The Black Lyon (13 page)

"Nay!" Lyonene screamed and made a lunge for the letters, but Ranulf had them first.

Slowly, he withdrew one, then the others, his face losing color, expression, emotion. When he had finished, he turned to his wife.

Lyonene felt she could have handled rage, violence, any emotion but the look of total bewilderment and agony that flashed across Ranulf's eyes.

"You wrote these letters?" he asked quietly.

"They were not written to Giles, I swear it. They were..."

"To another?" He brushed her hand from his arm and looked across to the young man before him. "She is my wife now, for all her past deeds, and I will not kill boys."

"You bastard! You are so good, so pure you cannot dirty your sword with a commoner, but there is one sword you have bloodied when you wielded it against a baron's daughter. Think you she loved you at first sight or mayhaps it was the silver on your mail? We planned

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all this, did you not guess? Already she has ransacked your goods and tossed me a jewel." He flung the stone at Ranulf's feet.

When Ranulf looked from the ruby to his wife's terrified face, she saw then the rage there, the hatred in his eyes. "Get you from me. I must kill this boy for you. Will you rejoice when he is dead? Will you seek another to replace him soon?"

"Ranulf! You must hear me out. He lies! The letters were written to a man unknown, a girl's dreams. He said he would kill you if I did not give him the jewel."

"I am to believe you think this boy threatened my life? That you stole from me to save me from this child? Nay, woman, I believed you once, but I can no more. Now get you from me." He nodded his head to someone behind her, and one of the guardsmen grasped her arm and pulled her from the clearing. "Ranulf, please!" she cried.

"It is too late for your pleas. Take her from here that she does not see the horror she has wrought."

Lyonene turned then and left, stopping by the horses when she heard the first clank of steel against steel. The battle did not actually take very long, but to Lyonene it seemed hours, and each clash, each sound, made her heart leap in agony.

He stood before her and she looked into those cold, hard eyes. "See you the blood you have spilled this day. A boy who will never grow to be a man because of you."

He swung into the saddle of his horse, leaving his wife to be helped by Hugo Fitz Waren. She could look at none of the men, knowing they all must hate her, and so she was surprised when she felt a hand on her knee, a light touch, quickly gone, but reassuring. She turned to the others of the Black Guard. One by one, the men solemnly nodded to her, telling her they believed her words, for in truth it had been easy to see the boy was not of his right mind.

Only once on that long journey to Aylesbury Castle did Lyonene attempt to speak to her husband, and the black hate she saw there soon made her hold her tongue.

* * *

"Your lordship," Pask, the steward of Aylesbury Castle, warmly greeted Ranulf. "We are proud that you honor us again with your presence. The cook has worked for days preparing your meal, and it promises to be a meal worthy of you and your men. Ah, you bring a lady?"

"She is my wife." Ranulf's tone caused the small man's eyebrows to lift. "Put her things in the room across from Edward's; I will take his."

Lyonene was too tired to care where she slept. She was plagued by memories of a childhood friend, now dead, and a husband who hated her. Lucy dropped on the narrow bed.

"This has been an evil day. Sir John's boy always was a bit odd. It was only you who gave of your time to him. I always knew .

. ."

"Please, Lucy, could we not speak of it again? I am tired and wish to rest."

"Aye, Lady Lyonene," she said as she helped her young mistress to dress. "Shall I send a tray to you?"

"No, I am not sure I shall ever eat again. I would just like to sleep, to lose myself in sleep."

Lucy tiptoed from the room.

* * *

Ranulf paced, ignoring the tray of food that stood before him. He had been a fool to marry again and certainly to marry for any reason but advancement. The Castilian princess would not have caused him problems such as he had now.

Lyonene—emerald-eyed beauty with tawny hair and thick, dark lashes—she was his wife now, and look at the hell he had been through for three days. M aularde had told him of Giles's presence, and he had given her every chance to explain, to be honest with him, and yet she had not. He had tried not to kill the boy, but he had been mad, insane as he attacked. Ranulf rubbed his hand across his eyes as if to erase the memory. He knew too well what it was like to be young and so in love.

