She grabbed his shoulders. “That is horrible! As you created a story for the girls, so your cousin made up the tale of my husband.”
He looked at her in awe. “Are you not afraid of him?”
She smiled. “In truth I am at times, but when I am, I make sure he does not see my fear. And you also must not show your fear.”
The boy looked as if he might cry. “Or he will…”
“Do not say that! Do not think it! Here, stay here and I will fetch him. You will watch and see how gentle he is. If I, a mere girl, am not afeared of him, certainly a knight’s page will not be.”
Brent tried to lift his shoulders again, but his lower lip still trembled. “That is true.”
Lyonene muttered some words about men starting young with their arrogance and made her way to Ranulf. He was engrossed in talk with Henry de Lacy, and when she put her hand on his arm, he merely held it, caressing each of her fingers. Lyonene stepped back so Brent could see, and the boy watched with fascination.
“What is this you do?”
“I beg your pardon, Lord Henry, but I would speak a few words to my husband.”
“Young pup already giving you trouble? Well, if you want to go back on the agreement, I will understand.”
“Oh, no,” Lyonene said at once. “I am most pleased with the boy and do not wish to relinquish him.”
Henry laughed. “Well, you may wish you had answered differently in a few months. After twelve children, one would think I would be ready for all things, but that boy is beyond me. Mayhaps I am just getting old. Well, it is good speaking with you, my boy.” He clapped Ranulf’s shoulder and left.
“Now, what is so wrong with the boy?”
“It is not the boy, it is you.”
“I? But I have not spoken to him.”
“He is terrified of you. A cousin has filled his ears with horrible stories of you.”
He gave her a half-smile. “And do you know they are not true?”
She told him Brent’s story and Ranulf’s upper lip curled in disgust. He walked toward the boy and Brent nearly leaped from the wooden bench.
Ranulf looked down at the bowed head and saw that the boy trembled. He stretched out a hand to touch the sandycolored hair, but did not. He sat on the bench.
“I am honored, my lord, to be your p-p … page.” The boy’s voice was barely audible.
“And, I am most honored to have you. So, you fear the Black Lion?”
Brent did not answer, nor did he look at Ranulf, and his trembling increased.
“Tell me, Brent, do you think the Black Guard fears their liege lord?”
“Oh no, my lord.” His head came up. “For they belong to you; they also…” His fear increased at the memory.
Ranulf’s voice was quiet, soothing, reassuring. “If it is as you say and they have no fear because they are part of my household, then you should not fear me. My page belongs to me just as do my Black Guard. Mayhaps you will be known as the Black Page.”
Lyonene could see the boy’s face work as he digested this information; then a smile began to form, then a question. “How can I be the Black Page when I do not have black hair? All the Black Guard has hair of your color.”
Ranulf held out his hand to the boy, showing him the back of it. “You see, I have enough black hair for both of us.”
Lyonene could not help laughing. “It is true. His whole body is covered with black hair.”
Ranulf gave her such an intense look that she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she turned away to become uncommonly interested in the figures of a tapestry opposite her.
Brent did not yet dare to touch the hand held out to him. “Am I really to be your page, my lord? I may see your black stallion and meet your guard and touch your sword and…”