The Black Lyon by Jude Deveraux

laughter contained, and Hugo saw Ranulf's back stiffen. "Sainneville may tend toward a jester," she said with a smile, " but you, sir, are a flatterer of the first water."
    "M adam, you must believe me. Until I saw the sparkle of those emerald eyes, I was as tongue-tied as my horse, no more words Could I speak before a lady. I swear it was the sight of such superior beauty and the sound of your melodious laughter that has freed me from the bondage of my speechlessness." He bowed low. "I am your servant forever."
    Astonished, Lyonene turned to the men behind her. "Is he always so?"
    They smiled as a group. "Always," they chorused.
    "Lord Ranulf," Sainneville called. "You should see to your wife, for it seems Corbet has begun to coat her with his honey and we fear his catching more than flies." There was laughter in his voice.
    The laughter ceased when Ranulf turned a scowling countenance to them. Lyonene was immediately aware of the fear her husband instilled in his men, and she turned back to stare ahead.
    They paused for dinner, and Ranulf helped her from her horse, his hands tight around her waist. "You are not overtired?"
    "Nay." She managed a weak smile. "I am not, but it is good to stop. You also are well? Your eyes..." She looked away, shy and also confused at the memory of the previous night.
    He did not answer her, but led her to a tree and left her there as he gave orders to his men and the serfs who served them. He returned to her side with a napkin of cold meats, bread and cheese. He opened it and offered her first choice. The air between them was heavy with tension.
    "It is far to your island?" she asked at last.
    "Aye, it is five days' ride, but we have the use of lodgings each night." His dark eyes stared at her, hard and unreadable.
    She reached for another piece of cheese, and her hand touched his and she drew in her breath at the touch. Instantly, she found herself crushed against him, his face near hers, his breath soft, warm. He needed no words to say his thoughts, for his eyes told all.
    He wanted to believe her, so desperately wanted to believe in her again. The pain was there, a steel spike behind his eyes, an ancient wound, healed over and concealing the poison beneath. She saw his questioning, the silent pleas he gave her, and she answered him in the only way she knew how —by pulling his lips to hers.
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    The sweet music of the birds joined in the rolling waves of desire that covered her body. The smell of grass mingled with the soft, delicious feel of Ranulf's lips as he moved them against hers, so gently at first, searching, exploring, on a quest for treasure.
    His arms supported her, his strength in strong contrast to her growing weakness.
    She was aware of naught but him, but some instinct made him draw back and look at her as his hand held the back of her head and his thumb caressed her temple. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, rubbing her head against his palm—how small he made her feel!
    "I would like to believe," he whispered, and when she parted her lips to speak, he closed them with one fingertip. "I will know.
    Words are too easy, given too freely. I fear those little hands of yours hold much that is mine."
    She did not know why the simple words caused her to experience such a violent tremor of fear, as if she had been given foreknowledge of some evil to come.

    * * *
They saw the fire even before they saw the towering walls of the donjon of Bedford Castle. Lyonene was startled at the instant reaction of the men, and she spurred her horse hard to keep up with the thundering black horses ahead of her.
    The entire village seemed to be ablaze, and the screams of the serfs and the animals caught in the raging heat tore at her, freezing her momentarily.

    "Get to the donjon," Ranulf bellowed at her, his furious face towering above her.
    "I can help," she screamed as she saw a child tearing across the courtyard. She started to dismount. Ranulf's steel grip on her arm stopped her. The noise