Lyonene’s tears began at Lucy’s words.
“Sleep, child, and the pain will ease.”
Gradually. Lyonene’s sobs ceased and she did sleep, fitfully, feeling worse when she woke to an empty room, an empty bed.
She avoided Amicia for the next few days, taking meals in her own room, keeping from the solar, an exile in her own house.
“She is gone, my lady.” Kate came to Lyonene’s room.
“Gone? Who has gone?”
“The woman, the Frankish woman. A messenger came early this morn with a letter for her and in moments she ordered a horse saddled and she was gone. She took no clothes. Think you she will stay away?”
Lyonene’s heart quickened a bit at the thought of ridding herself of the hateful woman. “I do not know. This messenger, what banner did he carry?”
“Why, that of Malvoisin, the Black Lion.”
She could feel the color draining from her face. “Did you see the letter, Kate?” she whispered.
“Aye, my lady. It lies on her bed now, but I cannot read.”
“Bring it to me.”
With trembling hands, she opened the stiff, heavy paper.
Come to me.
Ranulf
It fell to the floor.
“My lady, my lady!” Kate ran for a mug of wine. “Drink this!”
Lyonene choked down some of the sweet liquid. It was all true! Every word was true! There was no mistaking Ranulf’s bold scrawl or the seal set in the wax. Only he carried the seal of the Earl of Malvoisin, and it never left his person.
Amicia was gone for three days, three days of hell for Lyonene. She was past tears. Kate took care of her, and she was only vaguely aware of people around her. Lucy tried to help by telling her no man was worth so much fuss, that it had been a shock to her when her first husband took another woman but that she had had to go on living.
Another letter arrived from Ranulf, and Lyonene’s answer was curt and brief, giving only an account of life at the castle.
“Why, Lady Lyonene, are you ill? I have never seen you look so tired.” Amicia greeted her in the hall after her return. “I vow there is naught like a stay in the country to refreshen one, although a tent is a little too warm in summer, do you not agree?”
Lyonene swept past her and left the house. The stable boy, no longer afraid since Lyonene had spent time with him and Loriage, saddled Loriage for her and she spurred the horse to run as fast as he was able, glad of the wind and the exercise. She was already there before she realized that she had traveled to the glade, the sweet place where she had told Ranulf of their coming child. She had been happy then, a happiness she knew she’d never know again. She lay on the mossy ground, her face buried in her arms.
“I love you so, Ranulf, why could you not love me in return?” she whispered.
When she returned in the evening, she had made some decisions. Ranulf had chosen her for wife, and even if he did not wish her as lover, she would perform her wifely duties as expected.
“I am pleased you are feeling better and can join me at
table.” Amicia smiled at Lyonene. “It is a shame to be so heavy with child in the summer’s heat. I just hope I do not find myself in the same state.”
Lyonene smoothed her skirts, her stomach hardly extended at all. “Can you talk of naught else but my husband?”
“But I did not mention Lord Ranulf! Since you do seem interested, shall I tell you of the progress of the siege?”
“Nay, I do not wish to hear it.”
“I am sure I understand. We will speak of other things. I say that I grow quite fond of the boy Brent. There are times when he quite reminds me of Ranulf. It is something in the way they walk, I believe. Tell me, how did Ranulf acquire that awful scar that runs from his stomach to his … my pardon, my lady, we were to speak of else.”