The Black Lyon (7 page)

"Aye," she answered quietly, "but is not a marriage more than just a bargain?" She began to smile. "At least this marriage, for I fear you do not bargain to gain, since you chose a poor baron's daughter to wife. Would you not want a rich wife with green estates and..."

"Knocked knees, mayhaps?"

Her eyes sparkled. "And how do you know my knees do not knock?"

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He did not smile, but the comers of his eyes showed merriment. "That is true, I do not know, so I shall find out. I do not propose to marry a woman with ugly legs."

She stepped backward from him. "Do not come near me. I will call out."

"And who will dare to stop the great Black Lion? I shall toss all the men out the window and then I shall still have my way with you." He leered at her, and she tried to cover her giggles as they escaped her.

He threw an arm about her waist and then sat on the bed with her in his lap. She uselessly tried to pull away from him, but her laughter made her even weaker. Ra-nulf made half-hearted attempts to lift her skirt. He held both her hands in one of his.

"Now, this ankle is not too crooked."

"It is not crooked at all!"

"If it is not, then it will not mate with the other, which
is
most definitely bent."

"What is this?" Lucy demanded, appearing from nowhere. "I knew I should not leave this girl alone. You unhand my girl and leave this room at oncel I will have no such play while I am near." -—

"Lucy, we are to be married."

The old woman may have missed one blink, but otherwise gave no other sign that she heard. "Well, until you are married, you are in my keeping. Now you, young man, unhand her ankle and leave this room. You are not allowed alone with my girl until after the wedding."

Ranulf set Lyonene from his lap and bent to kiss her.

"No more of that! You have a life together. There be no sense in tiring of one another early."

Obediently, he started to leave.

Lyonene's laugh stopped him. "What of your threats now. Lion? Will you not carry them out?" She nodded her head to the open window.

Ranulf looked at Lucy, who ran to close the shutters. He grimaced. "I am not so strong as that. M ayhaps I should fetch my Black Guard." He paused and frowned. "And the Frisian, and ..."

Lyonene's laughter followed him as he closed the door behind him.

"Is he not wonderful, Lucy? Is he not the kindest, gentlest..."

"Yes, yes." Lucy was impatient and hardly listened to Lyonene's prattle as she straightened the room.

"And does he not have the most perfect body?"

Lucy dropped the clothing she carried. "Lady Lyonene. You forget yourselfl Your lady mother and I have taught you the manners of a lady, not those of ... of the joy women."

Lyonene looked at her in wide-eyed innocence. "Whatever could you mean, Lucy? I did but refer to his knightly form. You could not mean other than that."

Lucy stared at her young mistress, realizing she had been trapped again. Happily the bell rang to announce dinner, and they went below.

Lyonene wondered how many years it would take before her heart did not jump at the sight of Ranulf. He stood with his back to her, talking to the much shorter Sir Tompkin. He seemed to sense her presence, for he turned and held his hand out to her. He did not release her as Sir Tompkin frowned and went to table.

"I am afraid the man is most angry, for he has tried for years to marry one of his wretched daughters to me."

They sat together at the .high table, the bread trencher shared between them. "Sir William says the betrothal can be signed after dinner. You are sure you wish to spend your life with me? To place your welfare in my hands?"

"I am most sure. It is you who should beware." She ate a piece of salt-cured ham.

Ranulf frowned. "And what hidden danger awaits me?"

"Why me, of course. You know little of me but that I have straight ankles. You know naught of my character."

"I am not convinced about the ankles, but tell me your flaws of character."

"I have a terrible temper, my mother says I am very vain..."

"With good reason."

"And I am too often not a lady and say what first comes to my head."

"Those are grievous faults."

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"Do not laugh at me, Ranulf de Warbrooke! I see you also have faults."

He could not contain the smile that spread over his face. "I am called the Spawn of the Devil and you dare to think I have faults?"

She waved her hand in dismissal. "I am sure the name stands you in good stead during war, but what others call you is not your fault."

