The Black Lyon

me.” He saw tears in her eyes. “I have never seen you like this. You are ever of high spirits, even when I am not so pleasant to be with.”
    A faint smile began to appear through her tears. “I am most happy to hear you say what I have always known.”
    “Come to bed before I beat you as you deserve.” He pulled her to him, his hand rubbing her bare stomach, as if he inspected the growth his child made each day.
    “And what will you think when my stomach sticks out to here?” she whispered.
    “I will hope for twins,” he murmured as he fell asleep.
    When Lyonene said she was to ride to the village the next morn, Amicia declared herself well enough to ride with her.
    Since the stable boy was afraid of Loriage, Lyonene had to saddle him herself.
    “You do not have him whipped?” Amicia asked in astonishment.
    “He is but a boy. Later I will show him Loriage is gentle if spoken to correctly.”
    “I am sure he is easy to ride and you but create the story of his fierceness. I may show you?”
    “Certainly.” Lyonene stepped back.
    The black stallion did not even allow the woman to sit in the saddle, but reared and fought her as she slipped one foot into the stirrup. Angrily, she walked away.
    They paused in the outer bailey to greet one of the cooks, who held some especially fine cabbages for Lyonene’s approval. Off to the side skulked the man Lyonene instinctively recoiled from.
    “Who is that man?” Amicia asked.
    Lyonene turned toward the knight. “I forget his name. He seems ever to be idle and his ways are too insolent to my taste.”
    “You do not think him handsome?”
    She did not look back at the smirking man. “Nay, I do not.” She spurred the stallion ahead.
    Many serfs gathered around their mistress in the village, and she gave her attentions to new babies, flooded fields and the egg production of some famed hens. She looked up once to see Amicia in deep conversation with the garrison knight from the castle. They deserve one another! she thought.
    It was well past dinnertime when the two women returned to the castle. Ranulf stood with the Black Guard in the courtyard and introduced the seven men to “Lady” Amicia. Lyonene noticed that Hugo and Maularde regarded her honeyed words with the same suspicion that she herself felt.
    When Lyonene entered the hall, the first person she saw was Brent, absent from her for two long days. She had not realized how much she had missed the boy. “Brent!” She knelt, holding her arms out to the child, and he ran to her, giving her a rather fierce hug to show his growing love for her.
    Remembering his manly status of page he released her as if disgusted by her embrace. He looked quickly to see if his Lord Ranulf had seen his lapse, but the Black Lion stared intently out a window.
    Lyonene stood, not allowing herself to further caress the boy. “You have spent the days in the Great Hall of the Black Guard? You must tell me of it, for I have never entered it.”
    “You have not?” Brent was astonished.
    “Nay,” Ranulf answered. “Only men are allowed in my guard’s hall.”
    “But there are women in…” He stopped at Ranulf’s broad wink. “Oh, aye. No lady-wives are allowed.”
    Lyonene smiled innocently. “Then you must tell me about the place. Is it dark and dirty and full of spiders?”
    Brent walked proudly ahead of her and then tossed over his shoulder, “Only a few, but I did not notice them.”
    Lyonene wanted to share her laughter with Ranulf, but saw he held the same expression as the boy. She rubbed her stomach and gave a silent prayer asking for deliverance from bringing a third such braggart into the world.
    Brent stopped at the doorway of the solar, where Amicia already sat. “Who is she?” he whispered to Lyonene.
    They both watched as Ranulf went forward to greet the woman. “Lord Ranulf saved her from the sea. Did not the men tell you?”
    “Oh, yes, Martha said that Lord Ranulf saved her and you saved Lord Ranulf. Is that true? You are too small to save him. The Black Lion needs no one to save him.”
    “I am afraid you are wrong. Brent,” Ranulf said to him. “Come and meet Lady Amicia and I will tell you how my tiny wife quelled over twenty men, and even made a storm abate to appease her wrath.”
    Brent hardly noticed the pale woman to whom he was introduced, but waited intently for the promised story. Ranulf began, ignoring Lyonene’s whispered question of, “Who is Martha?” He was a good storyteller