The Black Lyon

whispered.
    “Aye, Lord Ranulf it is I speak of. Now, you need not worry, for he will buy you back. Nay, he would not let you go.”
    “Keep your mouth closed, sailor!” Sir Morell’s voice came to her through a haze. She must not let them know she was aware of their plans. “Ranulf?” she whispered again.
    “See, she knows naught of what I speak. The lady’s too sick to hear me. She weighs no more than a feather, for all she carries a babe.”
    “Just tend to your duties and say no more to her. She may remember your words later.”
    “Aye, sir.”
    Lyonene was deposited in a hard wooden chair, too tired to even open her eyes. She was aware of dampness and heat near her, increasing her need for sleep.
    “Nay, you cannot sleep now. My fine knight would have you bathed. I do not believe in so much washing as he; it is not good for the skin. Now here! Do not fall! He will make me answer for your injuries. I cannot believe you could smell so horrible in but ten days.”
    Lyonene felt cool air as her clothes were torn from her.
    “Now, step up, higher.”
    The water felt wonderful, wetting her skin, filling her parched pores as no amount of water drunk could have. She even enjoyed the roughness of Amicia’s washing of her. She wanted more than anyone else to rid herself of the ugly grime of her illness. Her hair was washed, the woman’s fingers scouring Lyonene’s scalp, removing days of filth.
    Lyonene felt almost alive as she stood in the tub while Amicia poured hot water over her. A thin towel was rubbed briskly over her, and the clean linen touched her skin.
    “No more fine silk hose for you, my lady. The clothes are warm and loose and will allow for the growth of the babe. It seems to be growing fast.” She laughed at a private jest. “Morell will not like that.”
    Lyonene gave no hint that she understood the woman’s words, reveling for a moment in the freshness of clean skin and unsoiled clothing. The pale woman opened the door and a large man entered, dressed in coarse wools, his long hair matted and dirty.
    “She looks to be a real lady now, like when she rode beside Lord Ranulf.”
    Lyonene closed her eyes and feigned an insensibility she did not feel. The sailor carried her back to the little room that was her cabin and gently deposited her on a fresh-smelling bed, the sheets hinting of salt water and sunshine. She relaxed on them gratefully, taking a perverse pleasure in such purely physical comfort, which belied her true situation.
    “She is pretty. Did you know the Black Guard calls her their Lady Lioness? I tried to speak to her once but that Corbet drew a sword on me. They let no one near her but the favored of his lordship.”
    “Leave her, you oaf! I do not need your calf-sick stories to entertain me. You would not have thought her such a fine lady did you hold her head over the pot.”
    “Nay, a true lady is at all times a lady.” The sneer in his words, directed toward Amicia, was unmistakable.
    Lyonene slept for a long while, waking once when the cabin was dark but sleeping immediately again. When she woke next, the cabin was bright and she felt much better; hungry, thirsty, weak, but alive, with a conviction that she was going to remain so.
    It was not long until Amicia came into the cabin with a charger of food. “You look as if you might live now.”
    Lyonene drank deeply of the hot soup and ate a piece of bread.
    “Morell will be glad to know you are soon to be recovered.” She gave Lyonene a sly look.
    The countess knew her meaning, and when she had eaten her fill—much less than she had thought she could—she lay back on the pillows, wearily. “I must sleep now,” she muttered, aware of Amicia’s scrutiny. At all costs, she must make them think she was still very ill. Then there would be a possibility that Sir Morell would leave her to herself.
    The next day Lyonene felt much stronger, but she did not let it show to Amicia. Sir Morell came to visit her, and Lyonene mumbled something about the child she carried and clapped a hand over her mouth. She saw the knight’s look of disgust before he fled. She was also very aware of Amicia’s amusement and felt that the woman enjoyed the mummery and would not give her away.
    Late in the day the ship stopped moving and shouts and orders were given as the vessel settled to a halt. Amicia came to her.
    “We journey to … to your kin now. You are to ride near me and keep from Sir Morell until you are well.”
    Lyonene