"And what do you believe is poor in my character?"

"Excessive pride, truly an arrogance. There are others, but that is the greatest flaw."

His kissed her cheek hastily and then remembered where he was and straightened. "Pride is the least of my faults." His face hardened and he became very serious. "You are mine, and I will allow you not so much as to glance at another man. Remember that well."

She gave him a radiant smile. "That is an easy request, for in all my ten and seven years I have never desired a man for husband until I met you. I do not think I shall see another man I fancy soon."

"You are but ten and seven years? You are younger than I had thought."

She laughed aloud. "I make long avowals of my fidelity and you exclaim over my age. Will you not say some such thing as you are near double my age? It is true you seem very old. I am sure you will not last the winter."

"You are an impertinent wench! Do you not know the Black Lion eats three girls such as you each day afore dinner?"

Oblivious to the staring people around them, she put a finger on his lower lip. "I do not find that a horrible way to die at all," she said gently.

He stared at her a moment and then bit her finger, a little too hard, until she drew back in pain. "Do you not know it is the man who is to pursue the woman? Behave yourself and eat your dinner. Even now I shall never be respected by my own men again, for they have seen me led by a chit of a girl for near two days."

Happily, she gave her attention to her food and the songs of the jongleur. She had not even been aware that he had been singing.

The meal was cleared and the tables dismounted and stacked against the walls. Father Hewitt brought ink and quills and the betrothal papers to a small table set before the fire. Sir William signed them hastily, but Ranulf paused. The old priest put his hand on the man's strong arm. "You are not sure, my lord?"

"I but remembered another time so much like this one." He signed his name, a hard, black flourish.

"Now, it is customary for rings and kisses. Lady Lyonene, you have a ring I believe?"

She held out her hand for Ranulf s and with trembling fingers placed a gold ring on the third finger of his left hand—the arm nearest his heart, the finger that contained a vein leading directly to his heart.

"I do not have ..." Ranulf began, but then his face lighted and he put his hand into the fitchet opening of his tabard and unbuckled a leather pouch from his belt. He emptied the contents on the table—a few coins, several jewels including an enormous ruby, three iron keys and a bit of wool, ragged and worn. He took the wool and unwound it to reveal a ring—gold, with clasped hands on the back to represent unity and a sun and moon to signify the lifetime bond of marriage. There were three emeralds across the, top.

"It was my mother's ring. She bid me always carry it."

"You cannot give it me, for then you will at times be without it."

He took her hand and slid the ring into place. "I will wrap you in a bit of wool and carry you and the ring. Now go and find your mother, for I have sorely neglected my men, my horse and my brother."

"You are to kiss me." Her voice was almost hurt that he had forgotten.

He bent and kissed her cheek, but her arms went around his neck to hold him close. For a brief moment he crushed her to him.

"Go," he whispered, "before I shame myself and my king before your family." He pulled her arms away. "Notice I do not include you in the shamed ones, for I vow you are a shameless hussy."

She giggled at him. "Go to your horse then, and I will do my work and not give you another thought."

M elite followed her daughter up the stairs. "Someday

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I shall pay for this," she muttered. To see her daughter so happy was a joy to her, but she wondered where she had gone wrong that she had reared such a forward girl. "It is William's fault," she answered herself. "If he had named his daughter Joan as I wished, she would not be like this. No Joan ever threw her arms around a man not her husband and begged him for a loss, at least not before her parents. But a girl named for a lioness!" She smiled. It was indeed fortunate that Lyonene was to marry a man like Ranulf and not a weakling like Giles, the young boy who lived on the neighboring estate and had since childhood vowed he'd someday marry Lyonene.

"M other! Whatever are you saying? I believe you are talking to yourself!"

"You may be impertinent with Lord Ranulf, but you may not do so with me."

Lyonene laughed and then sobered. "I am sorry, M other. It is only that he has called me just so this day. Is he not a wondrous man?"

