The Black Lyon

was lit, and Gilbert and Herne went to seek a nearby village so they could have food and clean linens for the babe. Lyonene knew no bath had ever been as welcome as this one inside a crude Irish hut. For the first time she carefully bathed her new little son, admiring and marveling at his perfect features and at the eyes that, as Ranulf had said, grew more green each passing hour.
    They stayed there in that little hut for two days, more to give Maularde’s leg a chance to heal than anything else. Since the knight refused to ride in a wagon, Ranulf and his men rigged a sling for him on his horse so that his leg remained straight on the return journey to Malvoisin.
    They traveled slowly, resting often, and Ranulf was especially attentive to Lyonene’s needs, always ready to offer his help to her. She never asked what had happened to Sir Morell or Amicia, or even to Lady Margaret, but several times she saw Hugo and Ranulf in deep conversation and somehow sensed that they were forever safe from further treachery.
    At Waterford they boarded a ship to return to England. Lyonene did not know if it was her happiness or the fact that she no longer carried a child, but on the three-day trip she was never ill and indeed enjoyed the soft air, the tangy smell of the sea.
    It was a long five days’ travel to Malvoisin, and never had she ached for such a journey to end. Even the ferry ride to the island seemed to take a day. By the time they saw the gray towers of the castle before them, Montgomery was seventeen days old and beginning to gain weight. He slept nearly always, often cradled against his father’s strong arm, oblivious to the many people and events surrounding him.
    Trumpets blared when they were in sight of the castle and the villagers and castlefolk ran to greet them. The word of the child had reached them and they crowded to see him, raising loud, joyous cheers when they saw the healthy crop of black hair.
    “Ranulf!” Lyonene touched his arm. She looked ahead to several people seated on horseback, just leaving the castle walls. She spurred her horse forward, heedless of the guardsmen who immediately followed her. When she was close to the horses, she dismounted and began to run, her arms outstretched. Her mother met her, and their arms locked together and they cried in their gladness at seeing one another again.
    “You are unharmed, my daughter?” Melite questioned. “They caused you no pain?”
    “Nay, I am well and very happy to be home. Father is here also?”
    Melite stepped back and Lyonene embraced her father, who hastily wiped away a tear.
    “You look well, my daughter. You look as fit as the lioness I named you for.”
    She beamed at both of them.
    “And she has produced a lion cub for your grandchild, a green-eyed, black-haired, iron-lunged cub at that.” Ranulf threw one leg across Tighe’s back and slid to the ground, not even jolting the child he so proudly held.
    Melite took the baby and touched the sleeping face. Together they walked through the east barbican and into the inner bailey, where the castle servants waited to see the babe. When at last they entered the Black Hall, it was Lyonene who first saw Brent. He sat alone on a cushioned window seat, unsure of himself and his place among the strangers. Ranulf and Lyonene had been away for over four months, and to a child of six years, they seemed like strangers to him.
    Lyonene went to sit by him while the others took Montgomery and admired him. “Brent, it is good to see you again.”
    “And you, my lady.” He twisted his tabard hem in his hands.
    “Would you like for me to tell you how Lord Ranulf saved me? How he came through my window on a rope, how he chopped wood?”
    Brent’s eyes lit. “The Black Lion chopped wood? I cannot believe you.”
    As she told the story, she saw him relax. Gradually he lost his nervousness and began to feel he had a place. Ranulf came to them, carrying Montgomery.
    “Would you like to see my son, Brent?”
    “I … yes,” he said hesitantly.
    Ranulf knelt to the boy, and while Brent studied the baby, Ranulf watched Brent. “Of course he is small and quite worthless.”
    Lyonene raised her eyebrows at Ranulf’s statement.
    “It will take some men such as you and I, and of course the Black Guard, to train him before he can become a knight. Do you think we could teach him?”
    Brent’s blue eyes glowed. “Aye, I do, my lord.”
    “And as my page, you will watch over him and protect