“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 little helped by its rider’s weakness.
Sir Morell 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 rubbed 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 Morell 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 Morell, late of Malvoisin,” 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 understand 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.
“Morell! You are as handsome as ever.”
Lyonene watched from a bowed head as a tall, slim woman ran to Morell’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 Morell’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. “My foolishness.”
“Amicia,” Sir Morell 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, Morell. 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!” Morell sneered. “Lady Margaret, you could not win a battle against an unarmed troop of eels, less that of one such as the Earl of Malvoisin.”
“Morell, I know my defenses are not as they were when my dear husband was alive, but they train most vigorously.”
Sir Morell threw back his head and laughed. “Such training as you give your men does not prepare them for battle, but rather drains them of what little strength they have. Now tell me no more of your strengths. The very reason I chose this place was because no one would believe such a wreck of a castle held such a valuable captive as the Countess of Malvoisin.”
Lady Margaret did not seem to be offended by Sir Morell’s words. “You underestimate me, as you always have.” She clapped her hands twice and four men appeared from the corners of the room. They were ugly men, scarred, their noses and cheeks distorted from many blows and wounds. Their hands clutched weapons, ugly weapons—the spiked mace, the chained flail, the sharp, hooked war hammer, the heavy battle ax. From their belts dangled other deadly weapons.
“I am pleased to see you so well protected, Lady Margaret, but do you think a mere four men, even these four men, could hold out against the Black Lion, were he to make an attack? He is followed always by those seven devils of his.” His hands tightened in anger.
“Do not destroy the cup, Morell! I know your campaign to be one of his guard, but he saw you early for what you are. No man wishes to guard his back from his own man. Nay! I would not advise you try to strike me. My own little guard would not take so kindly to your love taps as I have born them in the past. You do not seem to understand my guard. They are not to protect me, but they are for her.”
Lyonene looked up to see the woman pointing at her.
“My men will never leave her. Should one from Malvoisin attempt to take her, the men will kill her before they even look to the attacker.”
Sir Morell grinned. “You are more than I thought. The man will attempt naught when her life is in danger. You could hold her in an open field, in the midst of his own castle, and he would do naught but hand us the ransom, wagonloads of it. Aye, you are clever.”
“I thank you, fair knight.” She rose and slid her arms about Morell’s neck. “Now I will tell you that my men keep her from you also.”
The knight pushed her from him. “Nay, I want the woman and will have her.”
At a quick gesture from Lady Margaret, the four burly men surrounded Lyonene’s slight form on the bench. She looked even more lost, more alone, when they clustered around her, towering above her.
“The woman will be held, but as befits her, not as a whore for your use. From what I hear of this Black Lion, such treatment would enrage him, cause him to forget his senses, and he might force an attack, out of anger. If the woman were killed, we would receive no ransom. If the earl were killed with no heir, Malvoisin would revert to the English king and there again we would lose our ransom.”
“There is an heir, she carries him now!”
“You are a sorcerer and know the child??
?s sex or even that it will live? The woman looks even now to be at death’s door.” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Nay, she will be well-cared for while she stays here. Alice!” She turned to a large, heavy woman who emerged from the shadows. “This is Lady Lyonene. She is to be your charge. Take her to the tower room that has been prepared and care for her. Do you remember all I have told you?”
The woman nodded and walked toward Lyonene, taking her arm in hers, firmly but kindly.
“That woman is to be trusted?” Amicia asked as she watched the two leave the room. “Lyonene has a way of endearing herself to servants.”
“I am sure you have no such problems.” Lady Margaret’s eyes raked Amicia’s emaciated form. “Alice is a mute and so cannot tell our secret. She is also simpleminded. I have told her of the coming child and she will care well for the precious little countess.” She sneered at the closed door through which Lyonene had gone. “The woman’s life seems to have no hardship. Born a baron’s daughter, married for love to a handsome, rich earl … there is naught she does not have.”
