The Black Lyon (19 page)

They laughed together.

"We are most fortunate in having such a queen. M y father still tells horror stories of the last one."

"This Travers is your husband?"

Berengaria's face lit at the mention of her husband. "Look you about the hall and see if you can guess which man is my Travers."

Lyonene guessed several men, all handsome men, and Berengaria snorted at each one, giving some derogatory quip, such as,

"Beats his wife," "Does not like women" or "Greedy," and wiggling her brows. When Lyonene surrendered, Berengaria pointed.

"He talks now to Lord Dacre," she said and watched Lyonene with twinkling eyes as she saw the expected reaction on her new friend's face.

The man talking to Lord Dacre was the ugliest man Lyonene had ever seen. He was of average height and seemed to be built of stone, so square was his form; there was no grace or ease of movement about him—only an unshakable solidity. But his face was what was almost frightening. His ears were huge, his hair a faded mixture of nondescript colors, an unruly, wiry mess. His forehead overhung his eyes by what seemed to be several inches, the brows grown into a single line. Deep creases ran beside his nose to a lipless mouth. His eyes were mere slits.

She tried to compose herself as she turned back to Berengaria. Surely the woman only jested.

Berengaria grinned at her. "Is he not a troll? But I will tell you that I have loved him since I was but three years and I shall continue to do so until I die."

"Tell me of this, for I sense a good story here."

"I tell it gladly, though to few people. M y family is a large one. I have six brothers and five sisters. M y father has always been glad that his daughters are pretty and docile, his sons handsome and independent. But for me. From my birth I seemed to be the wrong sex, for I ever did things a young lady should not.

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"One day when I was a little past my third birthday, I walked with my nurse in the fields by our castle. When she looked away for a moment, I hid from her in the tall grasses and watched as she searched and called for me."

"How can you remember a thing so long ago? I do not recall events of when I was three."

"I remember no others, but this could have been last week, it is so clear. When my nurse returned to the castle path to search for me, I made my way to the duck pond, a place she ever refused to take me. Silly woman! She constantly feared I would end myself in every conceivable manner, so she kept me from most pleasant things. When I got to the pond, a face peered at me from the reeds.

I indeed thought it was a troll at first, but I kept staring at it even when it stepped from the reeds and I saw it was but a boy. We stared long at one another and an overpowering feeling came to me that this boy was mine and would always be so. He was twelve years then and near as big as he is now.

"I put my arms up to him and he lifted me. He carried me for hours, talking to me and showing me birds' nests, little crawly things and sharing his bag of food with me. Neither of us thought of time and so it was late when we returned to the castle.

"Everyone was frantic by then and sure I was dead. M y mother came to take me from Travers, but I would not leave and when my father finally pulled me away, I kicked and screamed until Travers came and kissed my forehead and told me to do what was wanted of me."

"Your parents must have wondered greatly at your behavior."

Berengaria shrugged. "I have ever demanded my way. All the next day I refused to leave Travers's side. I rode with him on his horse as his father and mine inspected a piece of land my father wished to sell. On the morn I knew he was to leave, I cried and said I loved him and that he must not grow and instead, wait for me. He kissed my forehead and said that when I was ready for marriage he would come for me."

"You cannot tell me that that is just what happened!"

"Aye. When I was ten and five my father brought a young man and his father to me and said I was to marry the man. I knew my father thought to have his way so I said before all that I was secretly married already and now carried my husband's child."

"You did not! Of course it was not true!"

"No. It could not be, for I had not seen Travers since that one day, and I would allow no other man to touch me."

"Your father must have been very angry."

Berengaria rolled her eyes. "That is a mild statement for my father's temper. He had a midwife examine me and found I lied and then he locked me into a tower room with only bread and water to eat. I pleaded great illness and my old nurse brought me pen and paper to write my will. I wrote Travers that it was time for him to come or else my father would marry me to another. I tossed the letter out the arrowslit with a gold ring to a serf boy."

Lyonene began to laugh. "I believe my story of dressing as a serf is mild. Tell me the rest of it!"

"Travers came within three days with an army! Over three hundred men approached my father's gate and my father, to tell the truth, was well pleased by so forceful a son-in-law. He said later he thought it would take such a man to be able to live with me, for he found it an arduous task."

"But what of you? You had not seen Travers since you were little more than a babe. Did you feel the same about him after all that time?"

"Oh, yes. I ran to him when I was released from the tower and he held me and kissed me, only not on the forehead." Her eyes twinkled. "Had I any doubts before, that kiss would have dispelled them."

Lyonene leaned against the wall and sighed. "And now you live in sweet contentment."

"Hah! There is naught sweet about my Travers. He has a temper as ugly as his face. If you could but see his arm you would see where I slashed him once."

"I do not understand. If you love him ..."

"Real love is not the pretty stuff of the jongleurs. It is a feeling inside that you are one with this man, no matter what he is. Were Travers to sell his soul to the Devil, I would still love him and mayhaps I would bargain for a good price myself."

Lyonene knew she should have been shocked at this, but instead, she stared at Ranulf and felt again the pain of
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the Welsh arrow in her shoulder. "I fear I would join my Black Devil also."

Berengaria smiled. "Come, let us eat and no more talk of devils. I fear the penance now for my sins will be too high."

They walked together to the tables.

Later, Lyonene and Ranulf were alone in their room, Ranulf soaking in a hot tub.

"I have wanted to ask you something," Ranulf said.

When he was quiet, she stopped her washing and looked at him. "Could it be so terrible?"

