she began laughing, and by the time they reached the tree she was near helpless. He sat her down and she leaned against the tree, tears rolling down her cheeks, blurring her vision. "I won," she gasped.

"Won! You did not even race with honor. You cheated."

She wiped her tears and saw to her joy that Ranulf was smiling and that his features had softened. He looked like a boy. "M y head reached the tree first, before any of you arrived, so I won the race." She could hardly keep the laughter inside her.

Ranulf pulled one of the curls that lay wildly about her cheeks, her hood having fallen away. "You would never make a knight.

Your lies would dishonor your liege lord."

Lyonene opened her mouth in mock horror. "And you, Lion, would be worse as a woman with your picking up of whatever great objects lie in your path."

"Great objects!" His hands encircled Lyonene's waist and lifted her, her head high in the air, her hands on his shoulders. "You weigh less than my armor."

Suddenly she was serious. Looking down at him as he smiled up at her, she smiled back. "Whatever my trick, it is rewarded by seeing a lion smile."

Gently, Ranulf lowered her. He, too, was serious now, and his desire for her returned. He could not touch her without the blood in his veins fair boiling. "Go to the hall;

I will follow. You mother will not like her lioness spending the morning alone with a man."

Without a word she left him, running to the Castle, up the worn stone steps and into her room. Only then did she stop, flinging herself on the feather mattress of her bed.

* * *

M elite had seen both Ranulf and her daughter enter the forest a while before. If it had been any other man, she would have sent a servant to bid Lyonene return, but she knew her daughter was safe with Ranulf. She never questioned her knowledge of this man, trusting only in her feelings and her senses. She smiled to herself—she was going to work hard to bring about a marriage between her daughter and the Earl of M alvoisin. She truly wished he were not an earl; then she would have a surer chance of bringing about her desire. Aye, desire. She laughed aloud, then looked to see if anyone had noticed. Desire is exactly what she planned. There was nothing surer than

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two young bodies close to one another. If William knew what she planned, he would be furious. He did not like men near his daughter, no matter what he said of marriage, but M elite planned to help nature by encouraging the flowering of this delicate young bud of love.

* * *

Lyonene watched Ranulf from her shuttered window as he returned from the forest. She knelt and poked at the fire with an iron rod. The image of his smiling face appeared to her in the midst of the blaze. She didn't seem able to see anything but him; she could hear his voice, feel his hands about her waist She sat heavily on a bench by the fire and dropped her head into her hands. Everything was whirling together. She had never felt so strange in all her life.

"Lyonenel" Lucy's heavy form waddled into the room. "What are you about, girl, when your mother has so many guests below?

And a fire in the room during the day! Have you a wee fairy in your head?"

"No, Lucy, I am just happy. 'Tis naught awry at all. I am very hungry. Could we not go below?"

Chapter Two

Ranulf felt confused. For a long time now he had been near content. There bad always been women and they had freely given of their bodies, but too often he had sensed that he had been only a conquest to them, that they boasted of having been in the Black Lion's bed. Ranulf had never fooled himself as to his status in King Edward's court. Of the eleven earls, only two were young and unmarried: his friend Dacre de la Saunay and himself. He knew that many women would sell their souls to become a countess. Yet for all their flirting, all their protestations of love for him, none bad offered him laughter.

He remembered Lyonene's clear eyes, sparkling in the cold, and her reddened cheeks. M ost of all be thought of her laughter. For a few minutes he had forgotten himself, forgotten the responsibility of being an earl, forgotten the past. Yes, most important, for a short time he had not been haunted by Isabel—Isabel, whose sneering remarks had so unmanned the young boy who had loved her.

Ranulf looked up at the gray, overcast sky. He was no longer that young boy, but today the years between might never have been.

"You sit here alone while there is a feast awaiting? I vow I have never known such hunger; it is long since we ate last."

Ranulf looked up to see Corbet, one of his Black Guard, standing over him. "I fear I have neglected my men. Is all well with you?" He rose to stand beside the knight, measuring an inch or two taller than Corbel Were someone to observe them separately and together, they would say that Corbet was a strong and handsome knight but that his lord put him into shadow, so commanding was his appearance.

"This is not M alvoisin, but neither is it a tent on cold

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Welsh soU. The Lady M elite is kind and the daughter would make any man warm to look upon her, even 'twere it a blizzard."

