The Black Lyon

He must have it attended soon or he may lose his leg, if not his life.”
    Lyonene looked ahead as Ranulf took the reins and spurred Tighe into a gallop. Another pain left her breathless, and she realized the babe had decided to meet his father. She gave a silent prayer for time, time enough to escape Sir Morell’s army that followed them.
    They rode fast and hard for near two hours when Ranulf called a halt. Lyonene clutched her stomach, grateful for the stillness, the relief from the jolting horse. Ranulf dismounted and walked to Maularde.
    “I fear he has fainted, my lord.” She heard Hugo’s quiet voice.
    Lyonene whirled to look at the guardsman. The strong, dark knight slumped forward over his horse’s neck. Blood covered one whole side of rider and horse. The sight did nothing to relieve the pains she already felt.
    “He can ride no further,” Ranulf said, his voice serious. “My wife also grows weary. I will stay here with them, there is a shack beyond those trees. You must ride even harder than before, for if Morell’s men see you and know I am not with you, they will return here and find us.”
    The six men nodded gravely, understanding the situation.
    “Dacre’s men await you. Give me any cloths you have for Maularde’s leg. Go now and do not return until it is safe.”
    They nodded and several prayers for safety were said as they quickly removed extra clothing from the leather bags behind their saddles.
    It seemed incredibly quiet when they were gone. Ranulf took the reins of both horses and led them into the woods to a little stone cottage with a pegged, half-missing thatched roof that offered some shelter. Ranulf left the horses and riders hidden under some trees as he drew his sword and thoroughly checked the property. Only when he was sure that it was empty did he return to the horses. He lifted Lyonene from the horse and set her to her feet. She leaned back against a tree for support.
    Removing Maularde from his horse with the gentleness that was needed was not an easy job, but Ranulf knew the man’s life depended on his care. Ranulf’s legs bent under the weight of carrying his guardsman into the dark hut. He carefully stretched him on the dirty floor rushes.
    Lyonene clutched her stomach as another pain gripped her. They came closer together now, and each was stronger than the last. There was no time to be frightened as she thought of Maularde’s life. She entered the little cottage.
    “Here,” she said as she knelt by Maularde. “I will tend him. You must lift him as we remove the chausses. Fetch the extra cloths. Can we not have a fire?”
    “Nay, we cannot. I but hope Morell’s men do not see this place. Morell! I should like to meet him myself.”
    “Do not waste the time thinking of him. Go and find water and a vessel to hold it. I must cleanse this wound and bind it.”
    Ranulf left her silently, before he saw her eyes close against the tightening of her stomach.
    “It is the babe?” came Maularde’s ragged whisper.
    She smiled at him and smoothed back his sweat-dampened hair. “Do not speak now. We will care for you and you will be well, but you must rest also. And aye, it is the babe, but do not say so to Ranulf.”
    “I think he will know soon enough.”
    “I fear your words are true. Quiet now. I will hurt you more, for I need to remove some bits of iron from your leg.”
    Ranulf returned with a large pottery bowl of water. “It is broken, but it still will hold some water. Maularde speaks to you?”
    “Aye.” She looked at the guardsman fondly. “He worries for my safety.”
    Ranulf looked at her for the first time, saw the strain on her face. He touched her hair, caressing her cheek.
    Lyonene bent forward against a pain. Ranulf pulled her to him.
    “The babe kicks you again?”
    “Aye, he kicks most vigorously. Now tear some linen and wet it so that I may help your man.”
    They worked together, silently, as Lyonene carefully removed the bits of iron with a green stick that had the bark stripped from it. She had to stop often to hold herself against the pains that were closer and closer together. Ranulf said little when she bowed her head against the pain, but supported her back and shoulders.
    At last Maularde’s leg was bound, and although they thought he slept, he opened his eyes and spoke to them.
    “Now it is your turn, my lady.”
    “Aye,” she agreed, smiling, “I fear you are right.” The pains had little time between them now.
    “What is