“Aye,” Amicia said, grinning. “It is time she shared some of her happiness with others.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Alice?” Lyonene stretched in the cold air, the heavy wool blankets inadequate for the damp cold of the drafty donjon. “You are well this morn?” She looked at the heavy woman bending over the fire, slowly coaxing it to life.
Alice turned and grinned at Lyonene, nodding her head.
“Your mother’s cough is better?”
Alice pantomimed someone drinking from a cup and then pointed at Lyonene.
“Ah, then the herbs I recommended helped her. I am glad. It is too cold to be ill.” Lyonene tried to sit up and instantly Alice was there to help her. “It is enormous, is it not?” She smiled as she rubbed her extended stomach. “Ranulf would be…”
Alice gripped the slim shoulders, frowned and shook her head vigorously.
“Nay, I know I should not. The memories are too painful even yet. Do you think there is a chance the boy gave my belt to someone? When Sir Morell caught him, he no longer had it.”
Alice turned away.
“I know what you would say. It has been so long and there is no word. Lady Margaret says Ranulf does not answer her demands. Think you he will not pay the ransom? I have ever been a trial to him.”
Alice turned to her with a hard expression, eyes narrowed in threat.
Lyonene gave a weak laugh. “I will not begin anew. You have heard too much already. What shall we do this day? Don ourselves in cloth of gold and ride our stallions across the hills of Ireland?”
Alice smiled at her and then went to a plain wooden chest set in the corner of the room. With reverence, she opened it and lifted the leather pouch which contained the precious book.
Lyonene smiled. “It is a good day for reading. Tell me, are my guards well? They have not forgotten me?”
Alice shivered as she cast a fearful look toward the heavy oak door.
“Alice, they could not be so horrible as you seem to think. I have been here for four months and they do but sit and watch.”
Alice merely looked at her. They had discussed the four guards before and nothing had been solved. She helped her mistress from the narrow bed, the heavy pregnancy making the younger woman awkward and clumsy. Alice loosely fastened the woolen garments about her mistress and then combed her long hair neatly into place.
“Think you I should cut it? Brent told me some of the women at court seemed to think it too long. I have told you about Brent, have I not?” At Alice’s indulgent smile, Lyonene caught the big, work-hardened hand and held it to her cheek. “Of course, I have told you all there is to tell about me. You must be greatly bored with my stories.”
Alice stroked her mistress’s cheek in answer.
“Lady Margaret thinks you simple-minded. She would not like to know she is far from the truth. I do not think she would have you as my guard ’twere she to know your cleverness. Now, come and sit by me and I will read to you a while and then I will teach you more of your letters. A while longer and you will read this book yourself. Did I tell you Ranulf owns six books?” She stopped and laughed. “Do not look at me so. You are a fierce critic. I will tell you no more of my Ranulf this hour, but beware of the next, for I may remember a thing I have not told you. I doubt it, but I may.”
They both turned as the heavy door creaked open and Lady Margaret appeared. “Well, you do not seem to be the mistreated prisoner.” She sat down on a stool before the fire. “We have had no word.” She looked ominously at Lyonene. “I understood this husband of yours loved you overmuch, yet he does not seem anxious to have you returned. My messenger returned yester eve and says the Earl of Malvoisin makes merry at court with the ladies there. This does not seem to be the bereaved husband who misses and longs for his wife.” She watched Lyonene. “Have you no answer to this riddle?”
Lyonene looked away. “Nay, I have not,” she answered quietly. “It was not I who said he loved me, but Amicia. I am a baron’s daughter and mayhaps… Ranulf”—the name caused her to blink back tears—“has found another.”
“Bah!” Margaret rose to walk to the large window, the shutters poorly latched, the cool early morning air whistling under them. “Whatever he feels for you, I would not expect this. You are by law his wife and he must know the babe is near full-term now. If not you, then his child. Morell will return to England soon to see for himself why no ransom is being prepared. I should have guessed Amicia to be such a liar. Your precious husband’s steward has said he hopes you never return.” She laughed at the expression on Lyonene’s face. “You thought yourself well loved by everyone. You are a vain creature. Has no one said so to you before?”
