“My mother was a lady, quiet and gentle, not unlike your own mother. I saw Lady Melite shudder more than once at your wayward behavior.”
“I was never wayward!” she declared as he helped her into Loriage’s saddle. “It was your fawning over me. I could not help teasing a man who looked at me with such great, liquid eyes.”
“ ’Twere I not exceedingly hungry, I would make you regret those words.” His arm flashed out and encircled her, pulling her onto Tighe’s back in front of him. “I think I may yet. Now try to play the lady for a few moments.”
“Being a lady does not get me such rewards as being mauled by a handsome knight.” She wiggled her behind against him.
“You are the mauler, I am…”
“Spare me. You are ever kind and sweet-tempered, I have heard before. Tell me how you came by the name of the Spawn of the Devil, then?”
He ran his teeth along her neck and the beginning of her shoulder, causing chills along her spine. “It was not from being led about by an insolent bit of a girl.” His arms tightened about her. “I have always been content wherever I was, but now I find I cannot bear to be far away from you. You are like food or drink to me, a thing I must have to live. You do not know how your anger made me feel. You will send no more ugly messages through my boy?”
“Aye, I think I will, for it has brought you to me as no sweetly written words could have.”
“You have no respect for the duties of your husband.”
She lifted his hand from her waist and kissed it. “A husband has other duties besides war.”
They rode together to the towering, gray walls of Malvoisin, content and happy at being together again. As hot water was brought to their chamber, the sky outside darkened and it began to rain. A small fire was lit against the chill.
Lyonene bathed Ranulf, with both of them laughing and enjoying their loveplay. Only one moment marred Lyonene’s happiness.
“What has become of our Frankish guest? Do not tell me you gave rein to your anger and slipped a dagger into her? Although I vow there were times when I wished someone had.”
“And what times do you speak of? You know her but a few days. She could not have made her character so well known to you in so short a time.”
Ranulf looked away from his wife’s intense stare. “I have come to know of the woman, but let us not waste our few hours with talk of her. For whatever reason, I am glad she is not here.”
Lyonene did not wish to pursue the subject further either, for Ranulf’s manner showed he concealed something, and in this pleasant moment she did not wish to break the spell with talk of what had destroyed her peace for the month past.
“When must you return to your men and your siege?”
Ranulf stepped from the tub, nude, wet, his skin glowing in the golden firelight. He pulled her to him, the water from him wetting her clothes to the skin. He kissed her and she moved closer to him. “You are a grand substitute for a towel,” he murmured. “I leave on the morrow. Ssh,” he said, putting a finger to her lips. “Do not protest and make the leaving more difficult for me. I am not a man to leave my men to fight my causes alone. We have this night together and it is a long while till morn. Let us make the best use of our time. And do remove those wet clothes! You drip on my floor.”
She grinned at him and began to peel the wet clothes from her body. They made love slowly, lingeringly, not hurrying as before, but exploring and searching one another’s body.
Lyonene was exhausted from the tension of the past month, and the release from worry, from her concern for Ranulf’s wandering affections, gave her a blissful, peaceful sleep. When Ranulf began to move from her, she clutched at him in her sleep. He sighed with pleasure and held her to him.
“Can you know how much I love you, little Lioness?” he whispered to her sleeping form. “Can you know the longing I feel when I am away from you?” He kissed her forehead and slept, his arms tightly holding his wife to him.
Lyonene awoke first and opened her eyes to gaze on Ranulf’s sleeping face. The sooty lashes were almost like a girl’s, his lips soft and sweet. She moved a bit and kissed the thin scar along his cheek and he woke. He smiled into her eyes, one hand tenderly brushing a fat strand of hair from her face.
“I am happy to see you again,” she said quietly. “I began to doubt you remembered me.”
“I did forget at times, but a few things were there to remind me of you.”
“And what were they, my lord?”
“The sun, the moon, wind, grass, small things only.”
She laughed and moved nearer to him. “I would that you did not return to your battle. I am afraid somehow.”
“There is no danger, but fear of a drunk hurling a wooden cask at my head.”
“Nay. I do not jest, and it is not the battle I fear, but else.”
“You should fear the wrath of the Black Lion do you but talk his time away. Can you find no better way to send your knight into battle?”