The Black Lyon

returns.”
    “I… When would the ship leave?”
    “On the morrow.”
    “So soon? I have had no time to think.”
    “I have arranged the time just so, so you could not reconsider. I have watched you and know your lust for him will betray you. You must decide now, this moment, aye or nay, and in a short time you will be off.”
    Lyonene could not think. She saw Amicia kissing Ranulf, thought of Ranulf’s relationship with his king and then she thought of their child. “Aye, I will go.”
    Amicia gave a smile of triumph. “You have made a wise choice, my lady. This night you must pack only what you can carry in leather bags that go on a horse, no more. And you must let no one know of your plans. No one! Do you understand?”
    “Aye, I understand too well,” came Lyonene’s bleak reply.
    “I go now, but early on the morrow you must ride out on that black horse of yours. Say the packs carry cloth for the serfs, if anyone asks, but do naught to arouse suspicion. The ship will be gone when they discover you missing.” She left the room.
    Lyonene did not move, but later, when Kate helped her to bed, she began to cry and did not stop until the sun showed pink through the glass windows. It was to be her last night as mistress of Malvoisin, her last night in Ranulf’s bed. She rose late—not until the sun was full up—and hurriedly slung garments into the leather bags. She took no jewelry save the lion belt. As a remembrance, she took a small ivory box of Ranulf’s, carved with the lion of Malvoisin. It was made to hold his seal, but now it stood empty.
    She gave one last look at the bedchamber where she’d been so happy and shut the door.
    Her passage to the ship that waited at St. Agnes’ Point was quite easy. Only Kate had mentioned her mistress’s swollen face from the long night of tears, but Lyonene easily explained that away with a short sentence about pains caused by the babe she carried.
    Her stomach was definitely rounded now and she stroked the curve of it, again hoping she did the right thing in her flight.
    She could see the sails of the ship ahead, knew it to be one of several belonging to Ranulf, used to buy and sell goods with other kingdoms. Amicia came to her from her hiding place among some brush.
    “You are late and Morell needed to make excuses for not sailing,” Amicia said, accusingly.
    “Morell?”
    “You do not think I could arrange your escape alone? Sir Morell is one of Ranulf’s garrison knights, although he should, by rights, be one of the Black Guard. But this is no time for that. Here, you must hide your clothes and your hair.” She handed Lyonene a cloak of russet.
    Lyonene dismounted and donned the mantle. “You will see to Loriage? That he is returned?”
    “Now is no time to concern yourself with your precious horse. Aye, I will see to the beast. We must go, now. Morell is not sweet-tempered when his plans are mislaid. Keep your head down and look at no one. I do not wish the guards to see you.”
    She followed Amicia onto the ship, standing quietly as the Frankish woman spoke to a man she couldn’t see.
    “Get her below then,” came a querulous voice, and Lyonene looked up to see the man who was to take her to Ireland. She had seen him but few times before, yet each instance was etched in her memory. She recalled the times she had seen him standing in shadows where only she could see him, a smirk on his face. He always looked at her as if he seemed to know more of her than he did, as if he but waited for a time when he would discover all that he desired.
    Instinctively, Lyonene turned away, her steps going toward the side of the boat and home.
    “My Lady Lyonene.” The blond knight held her arm. “Do not be afraid. I will take you to your father’s relatives, and I will protect your safety and your honor with my life. Come below. I have seen to your cabin myself, for I would that you were comfortable.”
    She could not look at him.
    “I am Sir Morell, late in your esteemed husband’s employ. I say late for I do not think he will care much for me now that I take his wife away, albeit for a good cause. Come with me and be assured that you will be given every consideration.”
    Lyonene allowed herself to be led below, more unsure of herself each moment. The cabin was tiny, cramped and airless.
    “Lady Lyonene,” he said to her, moving his head nearer hers.
    “Yes.” She forced herself to look into his blue eyes. He was handsome in a way, fashionably