“Or ask Corbet. I am sure he can give me a true opinion of this unknown wife of yours.”
Ranulf frowned into his cup. “Corbet talks overmuch at times.”
“Mmm. Jealousy so soon! She must indeed be beautiful. You must tell me what possessed you to marry her. I had thought Isabel soured you for all time.”
Lyonene listened breathlessly for Ranulf’s answer, the reason he would give for the marriage.
To
o much time elapsed and Lyonene knew Ranulf would give no answer. She returned to the dirty job of removing ashes. At least it was warmer before the fire.
“Remember that red-haired wench in London Town? The one Corbet and Sainneville fought for?”
Ranulf laughed again. “They were well into their cups and…”
“Neither you nor I were too sober. Thank the heavens for Hugo Fitz Waren.”
“Aye, Hugo helped to pull them apart when I could not. I did not care who got the woman.”
“She was a smart one. She knew then who was the earl. I shall never forget your face when she plastered that plump little body to you, sobbing that you’d saved her life that she owed you everything. Such eye-rolling at the mention of ‘everything.’ ”
“Her ‘everything’ was not so bad after all.”
Dacre fair shouted. “And how would you know what she had to offer, for she came to me that night.”
“To you! Why would she want a weakling when she could have a man!”
“A weakling! Why, that little honey-fruit whispered that you frightened her more than the Devil himself.”
“And she said to me she would as soon spend the night with a girl as one of your prettiness.”
“Such prettiness I will show you!”
Lyonene turned to see Dacre leap at Ranulf’s throat, and then the two men fell together to the rushes, massive strength pitted against the other. Lyonene was disgusted. That two grown men should wrestle one another on the floor in such a manner, and worse that it should be over a woman! They rolled to her feet, locked together, and as their faces were only inches apart, she calmly dropped the nearly full basket of ashes from her waist to the rushes, very near their faces. She did not wait to see the damage she had done but sedately walked away from them. She smiled slightly when she heard their struggles cease and their coughs and curses begin.
Maude seemed to appear from nowhere, and she clasped Lyonene’s slight form to her much larger body, forcing her head to her ample shoulder.
“I will kill the wench,” Dacre bellowed, his voice very near where Maude stood holding Lyonene. “Maude, let her go. I have my own manner of punishment for her.”
“You scared the poor girl half to death.” Maude stroked Lyonene’s hair, completely hidden under the woolen veil that flowed down her back. “She is young and not used to the rough play of the king’s earls.” Her voice held such a sarcastic edge that Lyonene began to silently laugh, her shoulders shaking. Maude gave her a reproachful look. “You see, she is trembling with her fright.” This made Lyonene laugh harder and a sound escaped her that was surprisingly like a sob.
“That is the one you teach to dance, Maude?” Ranulf’s voice was gentle.
Maude nodded.
“Then keep her with you in the kitchen and send someone with water that we may remove this dust.”
Maude pushed Lyonene’s head back to her shoulder for the girl much wanted to see the havoc she had caused, feeling they wholly deserved it for their talk of tavern wenches. As Maude led her toward the kitchen, Lyonene heard Ranulf speak.
“Maude is teaching that one to dance. She says she is very good and will be ready to perform by the time we reach Wales.”
“Well, then, let us see her. We can forgive her if she dances well.”
“This one is mine, Dacre. She is young, too young for the rewards you have in mind. In a few years, when her dancing is better, then mayhaps you can ‘forgive’ her, but not yet.”
Maude led Lyonene into the kitchen and gave her a pile of onions to chop—punishment for her behavior. She chopped and slashed with a vengeance as she thought of Ranulf’s words about the London barmaid. She also remembered him saying, “This one is mine.” How many other women had Maude taught to dance for him? She did not know when the onion tears and the real ones began to mingle.
Lyonene felt that Maude made an effort to separate her from Ranulf, for there were always jobs to do that required her presence far from him. She was thoroughly exhausted when she fell onto the mattress before the fire. The straw was uncomfortable and she longed for the comfort of the feather mattresses of Malvoisin.