Ranulf turned on him. "Do not speak of her so." Angrily, he left his vassal and strode ahead to the castle.

Corbet watched Ranulfs broad back and then smiled. If ever a man needed a wife, it was his lord. Unlike most of the other men, Ranulf was not content with several women; in truth, he seemed to avoid women altogether, using them only when necessary, although they plagued him much at court. Corbet was proud to be part of the elite Black Guard, and although Ranulf kept a distance from his men, they knew more about him than be would have supposed. They all saw the gentle man that lay under the fierce exterior, Corbet stopped his musings and followed his lord to the great stone donjon. For himself, he dearly wished the lovely Lady Lyonene would return to M alvoisin with them; a beauty such as hers would be a joy to look upon each day. He envied Ranulf.

As Ranulf entered the door, he saw he was to sit by Lyonene and felt as giddy as a young boy. A servant poured scented water over his hands from a dragon-headed aquamanile, and another boy gave him a clean linen towel. The priest blessed the meal, and they all sat. They watched silently as a boy cut a long, thick piece of bread and set it on the white tablecloth before Lyonene and Ranulf. The trencher was to be shared by every two diners. Each person had his own cup, and the honored guests' and family cups were silver, encrusted with uncut jewels.

The first courses, the heavy meats, began to arrive: stag, boar's head, pork, mutton.

"Your men are well-mannered. I like it that they do not make eating noises. M y father's men are not so considerate." She nodded to the left lower table.

They both watched as the men grabbed huge pieces of meat, stuffing them into their mouths, not waiting to use their knives for cutting.

"I have a name for each of them. Would you like to hear them?"

Ranulf nodded.

"The two on the end are Hen and Rooster. Can you guess which is which? The next is Cat. See the way he moves his hands and eyes? Next is Bear. Once, when I cut my leg as a girl, there were tears in his eyes. Then Pigeon; his head moves so. And the last is Hawk. He is my favorite."

Ranulf studied this man who was Lyonene's favorite. "Why do you care for him?"

"He is kind. He thinks well, he can sing, and he is quite good to look at, do you not think?"

Ranulf stared at her. "I would not know when a man is such as you say, good to look at." His voice was stiff.

She studied his black eyes, the thick curling hair, which he left uncovered. "I should think you would know."

Ranulf, to his consternation, could feel the blood rushing to his face. Confused, he looked at his men and saw that they had paused in their eating to stare at him. He turned back to Lyonene, who smiled up at him mischievously. He returned her smile slightly. "You are an imp. What man is going to follow a knight who blushes?"

Lyonene's laugh rang out, a pretty sound which was infectious. She put both hands on his arm and touched her forehead to his shoulder.

Ranulf tried to ignore the fascinated stares of his men. No one else in the hall seemed to think Lyonene's laughter anything out of the ordinary. With relief he saw the next course arrive—capons, pigeons, pies of small birds.

Lyonene took a spoon and lifted half a fat capon covered in mustard sauce, placing it on the trencher before them. Never had she felt so at ease with a man before, yet there was a sense of excitement through her, as the few times she had touched him had shown her.

"I am sorry. I did not mean to laugh so. M y father says I laugh at aught, and I fear he is right. You are not angry with me? I will give you the best part of the chicken."

"I am not angry." He smiled in earnest now. "And if I get any of the chicken, it will be better than the meat, for you ate all of it, sparing none for me."

"Not so!" she cried, and then laughed again but covered her mouth. "You tease, Lion!" she whispered.

"Yes, Lioness." He leaned close to her and wanted greatly to kiss those full, soft lips that had a smear of mustard on the corner.

The tip of her tongue licked it away, and he felt cheated. He wondered if it were the 19

wine, for he could swear the room was as hot as a tent in summer.

* * *

There were several people who watched the Earl of M alvoisin and Lady Lyonene. The Black Guard had never seen their lord act this way with anyone. The only person who made him smile was Queen Eleanora and sometimes Geoffrey or Dacre. Yet this young girl had transformed him into a knight's page.

M elite sat next to Lyonene; she had arranged the seating herself. She did not wish her guest to feel he should divide his attention between the two women. At each laugh from her daughter, her resolutions set more firmly.