The Black Lyon (Montgomery/Taggert 1)

“I do not care if you enter or no. Stay all day with me and we will watch from the stands.”

He grabbed her shoulders and held her away from him, frowning into her eyes. “You would dishonor me. The Black Lion must fight or he will lose the men who follow him.” He dismissed the subject. “I wonder how Dacre fares with that new wife of his.”

“Did you think her pretty?”

“Beautiful.”

“More so than me?”

“By far. You are a slug compared to her.” He only laughed when she struck his chest.

Lyonene woke early the next day, and she slowly turned her head to look at Ranulf as he slept near her. One of his hands was tangled in her hair, another held her firmly by the waist. She smiled as she thought that even in sleep he would not loose her.

“You seem to plan some devilment this morn.”

“Nay, I but look at you.” She moved closer to him, putting her arms around his neck. “We will return home soon?”

“I think you grow as weary of court as I. What say you we leave early on the morrow.

She gave him a quick kiss. “I look forward to the journey.”

He pushed her down on the mattress and rolled on top her. “And what entertainment do you plan on the return? It could not equal the dance.”

She shot him a wicked look with her emerald eyes. Her hands ran down his body until she found what she sought. “Think you not?” she whispered before speech deserted them.

At the lists, Lyonene looked with trepidation at each of Ranulf’s opponents. Ranulf himself was splendidly clad in his silvered mail, with her ribbon, the copy of the lion belt, tied to his helm. Three charges with each man were allowed. The thundering of the horses’ hoofs, the splintering lances, the cheers and jeers of the crowd were overpowering. The man who so confidently sat astride the great black horse was a stranger to her. Gone was the smiling, teasing man she had spent so many hours of pleasure with and in his place was the intense, dark face of the king’s champion—the Black Lion. She did not wonder at the fear he instilled in so many men.

The jousting was not stopped for dinner; instead, servants brought food to the stands, and the spectators ate and drank heartily as they

cheered their favorites. Lyonene could not help her flush of pride that none of the Malvoisin men were bested.

The mercenary knights required large ransoms of the men they felled, and more than one poor knight made no little fortune on this day. Occasionally Lyonene spotted Brent, an exhilarated, tired, dirty boy.

Lady Aleen, Brent’s mother, came to express her appreciation that Lyonene had taken her burdensome son. She laughed as she recounted the boy’s tales of Lord Ranulf and told of his complete adoration of the knight.

It was late when the jousting ended. Lyonene and Berengaria laughed over the sight of several young girls who wore only their tunics, having torn their other apparel and cast it as favors to their favorite knights. Already the tents were being dismantled as the two women made their way back to the castle.

Lyonene heard the sound of water even as she opened the door to their bedchamber. Ranulf sat in a large tub of steaming water.

“Come and wash my back. I am glad I can now turn my mind to other matters.

“Do you not fear to wet your clothes? I did not think only of the sleeves.” He grinned at her.

It was but minutes before Lyonene found herself pressed to Ranulf inside the tub, the water flowing over the sides onto the floor. They laughed as they ran soapy fingers over one another, exploring sensuous places.

There were two very clean people who joined the other guests for the feast at the end of the tourney.

Edward’s chief falconer had brought several hawks into the hall, and after the first two courses the trumpets blared. A dozen enormous pies were brought from the kitchens, each pie taking two boys to carry it. As the pies were cut, live birds flew into the air, the flapping of their wings filling the hall. The clapping and cheers of the people added to the general confusion. As the hawks swooped down on the birds, the guests covered their heads, peeking through their arms at the slashing hawks.

Some time later, the birds were removed, but the excitement remained. Dancing girls were now brought in and the jesting became louder and cruder.

Too much wine made Lyonene’s head spin. She asked for water to dilute the intoxicating beverage.

“Hear, my L… Lord Ranulf, give your wife s … some water.” King Edward’s eyes twinkled as he handed a silver pitcher to his earl.

Ranulf hesitated for a moment, then grinned roguishly at his king. “I see your meaning. Mayhaps a little water will help.”

The watered wine did not seem at all weaker to Lyonene, but the dizziness was not unpleasant. She looked at Ranulf and seemed to forget the presence of other people. A quick movement caught her eye and she saw a knight grab one of the dancing women and tear her tunic away, burying his face in her too full breasts.