The Black Lyon

things. When I got to the pond, a face peered at me from the reeds. I indeed thought it was a troll at first, but I kept staring at it even when it stepped from the reeds and I saw it was but a boy. We stared long at one another and an overpowering feeling came to me that this boy was mine and would always be so. He was twelve years then and near as big as he is now.
    “I put my arms up to him and he lifted me. He carried me for hours, talking to me and showing me birds’ nests, little crawly things and sharing his bag of food with me. Neither of us thought of time and so it was late when we returned to the castle.
    “Everyone was frantic by then and sure I was dead. My mother came to take me from Travers, but I would not leave and when my father finally pulled me away, I kicked and screamed until Travers came and kissed my forehead and told me to do what was wanted of me.”
    “Your parents must have wondered greatly at your behavior.”
    Berengaria shrugged. “I have ever demanded my way. All the next day I refused to leave Travers’s side. I rode with him on his horse as his father and mine inspected a piece of land my father wished to sell. On the morn I knew he was to leave, I cried and said I loved him and that he must not grow and instead, wait for me. He kissed my forehead and said that when I was ready for marriage he would come for me.”
    “You cannot tell me that that is just what happened!”
    “Aye. When I was ten and five my father brought a young man and his father to me and said I was to marry the man. I knew my father thought to have his way so I said before all that I was secretly married already and now carried my husband’s child.”
    “You did not! Of course it was not true!”
    “No. It could not be, for I had not seen Travers since that one day, and I would allow no other man to touch me.”
    “Your father must have been very angry.”
    Berengaria rolled her eyes. “That is a mild statement for my father’s temper. He had a midwife examine me and found I lied and then he locked me into a tower room with only bread and water to eat. I pleaded great illness and my old nurse brought me pen and paper to write my will. I wrote Travers that it was time for him to come or else my father would marry me to another. I tossed the letter out the arrowslit with a gold ring to a serf boy.”
    Lyonene began to laugh. “I believe my story of dressing as a serf is mild. Tell me the rest of it!”
    “Travers came within three days with an army! Over three hundred men approached my father’s gate and my father, to tell the truth, was well pleased by so forceful a son-in-law. He said later he thought it would take such a man to be able to live with me, for he found it an arduous task.”
    “But what of you? You had not seen Travers since you were little more than a babe. Did you feel the same about him after all that time?”
    “Oh, yes. I ran to him when I was released from the tower and he held me and kissed me, only not on the forehead.” Her eyes twinkled. “Had I any doubts before, that kiss would have dispelled them.”
    Lyonene leaned against the wall and sighed. “And now you live in sweet contentment.”
    “Hah! There is naught sweet about my Travers. He has a temper as ugly as his face. If you could but see his arm you would see where I slashed him once.”
    “I do not understand. If you love him…”
    “Real love is not the pretty stuff of the jongleurs. It is a feeling inside that you are one with this man, no matter what he is. Were Travers to sell his soul to the Devil, I would still love him and mayhaps I would bargain for a good price myself.”
    Lyonene knew she should have been shocked at this, but instead, she stared at Ranulf and felt again the pain of the Welsh arrow in her shoulder. “I fear I would join my Black Devil also.”
    Berengaria smiled. “Come, let us eat and no more talk of devils. I fear the penance now for my sins will be too high.”
    They walked together to the tables.
    Later, Lyonene and Ranulf were alone in their room, Ranulf soaking in a hot tub.
    “I have wanted to ask you something,” Ranulf said.
    When he was quiet, she stopped her washing and looked at him. “Could it be so terrible?”
    “Some think so. Henry de Lacy has asked me to take his youngest son to page. The boy is only six years and should wait another year before leaving his home…” He paused and when she did not speak, he continued. “It would, of course, be for you to