The Black Lyon

he digested this information; then a smile began to form, then a question. “How can I be the Black Page when I do not have black hair? All the Black Guard has hair of your color.”
    Ranulf held out his hand to the boy, showing him the back of it. “You see, I have enough black hair for both of us.”
    Lyonene could not help laughing. “It is true. His whole body is covered with black hair.”
    Ranulf gave her such an intense look that she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she turned away to become uncommonly interested in the figures of a tapestry opposite her.
    Brent did not yet dare to touch the hand held out to him. “Am I really to be your page, my lord? I may see your black stallion and meet your guard and touch your sword and…”
    “Aye, all that and more.” Ranulf’s eyes twinkled. “We go to supper now, but as soon as we are finished, you may come with us to the stables and see my horse.”
    The boy stood perfectly still, but somehow he gave the impression of jumping a few feet in joy. He grinned at Lyonene, turned and ran to a group of older boys on the other side of the hall. Within seconds, all the boys turned open-mouthed stares toward Ranulf.
    Lyonene whispered to her husband. “I have no doubt he tells them you eat three boys a day and he is chosen to help you in your gruesome slaughter.”
    Ranulf stood and held his arm for her. When she stood beside him, he gave her the same intense look of a moment before. “I am more concerned with your interest in the black hair that covers my body. Mayhaps you can demonstrate some of this interest to me.”
    “Mayhaps,” she said, looking at him with half-closed eyes.
    He pulled her arm closer to his body, as if he were afraid she might vanish. “Come, we must show the boy to Tighe, but later, Lioness,” he murmured, kissing her hand, “later.”
    Lyonene woke first the next morning and, donning her green robe, went to stoke the fire into life. Ranulf still slept as she looked down at him, the care lines in his face smooth in his sleep. She touched a sable curl as it curved toward his eye. His hand caught her wrist and she gasped in surprise.
    “Come to me, Lioness.” His voice was a commanding growl.
    She eagerly sought him, cursing the coverlet and robe that separated them. His lips did not tease this morn but demanded, and he pushed her beside him, his weight pressing her into the feather mattresses. Her arms tightened about him and she greedily returned his kiss.
    A knock sounded at the door, and the oath Ranulf uttered was so vile that it caused her to shudder. He did not seem to notice her trembling as he bellowed for the person to enter. A white-faced Brent carried a heavy pitcher of hot water.
    “I brought washing water, my lord.” His voice quivered.
    Lyonene saw the black scowl on her husband’s face and plunged a sharp elbow into his ribs. He grunted and turned the scowl on her. She gave him a sweet smile. “Your page has brought you washing water and means to help his lord dress for the procession to the lists.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, which was a hard, grim line. He immediately grabbed her and threatened to push her back on the bed.
    “Ranulf!” she cried and pushed against his chest. He seemed to recover himself, released her and stepped from the bed, wrapping the loincloth about his hips.
    Brent stopped before Ranulf and stared up at him in awe.
    “You are the Black Lion all over!” He did not understand the laughter he caused from his lord and lady, for he did not know that those were the very words said by Lyonene when she first saw an unclothed Ranulf.
    It was a while before Ranulf was readied for the procession, this day wearing the silver-coated mail that was used only for ceremony. Lyonene had to give Brent a hand in lifting the mail and, although the boy was not yet a squire, Ranulf allowed him to help.
    “I will see to the horses, and I will return for you in one hour. See that I am not kept waiting.”
    She tossed her hair. “I am not in the habit of causing you delay.”
    “Do not play the Lioness with me. Come here and kiss your knight.”
    He lifted her from the floor with one arm as he quickly kissed her, nearly crushing her ribs. He dropped her abruptly and winked at the staring Brent. “See you how to kiss women; let them know they kiss a man.”
    Little Brent nodded solemnly, as if he’d just learned an important lesson.
    “Come, Brent, we have had enough lessons on women this