The Black Lyon

  Geoffrey picked himself up from the dirt at Ranulf’s feet. “I go now to clean Sir Tompkin’s mail. You will think on my words?” He left his silent brother alone.

  * * *

  “Lyonene! I have repeated my question four times. Where is your mind?”

  “I am sorry, Father. What did you ask of me?”

  “It does not matter now. What is wrong with you this day?”

  “I think,” Melite said, looking at her husband over her sewing, “that the problem with our daughter stands outside on the lists.”

  William frowned. “Sir Tompkin?” His voice was incredulous.

  There was disgust in Lyonene’s voice. “Hmph! Sir Tompkin indeed! That fat old man!”

  “I’ll not have such disrespect in my house, girl.”

  “William, it is the Earl of Malvoisin who causes Lyonene so much trouble,” Melite whispered.

  “Ranulf de Warbrooke!” He looked at Lyonene’s bowed head. “You moon for the king’s earl?”

  Lyonene stood before the fire, stretching with a catlike grace. “Is he not handsome? Is he not the kindest, gentlest man? And does not his hair curl most splendidly?”

  William’s eyes widened to the fullest possible and his mouth fell open as he looked to his wife, who sat with a satisfied grin on her face.

  “Lyonene,” Melite said quietly, “go and comb your hair. Have Lucy build you a fire and stay in your room until dinner.”

  Lyonene did not question her mother’s highly unusual request, but just obeyed.

  “Now, wife, I pray you to tell me what happens in my own castle. My daughter is moonstruck for the Black Lion? She cannot expect aught to come of such a dream. She would be as likely to marry an earl as I would to marry the king’s daughter.”

  “You have yet to ask him.”

  “Ask him! Are you daft to think I would do such? He will laugh in my face. It is well enough to tell my friends an earl has visited me, but that I aspired to an earl for a son! Nay, I’ll not hear such laughter!”

  “William, have you not also seen that our earl ‘moons,’ as you say, for our daughter?” When he did not answer, she smiled. “Go and look to the lists. You will see the truth in my words.”

  Unbelieving, William walked to the shuttered windows, pulling one of the louvers down so he could see out. Ranulf sat on a bench, his head back against the wall, staring into space. As William watched, a few of the Black Guard turned puzzled stares to their master.

  William returned to the fire and sat down heavily.

  “I do not know that he will accept our daughter in marriage, but we may ask. Was there not an old story that the Earl of Malvoisin was once married to a baron’s daughter, a woman he loved?”

  William’s face lit. “It is so! When he was a lad, he caused great scandal by marrying the girl. King Henry was said to be greatly angered. There was a child born but five months after the marriage. When the woman and the child died but a few years after the marriage, it is said he near went insane with grief, that his pain was so great that he has never laughed since.” He whirled to face his wife.

  “Go on. And what of the rest of the gossip?”

  “That whoever makes him laugh will be…”

  “His bride, I believe the silly saying goes. I am sure it began as a jest, but, for whatever reason, Lord Ranulf is not a happy man.” She smiled sweetly at her husband and knew he remembered Ranulf’s laughter of the day before. “Shall I send a page to fetch our guest? I do not believe we should prolong our lovers’ agony. I do not wish my grandchild born only five months after the wedding.”

  They sat in silence until Ranulf sat before them in his training costume, tight hose with a short tunic and tabard that barely reached midthigh. He kept looking about the shadows of the Great Hall and then toward the yawning black stairwell.

  “My Lord Ranulf,” William began. He could not see what his women saw in the massive form of the man before him to cause so much love to be directed toward him. He could not control his shudder as he remembered the strength he had seen the man demonstrate this morn. He loved his daughter and hoped he did not make an error. “My daughter, Lyonene, is … unmarried and of a marriageable age. She has near driven me mad for a year, for she has turned down dozens of men who have desired her for wife.” It was difficult to continue, for Ranulf’s brows had drawn together in a black look.

  Melite decided to help her husband. “What William means to say is that we have reason to believe Lyonene would accept you, and therefore we offer you our daughter in marriage.”

  William continued. “I can offer a dowry of two and a half knights’ fees. Lyonene is also my heir and upon our death stands to inherit all of Lorancourt.”

