The Black Lyon (33 page)

"So, you are awake. It has been many days."

"How many?" Lyonene whispered.

"Ten." They were within two days of Ireland, then. "I have been a burden to you."

"Aye, you have."

"I did not know you traveled to Ireland. Should you not be ... at M alovisin?"

"Do not start your tears again. I have had enough of them. You must have had a fever caused by more than just the motion of the sea, and you have raved every moment you were ill. There is naught of you or Lord Ranulf I do not know. Now we will leave this ship soon and M orell would have you well. You must drink this and then sleep." She thrust a warm mug of soup into Lyonene's hand.

Try as she would, she could not lift the heavy cup. Her fingers trembled and her arms would not obey her commands.

"Here!" Amicia angrily lifted the mug, forcing Lyonene to drink. She tipped the cup and the invalid's head back too far, and some of the contents spilled down her tunic, adding to the dirt-encrusted fabric. "You are no better than a babe. I have had to tend you as one, and I am fair sick of it. The smell of you puts me off, and there is little resemblance to a woman about you. If that child fled your belly, I would not blame it."

Lyonene put shaky fingers to her stomach, aware that it had increased in size in even the last few days. "M y babe is not harmed?" she asked anxiously, fearful that something was wrong.

"Nay. It sets in there firmly. Now I must go to Sir M orell. He wished to know when you woke."

Lyonene lay back on the cushionless cot, feeling as tired as if she had climbed a mountain, mayhaps several mountains. In spite of the discomfort of the horrible scratchy clothes, the smell, the matting of her hair, she was nearly asleep when Sir M orell opened the cabin door.

"M on Dieu! Amicia, I cannot enter this room! Take her from here and clean her, for I see you have left her in her own filth. I will see that the cabin is cleaned. You are an animal to treat any woman so. Get from my sight!"

There was quiet and Lyonene felt the waves of sleep overtaking her again. Rough hands picked her from the cot.

"I don't mind her so badly. I have seen whores who were worse."

A harsh male voice boomed above her. She opened tired eyes just enough to realize she was being carried from the room.

"Nay, she is not bad. Her eyes are the color of a jewel I once saw his lordship wear."

"Ranulf?" Lyonene whispered.

"Aye, Lord Ranulf it is I speak of. Now, you need not worry, for he will buy you back. Nay, he would not let you go."

"Keep your mouth closed, sailor!" Sir M orell's voice came to her through a haze. She must not let them
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know she was aware of their plans. "Ranulf?" she whispered again.

"See, she knows naught of what I speak. The lady's too sick to hear me. She weighs no more than a feather, for all she carries a babe."

"Just tend to your duties and say no more to her. She may remember your words later."

"Aye, sir."

Lyonene was deposited in a hard wooden chair, too tired to even open her eyes. She was aware of dampness and heat near her, increasing her need for sleep.

"Nay, you cannot sleep now. M y fine knight would have you bathed. I do not believe in so much washing as he; it is not good for the skin. Now here! Do not fall! He will make me answer for your injuries. I cannot believe you could smell so horrible in but ten days."

Lyonene felt cool air as her clothes were torn from her.

"Now, step up, higher."

The water felt wonderful, wetting her skin, filling her parched pores as no amount of water drunk could have. She even enjoyed the roughness of Amicia's washing of her. She wanted more than anyone else to rid herself of the ugly grime of her illness. Her hair was washed, the woman's fingers scouring Lyonene's scalp, removing days of filth.

Lyonene felt almost alive as she stood in the tub while Amicia poured hot water over her. A thin towel was rubbed briskly over her, and the clean linen touched her skin.

"No more fine silk hose for you, my lady. The clothes are warm and loose and will allow for the growth of the babe. It seems to be growing fast" She laughed at a private jest. "M orell will not like that."

Lyonene gave no hint that she understood the woman's words, reveling for a moment in the freshness of clean skin and unsoiled clothing. The pale woman opened the door and a large man entered, dressed in coarse wools, his long hair matted and dirty.

"She looks to be a real lady now, like when she rode beside Lord Ranulf."

