The Black Lyon

again,” she said quietly. “I began to doubt you remembered me.”
    “I did forget at times, but a few things were there to remind me of you.”
    “And what were they, my lord?”
    “The sun, the moon, wind, grass, small things only.”
    She laughed and moved nearer to him. “I would that you did not return to your battle. I am afraid somehow.”
    “There is no danger, but fear of a drunk hurling a wooden cask at my head.”
    “Nay. I do not jest, and it is not the battle I fear, but else.”
    “You should fear the wrath of the Black Lion do you but talk his time away. Can you find no better way to send your knight into battle?”
    She turned in his arms and for a while her fears were forgotten, but later they haunted her again as she watched Hodder help his master dress in his heavy chain mail.
    “Do not look at me as if ’twere the last time. Go and tell Dawkin to prepare some food to carry back with me.”
    While she was gone, Ranulf’s eye caught a faint glow of something in a dark corner. He bent to retrieve it and saw it was the ribbon Lyonene had sewn to resemble her beloved belt. He frowned at it, not understanding how it could have gotten there, for he had last seen it in his own tent, far away at Gethen Castle. There was something that worried her and she refused to tell him its nature, but he knew the ribbon was connected with her troubles. He sighed and slipped the ribbon into the pouch at his waist. When she trusted him, she would confide her fears to him. Until then he must wait, for he guessed that anything less than torture would not force her to answer his questions.
    Lyonene did not cry when he rode away, his guard following, but stood silently in the courtyard. She had a heavy feeling in her breast, as if a weight pressed upon it. She sat alone in the garden for a time, trying to rid herself of the ugly feeling but could not.
    A week passed quietly and Lyonene almost forgot her fears. But noise below stairs one day set her heart racing. The solar door burst open and Kate pushed through.
    “My Lady Lyonene, forgive me, but she has caused a great ruckus. She says she must see you at once.”
    “Send her in.” Neither Lyonene nor her maid felt they needed to explain exactly who “she” was.
    Amicia came into the room slowly, looking about regally, as if appraising the beautiful proportions, the tapestries, the ornaments. She was, if possible, even thinner than before.
    “It is as I remembered.”
    “No greeting, Amicia?”
    Amicia smiled. “It is Lady Amicia, I think you recall. Nay, no greeting. The Countess of Malvoisin need give no greeting to barons’ daughters.”
    “You have me guessing at your riddle, for I am both countess and the daughter of a baron.”
    “Such daughter you will always be, but I am not sure you hold your title as well.”
    Lyonene felt her anger rising. “Do not hide your meaning, but speak your words clearly. You have something to say to me, so get it done and be gone.”
    “Lady Lyonene, you betray your fear of me. I have news to give to you and would that we could have a peace between us.”
    “There can be no peace between us. What news do you bring?” Lyonene’s face lost color. “Ranulf! Has aught happened to my husband?”
    “Nay.” Amicia ran her hand across the mantel. “He is well, most well and vigorous when I saw him last. Your concern shows on your face. Do you love him well then?”
    “What I feel for my husband is my own concern. If you have naught else to say, then leave me.”
    “Nay, my lady, I have much to say. The love you bear your husband concerns me greatly, for it is a love we share.”
    “I will not begin this afresh. I believed your lies once, but now I do not. Go from my sight.” Lyonene rose in anger.
    “You will hear me, for your life may depend upon it.” Amicia’s voice was deadly. “Aye. Your very life may center upon my words.”
    Lyonene sat down again, unconvinced, but feeling the woman capable of anything. “Have your say quickly and be gone.”
    “Lord Ranulf has shown himself to be a fickle man, I believe, when it comes to women. Look at how he betrothed himself to you after but one day’s meeting with you. I have given you warnings which you heeded not and now you must pay for your disbelief, and most of all for your treatment of me.” Her pale eyes glinted like a snake’s. “As Ranulf de Warbrooke chose you in haste, so he will discard you in like haste.”
    “I believe not a word of your