The Black Lyon

ask for her ladyship’s help. You must go. I have prepared you food and that mean, devilhorse of yours is saddled, so off you go. I do not wish to see you until nightfall.”
    Ranulf seemed to shrug his weariness away easily. He ran a hand down Lyonene’s back and firmly cupped her behind, grinning impishly when she jumped. “Lucy, you are after my own heart. I am so pleased that I do not even defend Tighe’s abused name. Come, Lioness, I know a glade that you will enjoy.” He took her hand and near pulled her to the door. She had only time for a smile of gratitude to Lucy.
    The glade proved to be more than Ranulf had promised. It was sheltered and private, the ground soft with moss and tiny pink flowers.
    Lyonene wore only her linen undertunic and Ranulf his loincloth. He leaned against a tree and Lyonene snuggled her back against his chest, his arms encircling her.
    “You are no longer unhappy you married me?” she asked.
    “I was never unhappy.”
    She smiled and moved closer to him, her hand running idly along his thigh. “You are pleased also with Brent?”
    He turned her to look at him, lifting one eyebrow. “Why all these questions? Has aught displeased you?”
    “Nay.” She lay back against him. “I am happy. I but wondered how you felt towards me and towards … children.”
    He snorted. “You are a troublesome baggage, but men must make do with their wives. As for children, or at least Brent, I grow fonder of the boy each day. Brother Jonathan says he is most bright and can write his own name. Corbet has been teaching him…” He stopped abruptly and turned her again to face him, a black scowl on his face. “Why do you ask me these questions?”
    She put a hand on his chest and laughed. “I am not your enemy, Ranulf, that you must turn such a face on me.” She winced. “You hurt me!” He released her so quickly she almost fell backwards.
    She smiled secretly and took her place against him again. “To answer you, I am but curious.” She felt him relax against her. “Whatever did you think me to mean, my lord?”
    He took a deep breath and sighed, totally relaxed. “You startled me, ’tis all. I thought, for a moment, you meant to say you were with child.”
    “And if those were my words?”
    He tightened again and then relaxed. “I would force myself to bear such news with the courage that befits a knight and an earl.”
    She was glad he could not see her expression. “And what courage could you speak of? I see no great feat for a man to create a babe.”
    “It is not the creating, but the eternal responsibility. A child is a serious undertaking.”
    “And you would bear the news with the gravity that befitted the occasion?” If he could have seen her eyes he would not have fallen into her trap so readily.
    “Most assuredly. All in all, I am glad you are not breeding, for I have not had the time to think on the duties of being a … father.”
    Her heart fell somewhat. “But what of your daughter?”
    Ranulf was quiet. “I was young then and…” He paused. “Let us not talk of this more.”
    She turned to him then. “But, my husband, we must speak of this, for at Christmas, I plan to present you with a most special gift.”
    He grinned. “And what can it be? There is naught that I do not have.”
    She shook her head at him. “Mayhaps I should have Brother Jonathan create a mind for you from paper. It could not be of less substance than the one you now attempt to use.”
    He frowned at her and then all color drained from his face, his eyes wide.
    She looked down at her hands. “Please do not say you are displeased. I do not think I could bear it.”
    They sat in silence for what seemed to be hours, and then Ranulf lifted her chin with his fingertips. She could almost swear that the strong, masculine hand, the hand of the Black Lion, king’s champion, trembled. His eyes held a strange expression.
    “This is true? You will bear me a babe?”
    She nodded, not sure what she saw in his face. He dropped his hand and stood up with lightning speed, his legs wide apart, hands on hips, and threw back his head, giving the loudest, ugliest, most terrifying war cry she had ever heard. She covered her ears against that hideous sound, which sent tremors of unknown terror through her body.
    The sound carried for a long way, and those who heard also shuddered at the sound, never before given off a battlefield.
    Lyonene still sat with her hands over her ears when Ranulf looked back at