Love? What did he know of love now? This girl had led him easily, yet now that she had her marriage to him she had changed.

She was no longer eager for him, nor did she seem happy, as she once had at her father's house. All seemed to point to a trick, to the truth in the boy's words.

Too many thoughts overlapped. Frustrated, he removed his clothes and walked to the bed, only to stare at the empty coldness of it, puzzled for a moment. Without

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dressing, he stepped into the cold hall and pushed open the door to Lyonene's chamber. She did not waken until she felt herself roughly lifted, the bedclothes twisted about her sleepy body.

Ranulf's dark eyes were even darker in the dim light, his face shadowed by a day's growth of his heavy black whiskers. He did not look at her as he silently carried her, and she longed for his glance, for the sound of his voice. He threw her onto the feather mattress of the wide bed. Only then did she notice his nudity, the sight of him riveting her eyes, making her heart beat faster as he looked at her, her leg and hip exposed by the twisted covers.

"Whatever else you are, you are my wife, and you will not rid me from your bed." He straightened the covers and climbed beneath them, pulling her to him. "Ranulf ..." she began.

"I do not wish to speak of this day, not now or ever again. The boy is dead now and whether his words be false or no, I will know."

"How will you know? I will tell you . . ." "Nay, I wish for only one thing from your lips now." His hand caressed her stomach, and he felt her tense and hold herself rigid against him. M ayhaps she thinks of the boy, he thought as he fiercely pulled her to him, causing her to gasp in pain as his hand held her chin and pulled her mouth to his. "You think of him now? You wish you had him near you?"

"Nay, I do not," she gasped, trying to pull away from him. '"Please do not hurt me more. I will lie still. It hurts less so."

He dropped his hand and moved away to stare at her thoughtfully. "Last night, after the fire, did I ... hurt you again?"

She nodded her head.

"Damn, but you try me sorely! I have known you but weeks, yet you have upset my whole life, now as well as the past. This morn I read a letter writ by you, mayhaps to a boy I needs must kill. I have no proof of your innocence; in truth all seems to point to your guilt. The first day I met you, you threw yourself at me with such force I was near blinded, and I have no proof you have not treated other men so. Now I am wed to you for three days and I have been driven to rape you twice and kill a boy for you. Yet here you lie in a tangle of hair and naught else and all I wish to do is make love to you."

Lyonene blinked up at him, torn between wishing he would kiss her and wanting to avoid what she knew the kissing would lead to.

He pulled her close to him, and she buried her face in the thick mat of hair on his chest, rubbing her cheek against the softness. "I do not know of your loyalty yet," he said, "whether you be an innocent or worse than Eve, but I know I desire you more than any other woman I have ever seen. Here, do not pull away. I will hurt you no more. I fear I have used you badly in my clumsy attempts, but I will try to redeem the time we have lost."

He lifted her mouth to meet his and softly, gently, touched her Ups, taking a long, slow time before building the pressure on the sensitive flesh. He moved his lips, raking his teeth on her lower Up before drinking of the sweet honey of her mouth.

Lyonene felt herself go liquid at his now gentle touch, at the feel of his skin, the size of him. He rolled her on her back, and she stiffened against the pain she knew came next, regretting the end of the sweet moments of his kisses. But he did not seem to notice her movements and began to trail hot kisses from the corner of her mouth to her ear, tasting her earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

His lips moved down her neck, causing her to arch her neck, to surrender herself to him more fully. One hand moved along her hip, her waist, strong fingers on her ribs;

then he touched her breast and she almost protested, so startled was she, but the sensation his hand sent along her body was not to be thwarted. His mouth traveled slowly down her body, igniting exquisite new fires.

She felt herself leaving her body, her reason fleeing, and all that remained was a new, unfulfilled desire, a desire for something unknown. He seemed to have a hundred hands, a thousand lips, all seeking, touching and filling her mind till she was only sensation, nothing else. Frantically, she put her hands into his hair, the thick, soft mass curling about her fingers—her sensitive, vibrating fingertips.

