The Black Lyon

I beg your forgiveness in this matter. I know it was due to you that I was saved from the storm and I owe you my life. I did not mean this to happen, but Lord Ranulf, I cannot explain, the man but looked at me and… I see you undertand.”
    Amicia leaned closer. “I was a virgin when he took me and I could not resist.”
    Lyonene looked away.
    “I have never loved a man ere now and I will say that I want him, must have him, just as you want him. I have no right to ask your forgiveness, but there is a way mayhaps I could atone for some of my ill deeds.”
    “There is no manner in which you could repay me for what you have done.”
    “I know, my lady, and I am ashamed. You were happy before I came and I have taken away your happiness. If I did not carry his child, I would not press the matter. I would return to France and try to mend my broken heart, which would surely be the case were I to leave Lord Ranulf.”
    “So what way do you plan to give me back some of that which you have stolen?”
    “I cannot save you, but I mayhaps could save your child. Even now a messenger wings his way to King Edward with news of my presence in England and also tells him of the child I carry. The divortium, I am sure, will come soon.”
    “How will this save my child?” Lyonene asked, her mouth a grim line.
    “If you cannot be found before your child is born, he will be heir to the earldom.”
    “I do not trust you. Why would you risk losing a title for your child by telling me this?”
    Amicia shrugged. “I owe you my life and, too, there is a chance your child will be a daughter. Also, Ranulf must leave his title to his first-born son. Not so his estates. I do not risk so much as it seems.”
    Lyonene considered for a moment. She would not have believed her had she seemed to sacrifice all for Lyonene’s child, but it was true she owed her life to Lyonene and might wish to repay her in some way. “So, you have a plan, it seems?”
    Amicia put her finger to her lips and silently walked to the door, searching the empty corridor. She came back and sat next to Lyonene, her voice a whisper. “This must be done in secret. No one must know of it, that nosy valet or your maid. Agreed?”
    Lyonene nodded.
    “I risk much to plan this and I do not wish to be caught. I have heard your father has relatives in Ireland. This is true?”
    “Aye, but I do not know them, although my father has talked much of them.”
    “Think you they will harbor you until the safe delivery of your child?”
    “Aye, I think they would if they knew he were in danger.”
    “Good,” Amicia whispered. “Then I will arrange for a ship to take you to Ireland. You will abide there until after the child’s birth. Then, when the child is safely delivered, you may return to England, to your father’s house. I am sure the divortium will be final by then, but the church will not allow another marriage until you are found. Therefore your child will be first-born and earl.”
    Lyonene frowned. “I do not understand. If the divortium is final, how will I still be married to Ranulf?”
    Amicia looked about her, wildly, for a moment. “It is too complex to explain. You must trust me, for I am the daughter of a duke and I know better the ways of court law. You agree to this plan?”
    “I do not know. I am confused. I…”
    “You are selfish!” Amicia said in disgust. “I offer you some safety, a means to escape the plight ahead of you, that you even stop to consider is an indication of your selfishness. Think you of your son when he is twenty and turns to you and asks why you did not consider him in this matter, but only your lust for his handsome father. Then you will have naught, this husband you crave or your son’s love. Will you speak of confusion then, ask his forgiveness when he is little more than a beggar, declared bastard of the Earl of Malvoisin? Mayhaps he will one day see my sons and be reminded…”
    “Cease! You go too fast.”
    “There is need to haste, for I believe the siege to be over soon.”
    “Then Ranulf will return and I may speak with him.”
    Amicia threw back her head in a high thin wail of what passed for laughter. “You are more a fool than you seem. You would rather hear my words from this man you simper over? Think you he will allow you to go to Ireland and foil his king’s plan of his earl’s heir being the grandson of a Frankish duke? Nay, my lady, if you leave for Ireland, you do so quickly and before he