The Black Lyon

wall where they would have a clear view of the people in the hall. “You must tell me how you captured Lord Ranulf, for there have been many women who have lusted for his money and that handsome form of his. Although I have heard that he is willing enough to share one of those.”
    Lyonene shook her head. “Do not tell me which, for I vow every woman but the queen has told me of my husband’s past adventures.”
    Berengaria laughed, causing several heads to turn, heads which had been waiting for a chance to gaze again at the loveliness of the two women. “I can well imagine their words. But you did not answer what magic potion you used to snare him, and, if the gossip be correct, in but two days.”
    Lyonene shrugged. “I did but make him laugh.”
    Berengaria considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I can see why he would love the woman who made him laugh.”
    Before Lyonene could protest, her friend continued.
    “Is it wondrous to be so very rich? Do you have twenty maids to see to your every whim, to bring you hummingbird’s tongues roasted in three sauces?”
    Lyonene laughed aloud. It was good to be near someone so honest, someone who did not say one thing and mean another unpleasant thing. “You will not believe this, but I have no maid at all.”
    At the disbelief on Berengaria’s face, she told of taking Kate’s place on the journey to Wales and, since no mention had been made of a maid, she had not requested one. There seemed to be hundreds of servants about Caernarvon with little to do, so all her needs were cared for.
    “I can see we will be good friends, and I long to tell Travers that I am not the only woman who perpetrates misadventures. He swears that it is only I who still gets into mischief; all other women are the height of decorum at all times.”
    “Ranulf was very angry, but Queen Eleanora was pleased that I came and scolded Ranulf for forcing me to go to such extremes to get here.”
    They laughed together.
    “We are most fortunate in having such a queen. My father still tells horror stories of the last one.”
    “This Travers is your husband?”
    Berengaria’s face lit at the mention of her husband. “Look you about the hall and see if you can guess which man is my Travers.”
    Lyonene guessed several men, all handsome men, and Berengaria snorted at each one, giving some derogatory quip, such as, “Beats his wife,” “Does not like women” or “Greedy,” and wiggling her brows. When Lyonene surrendered, Berengaria pointed.
    “He talks now to Lord Dacre,” she said and watched Lyonene with twinkling eyes as she saw the expected reaction on her new friend’s face.
    The man talking to Lord Dacre was the ugliest man Lyonene had ever seen. He was of average height and seemed to be built of stone, so square was his form; there was no grace or ease of movement about him—only an unshakable solidity. But his face was what was almost frightening. His ears were huge, his hair a faded mixture of nondescript colors, an unruly, wiry mess. His forehead overhung his eyes by what seemed to be several inches, the brows grown into a single line. Deep creases ran beside his nose to a lipless mouth. His eyes were mere slits.
    She tried to compose herself as she turned back to Berengaria. Surely the woman only jested.
    Berengaria grinned at her. “Is he not a troll? But I will tell you that I have loved him since I was but three years and I shall continue to do so until I die.”
    “Tell me of this, for I sense a good story here.”
    “I tell it gladly, though to few people. My family is a large one. I have six brothers and five sisters. My father has always been glad that his daughters are pretty and docile, his sons handsome and independent. But for me. From my birth I seemed to be the wrong sex, for I ever did things a young lady should not.
    “One day when I was a little past my third birthday, I walked with my nurse in the fields by our castle. When she looked away for a moment, I hid from her in the tall grasses and watched as she searched and called for me.”
    “How can you remember a thing so long ago? I do not recall events of when I was three.”
    “I remember no others, but this could have been last week, it is so clear. When my nurse returned to the castle path to search for me, I made my way to the duck pond, a place she ever refused to take me. Silly woman! She constantly feared I would end myself in every conceivable manner, so she kept me from most pleasant