Lyonene closed her eyes and feigned an insensibility she did not feel. The sailor carried her back to the little room that was her cabin and gently deposited her on a fresh-smelling bed, the sheets hinting of salt water and sunshine. She relaxed on them gratefully, taking a perverse pleasure in such purely physical comfort, which belied her true situation.

"She is pretty. Did you know the Black Guard calls her their Lady Lioness? I tried to speak to her once but that Corbet drew a sword on me. They let no one near her but the favored of his lordship."

"Leave her, you oaf! I do not need your calf-sick stories to entertain me. You would not have thought her such a fine lady did you hold her head over the pot."

"Nay, a true lady is at all times a lady." The sneer in his words, directed toward Amicia, was unmistakable.

Lyonene slept for a long while, waking once when the cabin was dark but sleeping immediately again. When she woke next, the cabin was bright and she felt much better; hungry, thirsty, weak, but alive, with a conviction that she was going to remain so.

It was not long until Amicia came into the cabin with a charger of food. "You look as if you might live now."

Lyonene drank deeply of the hot soup and ate a piece of bread.

"M orell will be glad to know you are soon to be recovered." She gave Lyonene a sly look.

The countess knew her meaning, and when she had eaten her fill—much less than she had thought she could— she lay back on the pillows, wearily. "I must sleep now," she muttered, aware of Amicia's scrutiny. At all costs, she must make them think she was still very ill. Then there would be a possibility that Sir M orell would leave her to herself.

The next day Lyonene felt much stronger, but she did not let it show to Amicia. Sir M orell came to visit her, and Lyonene mumbled something about the child she carried and clapped a hand over her mouth. She saw the knight's look of disgust before he fled. She was also very aware of Amicia's amusement and felt that the woman enjoyed the mummery and would not give her away.

Late in the day the ship stopped moving and shouts and orders were given as the vessel settled to a halt. Amicia came to her.

"We journey to ... to your kin now. You are to ride

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near me and keep from Sir M orell until you are well."

Lyonene thought she sensed a smirk in the pale woman's last words. She barely had time to snatch the lion belt from its hiding place beneath a cushioned seat. She did not know what instinct had caused her to hide it, but she had. The ivory box of Ranulf's was not to be found. She fastened the belt under the folds of the loose wool surcoat, above her stomach, pulling cloth forward to add bulk to her enlarging stomach.

Amicia noticed the increased width but said naught, and Lyonene was encouraged in the necessary deception.

There was no mummery involved when she was led down the side of the ship. The horrible rope ladder swayed and fled from her feet as she tried to find her way. Her weak arms began to tremble violently, both from the exertion and her growing feeling of danger.

A strong man took her waist, and she was pulled gently into the waiting rowboat.

"Careful you do not show yourself too fond of the lady," Sir M orell said, sneering at the big sailor who held her.

"I will not see her or the babe harmed. You swore they would not be injured."

"Nay, I'll not harm her. M y plans for the lady bear little pain, but that is her decision. Amicia, can you not do something with her? She has no more life than a rag doll."

For an instant Amicia's pale eyes met Lyonene's green ones and an understanding passed between them. As Amicia ran her hand across Sir M orell's thigh, she and Lyonene gazed steadily at one another. They reached a silent agreement, now two women—no longer one with a courtly rank but a prisoner and one a captor, but only women, with the knowledge of all women. Amicia gave the briefest of nods, and Lyonene closed her eyes again, her body limp.

"She is still very ill, M orell. In truth, I fear for her life. The babe is farther along than I had thought and I think it pains her. You may of course take her as she is." Amicia gestured to Lyonene's pale, slumped body, a study in weakness.

"Nay, I prefer a woman and not a useless bundle of rags. We will find a barber and see what he can do for her."

"I think we should go to the widow's straightaway. When a ship of the Black Lion's is found empty, it will cause much talk. We must go quickly and not be seen by others."

"Aye, you are right. I would not like to have Ranulf de Warbrooke find his wife before I have my ransom."

