Lyonene felt the gratitude rising in her breast.
Sir Henry laughed. “I see what you mean.”
“You do not mind if I try?”
“My experience bows to your pretty form.”
Without even looking at her face, Geoffrey whirled Lyonene into his arms and began to kiss her. She was aghast that he would do this to her. He had no more respect for her than Sir Henry had.
“I see my little brother has found entertainment that pleasures him. Mayhaps you can excite this one more than I, for she runs from my caresses. There are some young women who prefer pretty boys rather than men—Dacre has proven that.”
Geoffrey looked up to see Ranulf astride Tighe’s broad back and lazily smiled. “She seems to find me acceptable enough, and my thanks for the comparison to Lord Dacre.” He looked down at Lyonene’s face, her jaw set against the inevitable exposure of her identity. Geoffrey stared at her in horror and turned her to face Ranulf.
Ranulf’s look of pain before it turned to blackest hate startled her. He sneered at her. “I see now why she finds you so … acceptable. You must ask her to dance for you. She is…” The pained look crossed his face again and then he turned his horse and left them.
Chapter Nine
“Lyonene, what is the meaning of this? No, do not tell me, for I am sure it is Ranulf’s doing. Is he so unbearable to live with?”
Lyonene could only shake her head, for a great lump was forming in her throat and she could not speak. Maude appeared from nowhere and took Lyonene away to the little donkey. She was too distraught to notice that Geoffrey rode to his brother.
“Ranulf,” Geoffrey implored his stone-faced brother, “what has caused you to treat her so? Why is she dressed as a serf and made to ride a donkey?” He waited for an answer but none came. “I cannot understand your treatment of her. She is beautiful and desirable; how can you shun her?” Still no answer was given him and he sighed in exasperation. “I go now to Sir Tompkin. We are off to Cornwall this day. Remember, Ranulf, she is your wife.”
“It is she who forgets.”
Geoffrey frowned up at Ranulf. “Do you hint that she had a hand in what happened this morn? That she perhaps desires the attention of other men?”
Ranulf shrugged in answer.
“If I were not your brother and loved not life so well, I would challenge you for that. Any lady who is falsely accused and forced to act as a serf deserves a champion.”
“You are so sure she is falsely accused? What proof have you of her innocence?”
Geoffrey smiled. “Because I know you. You care for your possessions and on that island of yours you would know when she sneezed or no. And that Black Guard would kill any man who came near to Lady Lyonene. I am correct, am I not? You have always known of her whereabouts, even to each minute.”
“Aye. Until we left for Wales. She was clever in hiding.”
“Hiding! Then you are indeed fortunate to have a wife who loves you so that she will dress as a serf to follow her beloved. Tell me, would any of your court ladies so love their husbands? I worry overmuch. Lyonene will have her way, and if that way includes a glowering, angry, accusing…” He laughed at Ranulf’s black look. “There is no understanding women. I cannot fathom her choice of such a husband. I would give much to be chosen by such as she.” Geoffrey frowned at the fierceness of the look given him by Ranulf. “I go now. Mayhaps I can leave Cornwall and return to Malvoisin later this year. Go in peace, my brother.”
Lyonene was unaware of Geoffrey’s going; in truth, she was aware of little around her. Her own thoughts raged with one another.
She did not even hear the thundering hoofs of Tighe as Ranulf rode toward the little donkey. She only felt herself being lifted into the air, coming to rest, sidesaddle, on the Frisian’s back, held firmly in Ranulf’s arms. She knew he was angry but she did not care. At least for the moment he held her close. They rode to the head of the line of people. Ranulf roughly tore the russet cloak from Lyonene, flinging it to the ground. Then he thrust his hands in her hair, pulling her head back, her face toward him. In spite of the pain he knew he caused her, she smiled up at him, her eyes shining.
“Hear me now, wife, and hear me well. You are mine and I do not share you.”
Her eyes held his. “I have never been other, my Lion.”
He stared at her for a moment and then looked away. She leaned back against him, and they traveled in silence.
“And now tell me what I am to do with you.” Ranulf’s voice was harsh as he stared at her, the silk walls of his tent surrounding them. “Did you think I rode to Wales for pleasure? Tell me, have you always had your way, so that a man who goes to war must have the added burden of a woman to succor?”
“War? There is no war,” she replied hotly.
He glared at her. “You think I lie? The Welshman Rhys has decided he would be king. He rides north of here. King Edward sent me a message to find the man and stop his rebellion. Did you think I left my isle to travel to this cold country so that I might enjoy the scenery? Do you not think I have enough to care for in my men, but now I am also saddled with a noblewoman.”
“Nay, I did not think—”
“That is it! You did not think. Now you have had your fun, you have dressed as a serf and deceived me. But tell me, mistress, what purpose d