Lyonene took a spoon and lifted half a fat capon covered in mustard sauce, placing it on the trencher before them. Never had she felt so at ease with a man before, yet there was a sense of excitement through her, as the few times she had touched him had shown her.
“I am sorry. I did not mean to laugh so. My father says I laugh at aught, and I fear he is right. You are not angry with me? I will give you the best part of the chicken.”
“I am not angry.” He smiled in earnest now. “And if I get any of the chicken, it will be better than the meat, for you ate all of it, sparing none for me.”
“Not so!” she cried, and then laughed again but covered her mouth. “You tease, Lion!” she whispered.
“Yes, Lioness.” He leaned close to her and wanted greatly to kiss those full, soft lips that had a smear of mustard on the corner. The tip of her tongue licked it away, and he felt cheated. He wondered if it were the wine, for he could swear the room was as hot as a tent in summer.
There were several people who watched the Earl of Malvoisin and Lady Lyonene. The Black Guard had never seen their lord act this way with anyone. The only person who made him smile was Queen Eleanora and sometimes Geoffrey or Dacre. Yet this young girl had transformed him into a knight’s page.
Melite sat next to Lyonene; she had arranged the seating herself. She did not wish her guest to feel he should divide his attention between the two women. At each laugh from her daughter, her resolutions set more firmly.
Father Hewitt, the castle priest, also looked on. Although many marriages were made for property, the church frowned upon that and encouraged marriages between people who cared for one another. He smiled now as he watched Lyonene with this great warrior knight. When he had seen the man with his seven Black Guards early this morn, they had seemed a formidable group and he had dreaded their presence, but Lyonene had so tamed the Black Lion that, when her head was turned, he looked upon her with the lovesick expression of a young squire gazing at his chosen lady.
“There are no swans at this meal, but Cook has promised one two days hence,” Lyonene said.
“I cannot stay for two days.”
“Oh!” Lyonene’s face and voice could not hide her disappointment. “I did not think. Mayhaps you find Lorancourt a poor place?”
“Nay. My steward sends word that I must return. There are cases to judge and my neighbors send mares for Tighe.”
“Tighe is your great black horse? I would think any mare would be afraid of him.”
“Tighe is a kitten, but you are right—he is used to no female, mare or woman.”
“I know little about you.” Her face went white and her arched brows lifted. “Do you not have a wife?”
Ranulf studied her. “Nay, I have no wife. Nor sister, nor mother.”
Color returned to Lyonene’s face. It could make no difference to her, of course, but she was glad he had no wife.
The meal was over, and now several of the men seemed to look about for a place to sleep. Lyonene sighed and knew her mother would have many chores for her in the castle. She had never minded them before, had even at times enjoyed them. Most certainly, she had never felt this way about a man before. She did not want to leave him, but wanted very much to stay with him.
“Now I must attend to Tighe’s needs.” Ranulf hesitated. “Would you like to see for yourself how gentle he is?”
“Aye.” Lyonene looked away. She was too eager. “I must come separately. My mother will need my help.”
Ranulf nodded.
Lyonene could not understand her mother. Everything she did, Melite corrected, so that only a little time had elapsed before Melite told her daughter to leave, saying that she was too clumsy this day. Lyonene did not see that she was any different from any other day, but she hurried to the stable before her mother changed her thinking.
Ranulf stroked Tighe’s thick mane and wondered at himself for jumping at every sound and looking constantly toward the stall door. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of Lyonene, her lips wide in a smile of triumph, her green eyes brilliant from a run through the cold air.
“I must return soon,” she whispered; they were like conspirators.
Ranulf whistled low and Tighe turned a finely shaped head to him. Cautiously, Lyonene approached and the beautiful black horse nuzzled her shoulder. Her laugh trickled out as she stroked the lovely head.
“You were right, he is sweet. It is just his size and his blackness that scared me.” She looked startled and stared at Ranulf, so near her. “Like you.” Before he could answer, she went on, “Why must he be so big?”
“Strength. A man’s armor gets heavier every year, and he needs a horse that can carry the weight and not tire easily. It is said that someday a knight will have a horse just for carrying him into battle; the horse will be too big to ride at other times.”
Lyonene rubbed the Frisian’s nose. “I do not believe any horse could be larger than Tighe, and certainly not more beautiful.”
From the far end of the stable, they heard two men begin to speak. Lyonene looked up in panic. “It is my father. He will not like my being here without Lucy. I must hide.”
War had taught Ranulf to be resourceful and to think quickly. Now he grabbed a russet cloak from a peg at the back of the stall and threw it across Lyonene’s shoulders, covering her hair with the hood. He moved her so her back was to the door and stood facing her. As she looked up at him with a slight smile and such complete trust, his arms went around her and his lips touched hers, gently at first.