The climb down the rope was nothing compared to the hours astride a horse. It was all Lyonene could do to stay atop the animal. She tried to think of a way to escape, but they traveled always across barren land, the paths sometimes too rocky, steep, the struggles of her horse litde helped by its rider's weakness.

Sir M orell often turned to look at her, and each time she managed to give some sign of great sickness. After the first day he stopped turning to her, and Amicia gave Lyonene a slight smile, which was neither acknowledged nor returned.

At night they camped, with only a small fire lit against the night's chill. Lyonene slipped a piece of charcoal under her surcoat and robbed a blackened finger beneath her eyes. Then she created dark hollows below her cheekbones. Amicia looked at her oddly, but made no comment. When Sir M orell took her arm once, she leaned against him and gave him a wan smile. He pushed her away from him. She could not allow herself even the smallest smile of triumph.

On the third day, they arrived at an old stone donjon, the battlements crumbling about the top, the up and down squares of the crenellations indistinct. They were nearly at the wall of the castle before a warning was called.

"Sir M orell, late of M alvoisin," the knight shouted, and the rusty, uncared-for iron wheels began to move and the gates were drawn up. The drawbridge that lay across the shallow, garbage-filled moat was useless, its chains limp and broken, so only the iron-tipped portcullis was in use.

There was no more pretense that Lyonene was being taken to her relatives. The people around her talked freely of the ransom, either accepting that she knew of their plans or, she hoped, thinking her too ill to under-229

stand their words. Lyonene felt they were such fools. Only Amicia noticed the amount of food the prisoner consumed. The day before, Lyonene's horse had shied at a rabbit and Lyonene had used a great deal of strength in controlling the animal. She did not wish to land on the hard ground, even to prove her illness to the others. Her horse calm again, she looked up to see Amicia smiling at her, a smile showing that Lyonene did not deceive her and reaffirming their alliance.

They rode across the rickety drawbridge and under the old portcullis, each person casting upward glances, fearful of the heavy gate falling on them.

"M orell! You are as handsome as ever."

Lyonene watched from a bowed head as a tall, slim woman ran to M orell's outstretched arms. Her hair was completely covered, as was her neck, by the concealing veil and barbette.

"Come inside to the fire, I have much to tell you." Her words were ordinary enough, but Lyonene looked away as the woman's hands went inside Sir M orell's tabard. Lyonene was too aware of memories, of glad greetings, sad partings from her own beloved to even look at these two, so obviously lovers.

The sailor helped her from her horse. She took Amicia's arm, and they walked toward the crumbling castle. The outer wooden steps leading to the second floor looked hazardous.

"The widow sees to little besides her passion for men. Do not lean on me! I will not bear your weight longer. I am sure you know of the ransom."

"Aye, I do." Lyonene's voice was hard. "Such greed will see you dead."

Amicia smiled at her in the dim light of the cold hall. "You threaten me now, but I do not think you will easily forget that it was your greed for your child that brought you so quickly to my plan."

"Nay, it was not. I thought Ranulf loved you."

Amicia's strange laugh rasped from her throat. "You are more a fool than I thought. You should have stayed and fought for him, then."

"But... King Edward ..."

"Be still! They will hear you. It is done and you will have long to brood on your foolishness."

"Aye," Lyonene whispered. "M y foolishness."

"Amicia," Sir M orell called. "Bring our guest here to the light."

When Lyonene stood before the fire, she looked only briefly at the woman before her.

"What ails her? It is not something to be caught? I will bring no such disease to my house."

"Nay," Amicia answered. "It is but the sickness of the child. She will be well with rest and food."

"I hope this is worth my effort, M orell. Put her down somewhere ... Amicia, is it? She wearies me just to look on her." Lyonene sank heavily onto the uncushioned bench, there being only one chair before the fire and that occupied by the widow.

"You are sure this husband of hers will not find her here? I have heard of the man and I do not desire to wage battle against him."

"Battle!" M orell sneered. "Lady M argaret, you could not win a battle against an unarmed troop of eels, less that of one such as the Earl of M alvoisin."

"M orell, I know my defenses are not as they were when my dear husband was alive, but they train most vigorously."