She smiled at his closed eyes and finished the shave.
They entered the Great Hall together and smells of food reached them. Ranulf introduced Lyonene to Henry de Lacy, Earl of Lincoln and Salisbury, the father of Berengaria and Brent. When the men began to talk of estate management, she went to sit alone on a bench by the wall. Brent came to his father’s side and the man pointed and sent the young boy to her.
“You are Lady Lyonene?”
“Aye, and you are Master Brent?”
“I am, my lady.”
She patted the seat and he sat near her. He stared at her with wide eyes and then with a curious expression at her hair. One small hand darted out and heartily pulled a lock.
She quickly put a hand to her head against the pain. “What is your reason for that?”
He looked little surprised at himself for his action. “I but wanted to see if it was real. I heard two ladies say it was not and another said you should cover it.”
Lyonene smiled at him. “And what think you?”
He shrugged. “It is no matter to me. I cannot interest myself in women’s hair, for I am going to train to be a knight.” He squared his little shoulders.
“But is it not good for a knight to care for his ladies? Would you not protect me from danger if need be? For you have chosen to train at Malvoisin, and since I live there…”
He relaxed again, pleased that she gave him a reason to be near her, for he liked her.
“You are glad that you go to Malvoisin?”
“Oh, yes,” he answered. “You are a good lady, for you are not old or ugly.”
“I thank you for the compliment,” she smiled. “Now, tell me of these tricks I hear of you. Are they true?”
He shrugged again. “See those girls? I made them cry yester eve.” His voice was proud.
“And whatever did you do to make them cry?”
“I told them a story of a dragon who flies through walls and eats girls, only girls,” he said grinning. “I heard their mother say they did not sleep all the night.” He gave her a sideways glance to see her reaction.
“Silly girls! They should have told you worse stories and then you would not have slept.”
He gave her a look of disdain. “No girl can make worse stories than I.”
She leaned close to him. “I can, and when we are at Malvoisin I shall. I will not only write them but I will put them to music and sing them.” She made the last words seem like a horrible threat.
He looked at her with new respect. “And what if I should put a dead rat under your pillow?”
“I should chop it up and serve it to you for dinner and only tell you after you had eaten it.”
His eyes widened and he made a face as if he imagined the taste of such a meal. He settled back against the wall, satisfied for the moment with her bravery. “My father has told me only that I am to live with you, but I do not know your husband, who is to be my master.”
“See the man talking to your father? The man in black?”
The little boy sat bolt upright, his shock portrayed on his face. “But that is the Black
Lion,” he whispered.
She looked at him in puzzlement. “Do you not wish to be page to Lord Ranulf?”
He gave an involuntary shudder and his voice was strained.
“My cousin told me he chops boys my age apart for practice, to keep his sword edge sharp.”