The Black Lyon (Montgomery/Taggert 1)

They rode across the rickety drawbridge and under the old portcullis, each person casting upward glances, fearful of the heavy gate falling on them.

“Morell! You are as handsome as ever.”

Lyonene watched from a bowed head as a tall, slim woman ran to Morell’s outstretched arms. Her hair was completely covered, as was her neck, by the concealing veil and barbette.

“Come inside to the fire, I have much to tell you.” Her words were ordinary enough, but Lyonene looked away as the woman’s hands went inside Sir Morell’s tabard. Lyonene was too aware of memories, of glad greetings, sad partings from her own beloved to even look at these two, so obviously lovers.

The sailor helped her from her horse. She took Amicia’s arm, and they walked toward the crumbling castle. The outer wooden steps leading to the second floor looked hazardous.

“The widow sees to little besides her passion for men. Do not lean on me! I will not bear your weight longer. I am sure you know of the ransom.”

“Aye, I do.” Lyonene’s voice was hard. “Such greed will see you dead.”

Amicia smiled at her in the dim light of the cold hall. “You threaten me now, but I do not think you will easily forget that it was your greed for your child that brought you so quickly to my plan.”

“Nay, it was not. I thought Ranulf loved you.”

Amicia’s strange laugh rasped from her throat. “You are more a fool than I thought. You should have stayed and fought for him, then.”

“But… King Edward…”

“Be still! They will hear you. It is done and you will have long to brood on your foolishness.”

“Aye,” Lyonene whispered. “My foolishness.”

“Amicia,” Sir Morell called. “Bring our guest here to the light.”

When Lyonene stood before the fire, she looked only briefly at the woman before her.

“What ails her? It is not something to be caught? I will bring no such disease to my house.”

“Nay,” Amicia answered. “It is but the sickness of the child. She will be well with rest and food.”

“I hope this is worth my effort, Morell. Put her down somewhere… Amicia, is it? She wearies me just to look on her.” Lyonene sank heavily onto the uncushioned bench, there being only one chair before the fire and that occupied by the widow.

“You are sure this husband of hers will not find her here? I have heard of the man and I do not desire to wage battle against him.”

“Battle!” Morell sneered. “Lady Margaret, you could not win a battle against an unarmed troop of eels, less that of one such as the Earl of Malvoisin.”

“Morell, I know my defenses are not as they were when my dear husband was alive, but they train most vigorously.”

Sir Morell threw back his head and laughed. “Such training as you give your men does not prepare them for battle, but rather drains them of what little strength they have. Now tell me no more of your strengths. The very reason I chose this place was because no one would believe such a wreck of a castle held such a valuable captive as the Countess of Malvoisin.”

Lady Margaret did not seem to be offended by Sir Morell’s words. “You underestimate me, as you always have.” She clapped her hands twice and four men appeared from the corners of the room. They were ugly men, scarred, their noses and cheeks distorted from many blows and wounds. Their hands clutched weapons, ugly weapons—the spiked mace, the chained flail, the sharp, hooked war hammer, the heavy battle ax. From their belts dangled other deadly weapons.

“I am pleased to see you so well protected, Lady Margaret, but do you think a mere four men, even these four men, could hold out against the Black Lion, were he to make an attack? He is followed always by those seven devils of his.” His hands tightened in anger.

“Do not destroy the cup, Morell! I know your campaign to be one of his guard, but he saw you early for what you are. No man wishes to guard his back from his own man. Nay! I would not advise you try to strike me. My own little guard would not take so kindly to your love taps as I have born them in the past. You do not seem to understand my guard. They are not to protect me, but they are for her.”

Lyonene looked up to see the woman pointing at her.

“My men will never leave her. Should one from Malvoisin attempt to take her, the men will kill her before they even look to the attacker.”

Sir Morell grinned. “You are more than I thought. The man will attempt naught when her life is in danger. You could hold her in an open field, in the midst of his own castle, and he would do naught but hand us the ransom, wagonloads of it. Aye, you are clever.”

“I thank you, fair knight.” She rose and slid her arms about Morell’s neck. “Now I will tell you that my men keep her from you also.”

The knight pushed her from him. “Nay, I want the woman and will have her.”