The Black Lyon

him?”
    “Aye, I will.”
    “Good. Now I must see to my castle. Has all been well since I was gone?”
    “Oh, yes, my lord. Walter has let me have my own tiercel. He says…” The boy stopped at the door and waited impatiently for his master.
    Ranulf gave his son to Lyonene, and as she held him, her husband put one hand behind her head and pulled her face to his to kiss her softly and lingeringly. “I cannot believe the child is mine, for I vow it had been more than a year since I last touched you.” He kissed her again, a movement from the child keeping him from crushing her to him.
    “Lyonene,” Melite called.
    Ranulf stepped away from her. “What think you they would say if I threw you across my horse and carried you away?”
    She leaned near him, one hand on his chest. “I am willing to test their words, whether they be anger or joy.”
    Ranulf touched her hair, his thumb grazing her eyelash. “You are a wanton woman. Who would feed my son?”
    “We could take him with us.”
    “You are a devil to tempt me so. Have you no honor?”
    “My honor is you, and I would follow you wherever you led.”
    “Lady Melite, come and take this daughter of yours away. I find her still to have no manners before her guests.”
    Melite smiled from one to the other. “I fear I must defend her. She was ever a good and sweet child before she looked at your lordship.”
    Lyonene giggled.
    His eyes sparkling, Ranulf shook his head as he looked from his mother-in-law to his wife. He paused at the door for one last glimpse of Lyonene as she cooed at the child, smiled peacefully as he harkened to Brent’s demands and followed the boy.
    Melite did not need to ask after her daughter’s happiness, for it showed on her face—her contentment and joy with her husband, her son, her home. Melite was glad to see the peace and harmony that reigned.

Chapter Seventeen
    T he news of Lyonene’s safe return spread quickly throughout the kingdom, and guests began arriving. She ran to Berengaria’s arms as they clasped one another, joyous to see each other again. Travers was followed by his son, a seventeen-month-old boy who looked exactly like his mother and thus was a pretty child. It was a contrast to see the angelic boy near the ugliness of his father.
    “I know what you think,” Berengaria whispered, “and I am glad also he has the look of me. But come, I would see what that great black husband of yours has produced.”
    Berengaria exclaimed over the green-eyed child with pleasure, as everyone did, and Montgomery already seemed to preen under their affection. “He has the look of his father already,” Berengaria said, laughing.
    When Ranulf returned to the castle with Brent, he walked beside Dacre and the two men laughed at some jest together.
    “What have you done to him?” Berengaria asked of Lyonene. “He is changed and is not the same man I have seen for years.”
    Lyonene shrugged. “He is always like that with Lord Dacre. They are no older than Brent when together.”
    “Nay, you are wrong. I have seen Lord Ranulf and Lord Dacre wrestling with one another since I was a child, but never was there such a light in your husband’s eyes. You have tamed this Black Lion.”
    “Nay, I hope I have not. If I remember correctly, there are some fierce ways about him that I enjoy overmuch.”
    “Remember?” Berengaria questioned. “The boy is near a month old.”
    Lyonene told her friend briefly of the months in Ireland.
    Berengaria shuddered. “I do not think I wish to hear more of your time in Ireland. I would not like to be away from my family for so long. But I think you most fortunate in your husband. Had I been so stupid as you, I think Travers might have left me to them.”
    Lyonene blinked a few times at the blunt words, but then agreed that the idea had plagued her a bit. Their words were halted by the entrance of Dacre and Ranulf.
    “Here is that wife of yours and still as pretty as I remember. Do you draw a sword on me again if I touch her?” Dacre asked.
    “If I challenged you, it would be the end of you,” Ranulf said quietly.
    “We shall have time to test your words.” Dacre laughed and then turned and whirled Lyonene in his strong arms, tossing her into the air before pulling her close to lustily kiss her mouth. She cast one glance at Ranulf, and her suspicions were founded; her husband scowled blackly at them, his body held rigid in an attempt to control his emotions.
    “You are a sweet little