“Aye, they have,” Lyonene whispered.
“I am pleased that there is at least a whisper of truth somewhere in this old castle. Your guards grow restless. They wish to meet this husband of yours, for they have ever heard of his strength. What think you of seeing him pitted against the four of them? Morell thinks he could take them. Ah, I see you are not so sure. If I did not chance losing the ransom, I would stage such a show, for the man angers me at his insolence in not answering my messages.” She looked away to the fire.
“If I am worthless to you, will you not let me go? I must cost you much in food and soon there will be the babe to care for.”
“Aye, you are worthless to me, but there must be some value in you. It is true you have cost me much and you will need to repay these monies. After you rid yourself of the babe, mayhaps I can find your body to be a means to repay my generosity. Sir Morell might, I think, pay much for the use of it.” She laughed again. “I will wait only a while longer. Your husband might think differently when you deliver his child alive.” She left the room.
Lyonene was unaware of the tears that ran down her cheeks and only gradually felt Alice’s rather violent shaking of her. “Why do you do this?” she asked as she looked into the maid’s stormy face. “You are angry with me. What have I done?”
Alice pointed toward the closed door, then frowned at her mistress, vigorously shaking her head. They had been together for four months and in that time they had developed their own communication.
“You wish to tell me I am a fool,” Lyonene stated flatly.
Alice released her and stood above her, hands on wide hips, a disdainful look on her face as she glared down her nose.
“I believe everyone. First Amicia’s lies about Ranulf and now Lady Margaret’s false stories. But what of William de Bec? Why would Ranulf’s steward hate me?”
Alice threw up her hands in disgust.
Lyonene laughed. “I know what you say. It is hard for me to not believe them. Their lies are so logical.”
Alice dropped to her knees before her mistress, taking the little hands in her own, her eyes imploring. She tapped her head with one fingertip.
“Aye, I should think for myself. I am sure Ranulf … cares for me. He must, b
ut there was so little time. He hated me for so long and it is not easy to believe he changed. Do not shake your head at me. I believe I know my own husband. Ha!” She frowned at Alice’s gestures. “I am sure I am smarter than my unborn babe. Why then has Ranulf gone to court? King Edward will not give him money for my ransom. The king wishes Ranulf to marry a Castilian princess.”
She watched Alice. “You are right. Mayhaps Lady Margaret lies and Ranulf is not at court.” She smiled at Alice’s sigh of exasperation. “I am a countess, you know. At home there are servants who treat me with respect.”
Alice put her head on Lyonene’s knee and the young woman stroked the coarse hair. “Whatever I say,” she whispered, “you are more than maid to me. Had it not been for you, for your long hours, days even, of listening to my endless stories I might have thrown myself from yon window. Would you like to hear more of the Round Table?”
At Alice’s nod, she began, for she knew the woman loved to hear of the pageantry, the games, the food, the clothes, the powerful knights who wrestled and jousted with one another. There was not one second of the three-day tourney that Lyonene had not related to Alice, but they both loved to hear it again and both knew it kept Lyonene from thinking too realistically of the stone walls enclosing her or hearing the lies that surrounded her.
Late in the afternoon, Lyonene slept and Alice went about her duties outside the castle. When she awoke, she lay still and thought of the time since she had been taken captive. Mostly her days were spent with Alice in the tower room. Ireland was warmer than England, but still the stones created their own dreary and oppressive atmosphere. She had never even been outside the castle walls since she had first entered them, and this lack of sun and exercise did not help her mood.
Only lately, since the child had grown big in her stomach, had she dared leave the cramped little room, for Sir Morell always lurked near her, touching her hair, her shoulder, smiling in a way that left little doubt of his thoughts. She recalled with a shudder a conversation with him when she had first come to the castle.