Ranulf paused from his exhausting labors for a moment and stared after her, not sure of his thoughts, but the urgency of the fire gave him little time for else.
Lyonene went back to the kitchen to reassure herself that all there were working. The long day’s travel, the emotional upheaval began to tell on her and she limply dragged herself into the stone tower.
“You have thought on my words?” The boy seemed to appear from nowhere.
“Giles, you cannot ask this of me. We were friends once. How can you turn against me so?”
The young man stepped from the shadows, his blue eyes frenzied, penetrating. “It is you who have turned from me. I was naught before you made yourself into some heathen deity and decided my life for me.” He stepped close to her, and his expression changed to the one she had known for many years. “Remember you the brown mare, the one that tossed you into the water? Had I not been there…”
“Do not remind me of those far-away days.” She turned abruptly toward the door, but Giles’s hand caught her wrist.
“I know you too well. So now you will call a guard against me? Do not think I am fool enough to have come alone. My capture, my death, will grant you naught but riddance of me. Did you see the men near your husband? Know you which are my men, which will kill him if I am harmed?”
“I do not believe you.”
His eyes were feverish, burning. “You are prepared to risk my honesty? Do you know me to be a liar? Lyonene,” he murmured, touching a lock of her hair but then frowning when she drew back, “what can a jewel or two mean to such as him? You have seen his clothes are
hemmed with jewels.”
“Leave me!”
“Aye, I will leave you, but beware all who go near him. The thought of gold will tempt even the most faithful knight.” He smiled when he saw she had his meaning, his hint that even one of the Black Guard could have a hand in his treachery. “This night, while he sleeps, I will wait for you beneath the window. If you are not there, then on the morrow he will have the letter or a knife in his stomach.” The boy shrugged. “I do not know which yet, but I do not think you want either.” Then he was gone.
Lyonene slowly made her way to the largest bedchamber and began to wash and ready herself for bed. She must trust Ranulf, she must tell him of Giles’s plan. She thought of that long-ago day of happiness she had spent with Ranulf, when she had called him her Lion; that man would understand, would believe her. If only Giles had not been drunk and said those things to Ranulf on her wedding night. No, she did not want a repeat of that rage.
As she pulled her green velvet robe from one of the bags that had been hastily thrown into the room, a small pouch fell from the bag. It was Ranulf’s, somehow mixed in with her clothes, and she knew too well what jewels it contained.
“No!” she said aloud and pushed it back into the bag. She could not begin her marriage with such lies and deceit. She clutched her hands again and again, their coldness making her skin white, her wedding ring loose. She absently toyed with the gold, felt the two clasped hands worked in the metal.
It was late when she heard the noise in the courtyard, the dogs barking, the sounds of water being poured, splashing. She knew they had returned and were washing the black from their bodies at the well. She sat very still, her heart pounding.
A torch flickered in the hallway and outlined Ranulf’s dark form in the doorway, his broad shoulders seeming to droop from tiredness He walked to the fire, holding his hands before it, and she could see his hair was damp. He turned to her so quickly that she cried out, a weak little sound as she saw his hand go to his sword.
“You remain awake?” He was too tired to show an emotion, either glad or otherwise. “It is near dawn. You should have slept.”
“I… I wished to speak to you.”
Ranulf sank to a stool by the fire, his head on his hands. What complaint did she have now, he wondered. He could not even think. All he saw was the burned flesh, the open mouths with their silent cries for water, the bones charred. “Can it not wait till the morrow? I am more than weary.”
“Aye, I guess it can.” She could not add to his burden; there was no jewel worth that. She rose and stood by him, touching a damp lock of the black hair gently, timidly, not knowing how he would react.
He took her hand and rubbed it against his jaw, the spiky whiskers near removing the skin from her hand. “I am grateful,” he said quietly, and she felt tears coming to her eyes.
As he rose and went to the bed, she knew what she must do—rid herself of Giles. The bond between Ranulf and her was too fragile yet, and a letter saying such things as she had written would shatter that bond too easily.
She heard the ropes creak as Ranulf stepped into bed. “Come to bed,” he said in low voice, heavy with sleep.
“Aye, in a moment. I but bank the fire.” As she had thought, she heard the heavy, steady rhythm of sleep almost instantly. Quickly, she found the pouch and a smooth, hard stone and walked silently to the shuttered window. She had only to move one slat and drop the jewel below. Her hands shook badly and she prayed she did the right thing. There was a slight noise below as she released the stone and she turned quickly to the sleeping Ranulf, but his breathing never changed.
Still trembling, she removed her robe and climbed into the big bed beside her husband. She lay frozen, rigid, so incredibly aware of the unfamiliar nearness of him. He rolled toward her and one arm moved out and landed heavily across her throat. Gasping, she lifted the weight as best she could, only to find that his hand had begun caressing her. His eyes were still closed, but his hand seemed to search her nude body as if in understanding. Without a word he pulled her beneath him, the weight of him, the remembered pain of the night before frightening her, tightening every muscle in her body.
His thigh forced her legs apart, and she felt hot tears gathering, then the first pains as he thrust himself upon her. At least it was over more quickly this time, but it was still a while before she slept, the hair at her temples wet from many tears.
Ranulf woke first the next morn, as he always did, just before the sun fully rose. Lyonene lay beside him, turned slightly on her side, facing him. His first thought was that ’twere it possible, she looked even younger, even prettier in her sleep. He hadn’t had any time with her in their two days of marriage. That boy’s words haunted him, words so like his first wife’s. He wanted so badly to believe in the girl beside him, that she did not try to deceive him, was not false with him. He did not ask for love. No? What then did he want? It seemed that women either feared him as the Black Lion or desired him for his riches. He remembered his father saying once that his eldest son could no more kill a man than become king’s champion in the joust. Ranulf wondered how his father would have reacted to that son, who had trained for the church, as he was today—feared by many, hated by a few, but little loved. A woman had changed all that.
Lyonene stirred in her sleep, bringing him back to the present. He was walking into battle again, unarmed, unclothed. What wounds he received this time he was not sure would heal. He touched her cheek, close to the tiny ear that curled in an intricate, mysterious way. Her eyes flew open instantly and the fear he saw there startled him.
Lyonene saw the soft curve of his lips, the gentle expression in his eyes and knew his thoughts. She was not ready yet for more of the painful lovemaking. She rolled from the bed and quickly donned her robe, kneeling before the fire, nervously jabbing at the coals with the iron poker. What if he called her back to bed? He was her husband and she could refuse him naught.