The Black Lyon (Montgomery/Taggert 1)
Lyonene leaned against the wall and sighed. “And now you live in sweet contentment.”
“Hah! There is naught sweet about my Travers. He has a temper as ugly as his face. If you could but see his arm you would see where I slashed him once.”
“I do not understand. If you love him…”
“Real love is not the pretty stuff of the jongleurs. It is a feeling inside that you are one with this man, no matter what he is. Were Travers to sell his soul to the Devil, I would still love him and mayhaps I would bargain for a good price myself.”
Lyonene knew she should have been shocked at this, but instead, she stared at Ranulf and felt again the pain of the Welsh arrow in her shoulder. “I fear I would join my Black Devil also.”
Berengaria smiled. “Come, let us eat and no more talk of devils. I fear the penance now for my sins will be too high.”
They walked together to the tables.
Later, Lyonene and Ranulf were alone in their room, Ranulf soaking in a hot tub.
“I have wanted to ask you something,” Ranulf said.
When he was quiet, she stopped her washing and looked at him. “Could it be so terrible?”
“Some think so. Henry de Lacy has asked me to take his youngest son to page. The boy is only six years and should wait another year before leaving his home…” He paused and when she did not speak, he continued. “It would, of course, be for you to say, for a page is the woman’s responsibility until he is of an age to be a squire.”
“What is this child’s name and why do you seem to think I should object?”
“He is Brent and although young, he…”
“Brent! Is he not the boy who tied old Sir John’s leg to the table at dinner?”
“The same.”
“The boy who loosed the pigeons in the monks’ study? The boy who…”
“He is the one responsible for it all and I can see your answer to my request.”
“So now you have turned sorcerer and know my thoughts! Then you must know I love the boy well already. He has but high spirits and his parents try too hard to still him.”
She began to lather his face as she prepared to shave him, a new task.
“You cannot know what you say, for the boy is a devil. He is the last of that great litter of de Lacy’s, and the parents are tired and need a rest. From what I see, Berengaria was enough to put them in their graves.”
“What has Berengaria to do with my Brent?”
“Your Brent! So now you adopt the boy already. He is your friend’s little brother. Did you know she was an earl’s daughter?”
She scraped a patch of whiskers. “Being only a lowly baron’s daughter, I know little of the hierarchy of court,” she said loftily.
Ranulf understood well her dig at his words. “You know little of raising children and yet you are anxious to take on this one. Could you know that four women have refused him so far? It is said that one of them near fainted at the mention of the little monster.”
She could not shave him as he talked. “First you ask me to take him and now you work at dissuading me, and what is this you say of my lack of knowledge of raising children? I do not see that you have any great experience in this matter, yet you do not shrink from the idea of taking Brent.”
“Aye, but I can always beat him if he misbehaves,” he said smugly. “I doubt if you are even as strong as the boy.”
She gave him a look of disgust. “You talk overmuch of beating, first your weakling wife and now a boy who is not as big as … as your swollen head. Now stop arguing with me so that I may finish shaving you, and concentrate your arrogant thoughts on whether or not my hand slips and cuts your smug words from your throat.”
He took her wrist as she brought the sharpened steel near his cheeks, his eyes showing his pleasure at her. “I begin to pity a poor child who must have a lioness for a mother. He will ever think he has had his own way, but in truth she will always win.”
“There is only one prize I have ever wanted to win and I have done so.” She smiled down at him.
He leaned his head back against the tub. “Finish my shave, wench, and contradict me no more.”