"Some think so. Henry de Lacy has asked me to take his youngest son to page. The boy is only six years and should wait another year before leaving his home . . ." He paused and when she did not speak, he continued. "It would, of course, be for you to say, for a page is the woman's responsibility until he is of an age to be a squire."

"What is this child's name and why do you seem to think I should object?"

"He is Brent and although young, he ..."

"Brent! Is he not the boy who tied old Sir John's leg to the table at dinner?"

"The same."

"The boy who loosed the pigeons in the monks' study? The boy who ..."

"He is the one responsible for it all and I can see your answer to my request."

"So now you have turned sorcerer and know my thoughts! Then you must know I love the boy well already. He has but high spirits and his parents try too hard to still him."

She began to lather his face as she prepared to shave him, a new task.

"You cannot know what you say, for the boy is a devil. He is the last of that great litter of de Lacy's, and the parents are tired and need a rest. From what I see, Berengaria was enough to put them in their graves."

"What has Berengaria to do with my Brent?"

"Your Brent! So now you adopt the boy already. He is your friend's little brother. Did you know she was an earl's daughter?"

She scraped a patch of whiskers. "Being only a lowly baron's daughter, I know little of the hierarchy of court," she said loftily.

Ranulf understood well her dig at his words. "You know little of raising children and yet you are anxious to take on this one.

Could you know that four women have refused him so far? It is said that one of them near fainted at the mention of the little monster."

She could not shave him as he talked. "First you ask me to take him and now you work at dissuading me, and what is this you say of my lack of knowledge of raising children? I do not see that you have any great experience in this matter, yet you do not shrink from the idea of taking Brent."

"Aye, but I can always beat him if he misbehaves," he said smugly. "I doubt if you are even as strong as the boy."

She gave him a look of disgust. "You talk overmuch of beating, first your weakling wife and now a boy who is not as big as ... as your swollen head. Now stop arguing with me so that I may finish shaving you, and concentrate your arrogant thoughts on whether or not my hand slips and cuts your smug words from your throat."

He took her wrist as she brought the sharpened steel near his cheeks, his eyes showing his pleasure at her. "I begin to pity a poor child who must have a lioness for a mother. He will ever think he has had his own way, but in truth she will always win."

"There is only one prize I have ever wanted to win and I have done so." She smiled down at him.

He leaned his head back against the tub. "Finish my shave, wench, and contradict me no more."

She smiled at his closed eyes and finished the shave.

* * *

"You are Lady Lyonene?"

"Aye, and you are M aster Brent?"

"I am, my lady."

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She patted the seat and he sat near her. He stared at her with wide eyes and then with a curious expression at her hair. One small band darted out and heartily pulled a lock.

She quickly put a hand to her head against the pain. "What is your reason for that?"

He looked little surprised at himself for his action. "I but wanted to see if it was real. I heard two ladies say it was not and another said you should cover it."

Lyonene smiled at him. "And what think you?"

He shrugged. "It is no matter to me. I cannot interest myself in women's hair, for I am going to train to be a knight." He squared his little shoulders.

"But is it not good for a knight to care for his ladies? Would you not protect me from danger if need be? For you have chosen to train at M alvoisin, and since I live there ..."

He relaxed again, pleased that she gave him a reason to be near her, for he liked her.

"You are glad that you go to M alvoisin?"

"Oh, yes," he answered. "You are a good lady, for you are not old or ugly."

"I thank you for the compliment," she smiled. "Now, tell me of these tricks I hear of you. Are they true?"

He shrugged again. "See those girls? I made them cry yester eve." His voice was proud.

"And whatever did you do to make them cry?"

"I told them a story of a dragon who flies through walls and eats girls, only girls," he said grinning. "I heard their mother say they did not sleep all the night." He gave her a sideways glance to see her reaction.

"Silly girls! They should have told you worse stories and then you would not have slept."

He gave her a look of disdain. "No girl can make worse stories than I."

She leaned close to him. "I can, and when we are at M alvoisin I shall. I will not only write them but I will put them to music and sing them." She made the last words seem like a horrible threat.

He looked at her with new respect. "And what if I should put a dead rat under your pillow?"

"I should chop it up and serve it to you for dinner and only tell you after you had eaten it."

His eyes widened and he made a face as if he imagined the taste of such a meal. He settled back against the wall, satisfied for the moment with her bravery. "M y father has told me only that I am to live with you, but I do not know your husband, who is to be my master."

"See the man talking to your father? The man in black?"

The little boy sat bolt upright, his shock portrayed on his face. "But that is the Black Lion," he whispered.

She looked at him in puzzlement. "Do you not wish to be page to Lord Ranulf?"

He gave an involuntary shudder and his voice was strained. "M y cousin told me he chops boys my age apart for practice, to keep his sword edge sharp."

She grabbed his shoulders. "That is horrible! As you created a story for the girls, so your cousin made up the tale of my husband."

He looked at her in awe. "Are you not afraid of him?"

She smiled. "In truth I am at times, but when I am, I make sure he does not see my fear. And you also must not show your fear."

The boy looked as if he might cry. "Or he will . . ."

"Do not say that! Do not think it! Here, stay here and I will fetch him. You will watch and see how gentle he is. If I, a mere girl, am not afeared of him, certainly a knight's page will not be."

Brent tried to lift his shoulders again, but his lower lip still trembled. "That is true."

Lyonene muttered some words about men starting young with their arrogance and made her way to Ranulf. He was engrossed in talk with Henry de Lacy, and when she put her hand on his arm, he merely held it, caressing each of her fingers. Lyonene stepped back so Brent could see, and the boy watched with fascination.

"What is this you do?"

"I beg your pardon, Lord Henry, but I would speak a few words to my husband."