The Black Lyon (Montgomery/Taggert 1)

She tossed her hair over one shoulder. “And how may that be, my lord?”

He grabbed her arm and with deadly seriousness began to tickle her until she cried. They fell together on the ground, Ranulf ignoring her pleas for mercy. The undertunic, caught beneath his knee, tore away and revealed her breasts. His attentions turned from thoughts of revenge.

Their lovemaking was sweet and gentle, a fitting crown to the news that bound them together, each of them aware of the life they had created in their joy of one another. In a state of sensuous rapture, they fell asleep amidst the moss, the flowers, the trickling water, the lazy drone of insects and the soft warm summer breeze.

Lyonene sat quietly in the solar, a new tabard for Ranulf under her needle. The sounds of the Black Guard from the Great Hall made her smile, for the cheers were loud and growing louder. The comradeship between her husband and his men was a deep friendship, built over years of war, battle, pain and joy, and, she guessed, no small number of kegs of wine.

She was in bed when Ranulf returned, loudly undressed and fell onto the mattress beside her. He roughly pulled her to him as if she were a rag doll and caressed her hardening stomach. He gave a grunt of contentment and fell asleep, his face covered with her hair.

It was two weeks later when the storm began. They woke to a gray sky, lightning flashing in the distance, the air cool and clammy.

Ranulf stood with his men in the courtyard and studied the ugly sky. “I think we should make preparations.” He turned and saw Lyonene’s worried face. “Malvoisin Isle has terrible storms and I think this may be one of the worst. My men and I must prepare the villagers. See you that inside the walls all is secure; I do not wish loose boards flying about the stables or the mews. Assign a boy to each horse to stay the night and calm him. Find William and give him my orders.”

“I am here, Lord Ranulf, and I have begun preparations.” The steward’s voice showed that he needed no one to give him orders. “The shutters are being nailed over the windows.”

Ranulf merely nodded and was gone.

The atmosphere inside the castle changed from its usual noisiness to an eerie quiet. The people seemed to walk on their toes, their voices whispers. The master carpenter and his apprentice carried the tool box about and put extra nails in worn partitions. The horses sensed the coming storm and became nervous and skittish, the boys calming and soothing them.

The garrison knights saw to firewood piles and the storage of food in the stone towers. Leather goods, fabrics, small animals were all taken inside the towers. The courtyards and walkways were thoroughly cleaned to prevent the rain from mixing with the filth, thus turning everything into an open sewer.

The first heavy drops of rain came in the late afternoon.

“Lady Lyonene, you must come. Lord Ranulf said you were not to be outside after the first sign of rain.” Kate, who took her new responsibilities as Lyonene’s maid very seriously, near pulled her mistress to the safety of the stone house.

Inside, it was dark. The windows were all completely shuttered.

“Hodder, please see that a fire is lit in the solar, and fetch towels and robes for Lord Ranulf and Master Brent. They will be wet when they return. And see that Dawkin keeps food and wine hot.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Even as Lyonene mounted the stairs, the storm grew worse. The thunder cracked above their heads, the lightning felt rather than seen. She thought of Ranulf, Brent and the Black Guard outside and she shivered.

The solar was warm and dry, yet each fresh rage of the weather brought a new frown to her face. She could not look out, for the shutters were on the outside, protecting the precious glass windows.

“I cannot work on this!” she said, putting down her sewing. “Why do they not return? Go again and ask Hodder if there is word,” she told Kate.

“My lady, I have but returned. The island is large and they must see to many people. All the watch towers must be lit.”

“What is this? Why must there be a light?”

“To warn any ships of the island. There are many shipwrecks at St. Agnes’ Point.”

“Shipwrecks?” she asked quietly and sat down again.

“Aye. Then the men, Lord Ranulf’s men, must go to the point and look for survivors.”

“Why must he go? Are there not other men?”

“Oh yes, my lady,” Kate answered. “But they are not as honest as Lord Ranulf.” She saw Lyonene did not understand, so she began to explain. “It is the law that whoever finds a ship with no survivors may have the cargo of that ship. If even one person survives, then that person owns the cargo, not the finders.”

“I do not yet see how this affects my husband.”

“Too often the finders will kill the survivors rather than give up their booty. Lord Ranulf goes to see they are not killed.”

“Oh.” She leaned back and digested this information. “But is it not dangerous to go in a storm and search for these neardrowned people?”

“Oh, yes, it is most…” Kate caught her words when she saw the wild look in her mistress’s eye. “Lord Ranulf does but give orders,” she lied. “It is not so dangerous for him. There are others, men who use a boat well who look for people.”