"Lioness, sweet Lioness," he murmured, the deep rich tones adding to her wildness, the tremors of violence that 89

shook her body. He came to her and there was no fear, no pain, only the beginning of the end of a need that consumed and blinded her.

She did not need to follow his example, but the desire that overpowered her took hold and she more than met his passion. At last she cried out as she sank her nails into his back and arched to meet him. Slowly, receding waves shook her and she gradually relaxed and fell back on the white linen sheets. As Ranulf moved to roll from her, she pulled him back, not able to release him yet, exulting in the heaviness of him, the way his dark skin covered her body, damp, smelling strongly of earthy, masculine sweat.

He rubbed his damp face in her neck, playfully, whiskers caressing, and moved to one side of her so he could see her face in the light from the thick candle by the bedside. He smoothed back a damp strand of bah" from her temple.

"I pleased you?" she whispered.

He gave her a startled look and seemed amused by her question. "If you but knew . . ." he began and then stopped. "Aye, you pleased me exceedingly well and I fear you have taken all my strength," he added as he saw her eyelids flicker in weariness. She was asleep almost before he finished speaking. In spite of his satiety, his tiredness, he watched her for a moment, curled against him, looking even younger than her few years. His passion was spent, and he remembered the day. He rolled from her and slept, his dreams troubled.

* * *

In spite of the passion of the night, the morrow brought no respite from the pain between Ranulf and Lyonene. Giles's death hung over them, as did the boy's accusations. They crossed the ferry onto the Isle of M alvoisin, and for awhile Lyonene's thoughts were overcome by the beauty and massive strength of the enormous castle complex. Black Hall was a stone house, furnished as she had never seen before, with the new tapestries Queen Eleanora had brought from Castile and windows covered with leaded panes of glass. She saw Ranulf's pride in his house, which she would have shared if be had but given her some cause to feel that she was wanted, that he did not always regret his marriage to a baron's daughter. In her loneliness, for Ranulf was nearly always gone, she sought to busy herself in the intricate workings of the castle.

"What is this you do while I am gone?" he demanded one evening as he threw his wet tabard to Hodder. "William de Bee says you interfere with the running of my castle."

Her eyes flashed at him.

"All of M alvoisin has been under my steward's care for many years. He is a freeman and I would give him no cause for complaint."

Lyonene straightened her back, meeting the anger in his black eyes. "Excuse my impertinence, my lord, I but wished to be useful.

Pray tell what I am to do here each day if I cannot have a hand in ordering what is reputed to be my own home. I am not accustomed to being idle."

His face was cold, the expression ungiving. "M ayhaps William can find some gold for you to count. You have earned that pleasure." His eyes looked meaningfully to the bed where they shared their only moments of happiness.

Lyonene stared at him wildly, suddenly feeling dirty and despicable. She ran from the room, finding the hall blocked by Lucy's massive form. She turned and ran to a small door that led to the tower in the back of Black Hall. The darkness inside the tower was absolute and she unseeingly made her way up the cold stairs. The room at the top was filled with light, blinding her. She touched her cheek and realized then how wet her face was.

"M y child," a man's voice said. "Come and sit here." A fat man, tonsured, in monk's garb, put his arm about her shoulders. He led her to a crude wooden chair by a charcoal brazier. "Sit down and drink this." He handed her a pewter flagon of dark wine. "I am Brother Jonathan," he said to Lyonene's silent form. "And you are the lovely Lady Lyonene, Lord Ranulf's bride."

The tears started afresh.

"Come now," he said. "M arried not a month and already such a quarrel?"

Lyonene gulped the wine, choking but needing the warmth.

Brother Jonathan patted her arm. "Tell me of it. I am a good listener."

"I cannot," she managed to gasp.

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He was quiet a moment and then said quietly, "I have heard that yours was a love match, that you loved one another from your first sight."

Lyonene tried hard to remember those first two days with Ranulf. "Aye," she whispered, staring at the fire, thinking of the time he had held the longbow for her.