The Black Lyon

her. He pulled her to him to study her face and then kissed her mouth, hard.
    “I may take it that the news does not cause your displeasure?”
    He swung her into his arms. “No man has ever been happier.”
    “You do not think of responsibilities and duties?” she teased.
    “Your fun of me is at an end. I should like a son first and then a score of daughters. I will need a boy to help me protect my beautiful daughters. And I shall never allow them to marry, but keep them by me always to fetch my slippers and tend to my wine.” He paused a moment. “Of a surety, Edward will take credit for this.”
    “What has the king to do with our child?”
    “If it is to be born at Christmas, then it had to have been created at the Round Table.” He gave her a mocking look. “My poor brain has always been good at arithmetic, if not at women’s riddles. Edward will say it was the white wine he had me mix with your red. Of course everyone else would agree, for you had an unwholesome look on your face when I carried you from the hall.”
    “You did not carry me!”
    “I most assuredly did. There were great cheers and not a few suggestions as to how to proceed from there, but I fear you outdid any suggestion a mere man could create. Yes, I am sure ’twas that night that made my child.”
    He laughed when her fist pelted his naked chest. “What will our boy say of a mother who beats his father?”
    “He will probably join me, or it would be my good fortune to bear a braggart just like you. His first steps will no doubt be a swagger, his first words a boast.”
    Ranulf laughed hard and hugged her to him. “Then you must indeed have my daughters, for who else will listen to us?”
    “I am sure you will find someone.”
    “That is true, but they all sit in rapture of me. No other woman makes me work so hard to make an impression or beats me when I go too far.”
    She laughed with him and put her arms about his neck. “I shall bear you hundreds of whatever you wish.” They kissed, quietly, sweetly. “You are glad then, truly glad?”
    He nibbled her ear. “You are hard to persuade. There is naught I can say. I look forward eagerly to my first child. Now I should like to return to my house and put you to bed and then go and brag to my men.”
    “Release me and do not act such a fool. I am well, and the strength I build each day flows to the child and gives him strength.”
    He set her down carefully and seemed to consider her words. “I do not know… Lucy and Kate will care for you and keep you from building too much strength, as you say. Now dress that we may return.” His eyes widened. “Should you ride?”
    She kept her face perfectly calm. “Nay, I should walk back to the castle.”
    He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do not grow too saucy, wench. There are ways to punish you that will not harm the babe.”
    She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “And how may that be, my lord?”
    He grabbed her arm and with deadly seriousness began to tickle her until she cried. They fell together on the ground, Ranulf ignoring her pleas for mercy. The undertunic, caught beneath his knee, tore away and revealed her breasts. His attentions turned from thoughts of revenge.
    Their lovemaking was sweet and gentle, a fitting crown to the news that bound them together, each of them aware of the life they had created in their joy of one another. In a state of sensuous rapture, they fell asleep amidst the moss, the flowers, the trickling water, the lazy drone of insects and the soft warm summer breeze.
    Lyonene sat quietly in the solar, a new tabard for Ranulf under her needle. The sounds of the Black Guard from the Great Hall made her smile, for the cheers were loud and growing louder. The comradeship between her husband and his men was a deep friendship, built over years of war, battle, pain and joy, and, she guessed, no small number of kegs of wine.
    She was in bed when Ranulf returned, loudly undressed and fell onto the mattress beside her. He roughly pulled her to him as if she were a rag doll and caressed her hardening stomach. He gave a grunt of contentment and fell asleep, his face covered with her hair.
    It was two weeks later when the storm began. They woke to a gray sky, lightning flashing in the distance, the air cool and clammy.
    Ranulf stood with his men in the courtyard and studied the ugly sky. “I think we should make preparations.” He turned and saw Lyonene’s worried face. “Malvoisin Isle has terrible