girl alone. You unhand my girl and leave this room at once! I will have no such play while I am near.”
“Lucy, we are to be married.”
The old woman may have missed one blink, but otherwise gave no other sign that she heard. “Well, until you are married, you are in my keeping. Now you, young man, unhand her ankle and leave this room. You are not allowed alone with my girl until after the wedding.”
Ranulf set Lyonene from his lap and bent to kiss her.
“No more of that! You have a life together. There be no sense in tiring of one another early.”
Obediently, he started to leave.
Lyonene’s laugh stopped him. “What of your threats now, Lion? Will you not carry them out?” She nodded her head to the open window.
Ranulf looked at Lucy, who ran to close the shutters. He grimaced. “I am not so strong as that. Mayhaps I should fetch my Black Guard.” He paused and frowned. “And the Frisian, and…”
Lyonene’s laughter followed him as he closed the door behind him.
“Is he not wonderful, Lucy? Is he not the kindest, gentlest…”
“Yes, yes.” Lucy was impatient and hardly listened to Lyonene’s prattle as she straightened the room.
“And does he not have the most perfect body?”
Lucy dropped the clothing she carried. “Lady Lyonene. You forget yourself! Your lady mother and I have taught you the manners of a lady, not those of … of the joy women.”
Lyonene looked at her in wide-eyed innocence. “Whatever could you mean, Lucy? I did but refer to his knightly form. You could not mean other than that.”
Lucy stared at her young mistress, realizing she had been trapped again. Happily the bell rang to announce dinner, and they went below.
Lyonene wondered how many years it would take before her heart did not jump at the sight of Ranulf. He stood with his back to her, talking to the much shorter Sir Tompkin. He seemed to sense her presence, for he turned and held his hand out to her. He did not release her as Sir Tompkin frowned and went to table.
“I am afraid the man is most angry, for he has tried for years to marry one of his wretched daughters to me.”
They sat together at the high table, the bread trencher shared between them. “Sir William says the betrothal can be signed after dinner. You are sure you wish to spend your life with me? To place your welfare in my hands?”
“I am most sure. It is you who should beware.” She ate a piece of salt-cured ham.
Ranulf frowned. “And what hidden danger awaits me?”
“Why me, of course. You know little of me but that I have straight ankles. You know naught of my character.”
“I am not convinced about the ankles, but tell me your flaws of character.”
“I have a terrible temper, my mother says I am very vain…”
“With good reason.”
“And I am too often not a lady and say what first comes to my head.”
“Those are grievous faults.”
“Do not laugh at me, Ranulf de Warbrooke! I see you also have faults.”
He could not contain the smile that spread over his face. “I am called the Spawn of the Devil and you dare to think I have faults?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “I am sure the name stands you in good stead during war, but what others call you is not your fault.”
“And what do you believe is poor in my character?”
“Excessive pride, truly an arrogance. There are others, but that is the greatest flaw.”
His kissed her cheek hastily and then remembered where he was and straightened. “Pride is the least of my faults.” His face hardened and he became very serious. “You are mine, and I will allow you not so much as to glance at another man. Remember that well.”
She gave him a radiant smile. “That is an easy request, for in all my ten and seven years I have never desired a man for husband until I met you. I do not think I shall see another man I fancy soon.”
“You are but ten and seven years? You are younger than I had thought.”
She laughed aloud. “I make long avowals of my
“Lucy, we are to be married.”
The old woman may have missed one blink, but otherwise gave no other sign that she heard. “Well, until you are married, you are in my keeping. Now you, young man, unhand her ankle and leave this room. You are not allowed alone with my girl until after the wedding.”
Ranulf set Lyonene from his lap and bent to kiss her.
“No more of that! You have a life together. There be no sense in tiring of one another early.”
Obediently, he started to leave.
Lyonene’s laugh stopped him. “What of your threats now, Lion? Will you not carry them out?” She nodded her head to the open window.
Ranulf looked at Lucy, who ran to close the shutters. He grimaced. “I am not so strong as that. Mayhaps I should fetch my Black Guard.” He paused and frowned. “And the Frisian, and…”
Lyonene’s laughter followed him as he closed the door behind him.
“Is he not wonderful, Lucy? Is he not the kindest, gentlest…”
“Yes, yes.” Lucy was impatient and hardly listened to Lyonene’s prattle as she straightened the room.
“And does he not have the most perfect body?”
Lucy dropped the clothing she carried. “Lady Lyonene. You forget yourself! Your lady mother and I have taught you the manners of a lady, not those of … of the joy women.”
Lyonene looked at her in wide-eyed innocence. “Whatever could you mean, Lucy? I did but refer to his knightly form. You could not mean other than that.”
Lucy stared at her young mistress, realizing she had been trapped again. Happily the bell rang to announce dinner, and they went below.
Lyonene wondered how many years it would take before her heart did not jump at the sight of Ranulf. He stood with his back to her, talking to the much shorter Sir Tompkin. He seemed to sense her presence, for he turned and held his hand out to her. He did not release her as Sir Tompkin frowned and went to table.
“I am afraid the man is most angry, for he has tried for years to marry one of his wretched daughters to me.”
They sat together at the high table, the bread trencher shared between them. “Sir William says the betrothal can be signed after dinner. You are sure you wish to spend your life with me? To place your welfare in my hands?”
“I am most sure. It is you who should beware.” She ate a piece of salt-cured ham.
Ranulf frowned. “And what hidden danger awaits me?”
“Why me, of course. You know little of me but that I have straight ankles. You know naught of my character.”
“I am not convinced about the ankles, but tell me your flaws of character.”
“I have a terrible temper, my mother says I am very vain…”
“With good reason.”
“And I am too often not a lady and say what first comes to my head.”
“Those are grievous faults.”
“Do not laugh at me, Ranulf de Warbrooke! I see you also have faults.”
He could not contain the smile that spread over his face. “I am called the Spawn of the Devil and you dare to think I have faults?”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “I am sure the name stands you in good stead during war, but what others call you is not your fault.”
“And what do you believe is poor in my character?”
“Excessive pride, truly an arrogance. There are others, but that is the greatest flaw.”
His kissed her cheek hastily and then remembered where he was and straightened. “Pride is the least of my faults.” His face hardened and he became very serious. “You are mine, and I will allow you not so much as to glance at another man. Remember that well.”
She gave him a radiant smile. “That is an easy request, for in all my ten and seven years I have never desired a man for husband until I met you. I do not think I shall see another man I fancy soon.”
“You are but ten and seven years? You are younger than I had thought.”
She laughed aloud. “I make long avowals of my
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