The Black Lyon

been given. He cursed himself for leaving her to such a villainous woman, for not forcing her, when he had returned to Malvoisin, to tell him what plagued her.
    Hodder repeated more of Amicia’s words concerning the babe; how Ranulf intended the child to be servant to Amicia’s and how Lyonene’s child would be known as bastard. Finally, he revealed Amicia’s offer of the earldom to Lyonene’s babe.
    Ranulf began to see what had caused his wife’s fears. She knew little of court laws. Ranulf could choose what son or even adopted son he desired to pass on his wealth and title to. It did not go by birth, as Amicia had insisted.
    The ferry to the island seemed to go tediously slowly, and the expressions on the faces of his men were as grim as Ranulf’s. He told them briefly of the treachery that had been wrought in his absence, for he had begun to suspect a plot from Hodder’s story. The men were divided into pairs and given areas of the island to search. Before the ferry came to rest, men and horses were already wading ashore.
    The Black Guard went first to the castle to change horses, but Ranulf stayed on Tighe, the horse having been bred for stamina and endurance.
    The entire island was roused, torches lit, and not one person was not called into the search. Beginning to fear that she had been taken to be held for ransom, Ranulf sought to find the hiding place of her captors.
    No one had crossed the ferry to the coast of England who could have been Lyonene, so he did not believe her to have left the island. The hounds were brought into the search and given free rein in following the scents they found.
    Dawn came and still no sign of her or of Amicia. The beginnings of fatigue and blind grief blurred his thoughts and his vision. He went into the chapel at Mottistone and began to pray, the only course he knew to take to clear his cobwebbed brain. After a few moments’ meditation, he knew—knew the island search to be fruitless, knew there had been a ship that had taken her away, knew for sure that this was no simple case of a jealous wife running away, but the result of a careful plan.
    He left the altar, grateful to the saints for giving him the answer.
    He rode quickly to St. Agnes’ Point, tearing up the stone steps to the guard’s post at the top of the stone tower.
    “Did a ship leave here this day?”
    “Aye, my lord.” The man was more than a little frightened at his master’s black, stormy face. “Two ships; your own, both of them.”
    “Two! There are no ships that should sail today. What excuse was given for my ships sailing unbeknownst to me, and who sailed them?”
    “William de Bec sent one to France with the cargo of wool to be woven; the other went to Ireland to buy more cloth.”
    “What cargo went to Ireland?”
    “None, your lordship. It sailed empty.”
    Ranulf’s eyes bored into the man, his voice deadly. “Have you ever known one of my ships to either leave or return empty?”
    “Nay, my lord, but Sir Morell said you were in a great hurry to purchase more finery for the new wife you dote on. He said…”
    “Sir Morell!” Ranulf sneered. “The man has ever plagued me. Who went with him?”
    “Only his crew, my lord, and some serfs and … that Frankish woman. She went to choose the colors, they said.”
    “They said! You have proven you have ears but naught between. They found you an easy mark. Go from my sight before I remove you from the earth. They have taken my wife on their empty boat, no doubt dressed as a serf. A moment more and you shall answer for your indulgences.”
    The man near fell down the stairs in his haste.
    Ranulf whirled when a hand touched his shoulder. Herne stood there.
    “We have all come to the same answer. You agree with the stench of this matter? Have you found aught that is useful?” the guardsman asked.
    Herne nodded at Ranulf’s answer, then continued, “We must go to prepare, for I do not think you wait for a message of ransom. We travel soon. I hear tell Ireland is a small place and so will be easily searched.”
    Ranulf spent a day in preparation, allowing his men to rest and sleeping himself for a few hours. He knew little of Ireland, but he knew Dacre had cousins there. He sent messages to his friend and to Lorancourt. He thought he remembered his father-in-law mentioning relatives in Ireland. If Lyonene managed to escape, she would go to her kinfolk and Ranulf must know where they abided.
    Through all his actions was a slow