His lips were on her neck, savoring the shape and texture of her smooth skin, as she murmured, “I am glad Hugo did not rescue you, for he would not enjoy your rewards half as much as I.”
Ranulf silenced her words with his lips. A loud knocking at the door interrupted them. Ranulf loudly cursed the knocker and returned his attentions to his wife. The noise continued.
Angrily, Ranulf flung himself from the bed; only Lyonene’s voice made him don the loincloth before opening the door. Kate stood there, craning her neck to see her mistress.
“I do not mean to disturb you, my lord, but it is the woman you found.”
“What woman?” He scowled at the already frightened girl.
Lyonene donned her robe and stepped before Ranulf, giving him a look of rebuke. “What of the woman, Kate? Is she not recovered as you thought?”
“Oh, yes, my lady. She has more than recovered. She is sitting in her bed and demanding to see his lordship.”
“Demanding?” Ranulf stepped forward. “I near die dragging the worthless piece from the sea and now she makes more demands of me? She should say prayers of thanks for me and her delivery from the sea.”
Lyonene tried to stop him as he pushed past her to stride angrily to the bedchamber. She was close behind him.
“Now, woman, what is this you demand of me?” His voice was quiet and heavy with sarcasm.
Lyonene looked at the woman’s pale-blue eyes and saw them widen at the sight of the near-nude Ranulf. The eyes were odd, searching, calculating, and now they narrowed shrewdly, seeming to figure a method of approaching the handsome man before her.
“Oh, my lord,” she said, pressing a tear from the corner of one eye. Her voice was high with a strange singsong quality to it. “I do not know what the maid has told you. I did but ask who was my rescuer. I owe you my worthless life.”
Lyonene looked at Kate’s startled face and knew the woman lied. Ranulf went to sit by the woman and took her hand. “You are safe now and there is no reason for tears.”
She leaned toward Ranulf and put one hand on his chest, the fingers twined in the thick hair. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “I will ever be in debt to you. I cannot repay you, for all my worldly goods went down with my father, the Duke of Vernet.”
“Your father is a duke? Then you must be Frankish.”
She nodded and another tear came.
“Then we are honored by your presence. You may stay with us until you can notify relatives of your whereabouts.”
She leaned even closer, her head almost touching Ranulf’s shoulder. “Alas, my lord, I do not have more relatives.”
“Well,” he responded, patting her hand, “you are welcome at Malvoisin for as long as need be. Now you must rest.” He rose. “Your name, my lady?”
“Amicia.”
“I am Ranulf, and this is my wife, Lady Lyonene.”
The pale woman gave Lyonene her first look. It startled Lyonene by the coldness of it, and then the little smile made chills on her arms; it was almost deadly. Lyonene gave the woman a brilliant smile in return, but the eyes that met hers held a challenge, a dare.
When they were alone in their room, they began to dress. “
The woman has missed her call. She should be in London. She is far better than any other mummer I have seen.”
“Of what do you speak?” Ranulf asked.
“Why, our Lady Amicia, most assuredly. If she i
s a Frankish duke’s daughter, then I am Queen Eleanora’s sister. I especially liked the ‘my worthless life’ part. Tell me, did you like those skimpy tears she managed to produce?”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to his lap. “You are jealous.”
“Nay, I am not, for there is little substance on which to base a jealousy.”
“Oh! I think I like this. Tell me more. Did you not like the way her little hand touched my chest?”