  Ranulf tried to calm his racing heart. He cared naught for the dowry, but he must, for William’s sake, appear to consider it. The Warbrooke estates contained twelve castles, one of which was Malvoisin. The other eleven all at least equaled Lorancourt. A castle was supported by so many knights’ fees, ranging from five to over a hundred. Ranulf did not know how many hundreds of knights’ fees he owned.

  Melite seemed to know his thoughts. She put a hand over his large one, which rested on his knee. “I believe I am right that you have grown to care for my daughter. My interest is in her welfare, not talk of knights’ fees and inheritances. Do my eyes and senses tell me true?”

  “Aye. She is the prize. Not any dowry could equal her.”

  William missed the messages that Melite and Ranulf passed to one another. “Then it is agreed?” He was astounded.

  “On a condition. It must be put to Lyonene as a request. I will not have her forced into a marriage.” His eyes narrowed with memory. “She must agree freely. There is no other man, no previous betrothal?”

  William waved his hand. “None, and, if my wife is to be believed, the girl will agree readily enough. You will be wanting guests of the court?”

  Ranulf considered for a moment. “Nay, I can ask no one, for Edward and Eleanora would come and bring all their retainers, near three hundred people, and few of the other earls travel with less people.” He watched William’s stare of horror—to feed and lodge so many people! Ranulf continued, “It is cold, too cold for a tourney now, so if it does not offend you, your lovely wife or my Lady Lyonene, the marriage will be simple and I will leave with my bride soon after for Malvoisin.”

  William’s feeling of relief was almost tangible. “Aye. It will be as you wish. Now, for the day. The banns must be posted for three Sundays. This is Saturday. If you were to sign a betrothal agreement today, we can plan the wedding for three weeks hence. Does that suit you, my lord?”

  “Aye, of course.” He rose to leave. “Then I leave on the morrow, for there are many preparations to make, and I will return in three weeks’ time.” His eyes gleamed as he looked at Melite’s smiling face. Impulsively, he placed his great hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

  She took his arm and walked with him to the stairs. “It is near time for dinner. I have sent a message to your men; mayhaps you would like to change your clothing.”

  Quietly, Ranulf went up the worn steps to his room. As he slowly washed and changed into a dark-blue velvet tunic and tabard, he chuckled to himself. What would his Black Guard think if they knew their leader was as nervous as a green boy, all because of an emerald-eyed lioness?

  Lyonene stared through the open shutter, needing the blast of cold air to revive her. Her back was to her father, and his news had nearly felled her. Lord Ranulf had agreed to marry her! She could not help a rebellious feeling over the fact that the marriage had been arranged without her knowledge. She thought of her cousin Anna. A page had come and said her father wanted her below stairs. Moments later she had found herself married to a man she’d never seen before.

  Lyonene took a deep breath of air and thought that, all in all, she was blessed with a good father. Of course it had been Ranulf who had stipulated that she must agree freely to the marriage. She closed her eyes and leaned fo
rward, the air biting her cheeks. To spend all the days of her life such as the last one! To have him kiss her at any time she desired.

  “Daughter, will you give the man your answer?”

  “Aye, father, I will marry him,” she said quietly.

  William shook his head and silently left the room. He could not grasp the idea that his daughter was to become a countess. He did not see Ranulf until he walked into him.

  “She did not agree,” the dark knight stated flatly.

  “Nay,” William answered, “she has agreed.” He looked at Ranulf with something akin to horror—the Black Lion was to be his son-in-law. Was not the son supposed to be afraid of the father? “Go to her. I am sure she would care to see you.” Then he shrugged and went down the stairs.

  Lyonene did not leave the open window when she heard the door reopen. “Lucy, come here and see this glorious day.” She whirled at Ranulf’s deep voice.

  “And what makes this cold, drear day so glorious?” He was very serious.

  She felt shy of a sudden, for, after all, he was a stranger to her. Ranulf walked to the carved oak chest that stood against one wall. He lifted her ivory comb and studied the figures on it. “You have spoken to your father and agreed to the … bargain?”

  “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?”

  He did not smile, but the corners 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. Ranulf 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 once! 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. Mayhaps 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 yourself! 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.”

  “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 flou
rish.

  “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.”

  Melite followed her daughter up the stairs. “Someday 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 kiss, 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.