The Black Lyon

have set me to chopping wood,” he said, his quiet voice conveying all the disgust he felt, the degradation of such a lowly task. Then he was gone; almost before she could blink, she sat alone again, his words hanging in the air.
    She sat quietly for a few moments staring into the fire. She felt the laughter rising in her, rumbling and preparing for a sweet release. She struggled for control and the repressed laughter changed to tears, a mixture of joy and misery.
    Four whole months she had not seen him and all the things that had occurred in those four months! She had been taken captive and held for ransom; not least, her body had greatly enlarged since she had last seen her husband. Now, as she sat amidst four fierce and horrible warriors, he calmly walked into the hall before everyone and what did he say to the wife he seeks? “They have set me to chopping wood.” No words of endearment, no sweet words for her health or even for his child that swelled her belly before her, but only an indignant utterance that she would cause him to stoop so low to rescue her.
    She buried her face in her hands, unable to still the emotions that shook her slight shoulders. He had come! Whatever he said, whatever he did was well, because he had come for her.
    Alice touched her shoulder, a question creasing her brow.
    Lyonene looked around quickly, but knew Ranulf was gone. “Is it time for dinner yet, Alice? I vow I am famished.” She smiled brightly up at her maid.
    Alice grinned her approval at her mistress’s hunger; too often she did not eat enough. But Alice also saw something else—a gaiety, a light in the green eyes—that had heretofore been missing.
    Lyonene’s feeling of anticipation buoyed her through the evening meal, yet more and more clearly was she aware of the danger that awaited her husband. She shivered as she thought of the audacity of him striding into the hall, so near people who could easily recognize him.
    “You are cold?” Lady Margaret asked her and at Lyonene’s negative answer, she continued. “I hope it is not the child. I am not prepared to be midwife yet.”
    “Nay, the child does not come. I am tired only from carrying the load. I will go to my room now.” She rose and Alice followed.
    In her chamber again, Lyonene gave way to her fears as she sat dejectedly before the fire. Alice was concerned for her and Lyonene unsuccessfully tried to allay the woman’s fears. Lyonene did not tell Alice of Ranulf’s appearance in the castle; Ranulf’s life was too precious to entrust to anyone, even someone she knew to be her friend.
    She went to bed earlier than usual, hoping that sleep would wash away some of her fears. Alice left her to go to her mother’s cottage in the village, something Lyonene insisted on. It took her a long time to go to sleep.
    The first thing she was aware of was a hand over her mouth, cutting off her breath. She thrashed about wildly, clawing at the hand.
    “Be still, my Lioness. Do not take all the skin from my hand. Do you not still remember me?”
    She recovered some of her senses and looked into Ranulf’s eyes, soft and gentle, and so near her own. He moved his hand away.
    “So you know me. It has been so long I thought mayhaps…” He stopped talking when he saw she began to cry. Quickly he pulled back the covers and lay beside her, gathering her in his arms.
    She cried violently for a while, the deep sobs tearing at her body, then gradually beginning to lighten.
    “I take it you are glad to see me again?” His light words did not match his ragged voice or the catch in his throat. He ran his hand down her body, her shoulder, her arm and came to rest on the hard, enormous mound of her stomach, caressing, feeling the gentle movements of the babe. It was a quiet moment between them, a sharing of what they had created.
    He grunted, his hand still but possessive on her belly. “You are grown so fat I hardly knew you.”
    “I am … not fat.” She sniffed, controlling her tears. “It is only the babe who sticks out. The rest of me is the same,” she said in her defense.
    “Nay, you have not seen yourself from behind. You walk like a duck, swaying forward and back, from side to side. Even your feet turn out. Have they perchance turned orange?”
    “Ranulf! You are horrible! You should say I am beautiful when I carry your babe, not tell me of my ugliness.”
    He lifted her face to his. “Aye, you are beautiful.” He kissed her sweetly on her mouth, then on her