M elite sighed, for she saw several hours ahead of hearing of Lord Ranulf's charms.

They spent the afternoon in the great bedchamber of William and M elite, which also acted as a solar. Lyonene could not concentrate on her sewing. She constantly held the ring to the light to catch the sparkle of the emeralds and too often ran to the window to look toward the lists.

"Lyonene," M elite said casually, "this year's apple crop was especially good. Go to the kitchen and have Cook give you a few."

"I am not hungry."

"Nay, but I thought mayhaps that black horse of Lord Ranulf's would be."

Lyonene jumped from her chair and ran to her mother to give her a quick hug and kiss her cheek. She had almost reached the door when a thought came to her and she looked back. "Someday, I shall ask you what message my father sent that was so urgent that I was left alone to bathe my Lord Ranulf."

There was only a flicker across M elite's face, but it was enough to answer her daughter. Laughing, Lyonene went to the kitchen.

The stables were warm and sweet-smelling as she carried a small basket of apples toward the enormous horse in the end stall.

She stroked his head and opened the door. The horse daintily ate the apples from her band as she ran her hands over the powerful neck.

"Lyonene! What do you do? You should not be in Tighe's stall. It is dangerous!" Geoffrey called to her.

She smiled at him over the low wooden wall. "He is as gentle as his master." She rubbed the velvet nose, then took an iron comb from the wall and began to comb the long, profuse mane.

Geoffrey stood before the gate, an expression of awe on his face. "The horse is a stallion and not at all gentle. I have never seen him behave so with anyone besides Ranulf. Did you not know he nipped your father's stable master?"

"The man, I am sure, deserved the punishment. See how sweet he is?" She stooped before one of Tighe's legs and stroked the long hah- that grew from knee to the floor. "I have never seen a horse with hair like this. Of course Tighe is very vain; a horse so beautiful would have to be."

"Lyonene, I have never seen a girl such as you. M y brother is most fortunate."

She stood and fed Tighe more apples. "Something I do not understand is why he is not married. I know he was married before, but that was long ago. How the women of King Edward's court have let such a gentle, kind man escape is beyond me."

"Oh, but they have tried. But always there is something in their eyes and manner that shows too well, and that is their greed."

Lyonene felt the blood rush to her cheeks and looked away. "But I, too, am greedy for him."

Geoffrey laughed. "The women of the court are greedy for his wealth as much as for him. It is this that is easy to see. They appraise his clothes, the sable lining of his mantle, the jewels on his hem, even the accounts of his estates."

"Estates? But there is only M alvoisin, an island south of England."

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"M alvoisin is only one of many. There is . . ."

"Do not tell me! I do not like to think of my Ranulf as one of the king's earls. It frightens me more than a little. I almost wish he were a farmer like my father; then he would stay at home and play with our children."

"What is this I hear of children?" Ranulf came toward them. "I have yet to touch the girl and already she believes herself to be a mother."

Geoffrey looked from one to the other. "I will go and talk to M aularde."

Ranulf chuckled as his brother left.

"What is so amusing?"

"M aularde rarely talks to anyone." He turned back to her, the stall gate separating them. "I think you marry me for my horse."

He watched her comb the long mane. "When we are at M alvoisin I will find a suitable mare and mayhaps Tighe can produce a daughter for you." The big stallion hit Ranulf's shoulder with his head. "See, even the idea pleases him. Now, come out here to me. I will have to sell him if you spoil him more."

He put his hands on her shoulders and stared at her intensely. "I wish to remember you well, for I leave in the morn."

"You cannot! Not so soon." She swayed toward him. "Could you not stay until the banns are read, until the marriage? Then we may leave together for my new home."

"I cannot. I have told my steward I will be there, but I could not stay near you for so long. I will return on the day of the marriage and you will be mine. Now you must return to your mother."

She backed away from him. "You ever send me to my mother. I would stay with you."

"You cannot stay with me until you are my wife—I could not bear it. Now go or I will carry you."