The Black Lyon by Jude Deveraux Read Free Book Online

tempting him.
    “What if I put my small heart in your hands, my love?” he whispered. “Will you care for it or shun it?” He played with the hair, rubbing the fine silky stuff between his fingertips. “If you are but kind to me, I will love you more than any woman has ever been loved, but…” His face darkened and had Lyonene awakened, she would have seen the countenance that had earned Ranulf the name Black Lion. “If you play me false, if you but play a game, you will know a hell on earth such as there has never been before.”
    His features relaxed, and gently he touched her fingertips. She sighed in her sleep and her eyelids fluttered. He held his breath that she would waken. She turned over to the other side, exposing one bare shoulder. Ranulf stood and softly kissed the satin skin and pulled the covers closer about her. “Ere long I will warm you and you’ll have no need of cloth covers. Remember, little one, it will be your choice of heaven or hell.”
    He left the room to seek his own chamber.

Chapter Three
    L yonene slept later the next morning since Lucy was not there to call her. The sound of horses, of metal striking metal, woke her. She opened the shutter a bit to see below. Her father had made a list, a long field dug out and filled again with fine, soft sand. Here she now saw the Black Guard in full armor, the iron hauberk and chausses showing black in the early morning sun. Never had she seen her father’s men train so enthusiastically or so hard as Ranulf’s men. Two men wrestled with one another, two slashed at each other with broad swords. Another jumped onto his horse again and again using no hands, bearing the weight of the iron-link armor easily. Her heart pounded as she saw her Lion ride toward a thick post set in the ground and cut it in half with one blow.
    She smiled in satisfaction and closed the shutters. When she was nearly dressed in an ivory wool tunic and a loose scarlet wool surcoat, she heard a trumpet that heralded the arrival of more guests. Her heart fell because she knew more guests would mean more work and less time spent in pleasure.
    She heard the voices as she neared the Great Hall. Her father introduced her to two men, Sir Tompkin and Sir Hugh, one tall, one short, both stocky, square-shaped men. Melite bade Lyonene show Sir Tompkin to a guest chamber.
    All the way up the stairs, the man talked of his daughters—of their beauty, their charm, their marriage prospects. Lyonene hardly listened, so distraught was she from having her day ruined.
    “Warbrooke!” the man snapped. “See that my mail is cleaned, and do not neglect your duties now that that brother of yours is come.”
    Lyonene’s head came up abruptly at the name Warbrooke, her Lion’s name. She guessed the blond boy she saw was brother to Ranulf. As he left the chamber, Lyonene made excuses to follow him.
    “You are brother to the Black Lion?” She caught him in the dark hallway. He was very different from his brother—fair, with laughing blue eyes and a gaze that roamed roguishly over her body.
    “And now what has my brother done to cause interest from so lovely a lady?”
    Lyonene blushed; her feelings were too obvious to everyone.
    Geoffrey smiled at the pink-cheeked girl. Ranulf had done well for himself this time he decided; usually he found his brother’s taste in women appalling. Some of the hags he knew at court! They were enough to turn a man’s stomach. “I take it you are Lady Lyonene? Sir Tompkin has been fuming about you for days. It seems too many would-be suitors to his hideous daughters speak overmuch of your beauty. I can see now their reasons for rapture.”
    Lyonene smiled at him. “You are well taught in the manners of courtly love. And you are not at all like your brother, although your smile is somewhat the same.”
    Geoffrey’s face lost all expression. “Smile? And what know you of my brother’s smile?”
    “Why, that he has a pleasant smile and that his laughter is a