Free The Black Lyon by Jude Deveraux

we leave?”
    As he took her slim shoulders in his hands, his eyes met Ranulf’s, teasing his older brother. His lips met Lyonene’s briefly, and they were pleasant and sweet. With a smile, he left her to finish with his horse. Lyonene turned to watch him mount. “Well, my brother,” he said, “why do you tarry? Kiss Lady Lyonene and let us be off.” He motioned his horse out the stable door, leaving Lyonene and Ranulf alone.
    Her heart and breath had changed at the mere thought of kissing her Lion again. She turned to him, her face as serious as his. A big hand buried itself in her hair, and he roughly pulled her to him, his chest steel against her woman’s softness. His lips met hers in an urgency that she eagerly met. Her arms twined themselves about his strong body, pulling him closer to her. She could feel his thighs against her, and she instinctively moved her hips against his.
    He almost threw her from him, and she leaned against the stable wall, her breast heaving, her lips parted and exceedingly soft.
    “You expect too much of me. It is well that I leave.” His voice was harsh and low. “See that your mother keeps you safe.”
    “You will not forget me?”
    “Never, my Lioness. I will think of naught else.”
    “Nor I.” Tears choked her words.
    He kissed away each tear that formed on her lashes and then he was gone. Lyonene did not know how long she stood there, and even though the sun was shining when she entered the stone castle, for her all thought of sun was gone.

Chapter Four
    M elite saw the lost expression on her daughter’s face when Lyonene came into the Great Hall. She knew her son-in-law had gone, and now the long three weeks’ wait stretched before them. Melite sighed. To her daughter it would be an eternity, but to herself there didn’t seem to be enough time for all that had to be done.
    First of all, there were clothes to be made. Although there was not a big enough dowry for Lyonene to make a difference to an earl, Melite planned to dress her daughter as befitted a countess. She set out to look for William, for only he had the key to the storeroom that held most of the portable wealth of Lorancourt.
    William complained somewhat, but he finally agreed with his wife that Lyonene must be clothed properly. Jewels and furs, satins, silks, velvets and fine wools were brought from the dark, cool room. Lyonene gasped at the beauty of the stuffs, afraid to cut them and chance ruining the materials.
    For three weeks, Gressy, Meg, Lucy, Melite and Lyonene sewed. They outlined tiny lions with green silk thread along the border of one tunic, filled the space with lamb’s wool and covered it to make padded animals. Each lion was bordered with tiny seed pearls.
    Her wedding gown was given special attention. It was a tunic of saffron samite silk, very tight, and its sleeves were fastened with a row of tiny buttons from wrist to elbow. The sideless surcoat of tawny velvet was cut away drastically to reveal the generous curves of Lyonene’s breasts and hips. The wedding mantle was of green brocade from Sicily. Palegreen phoenix with tails ready to burst into flame were woven onto a darker green background, and the entire cloak and hood were lined in rabbit fur that had been dyed a third shade of green.
    Lyonene wished fervently that she had gotten her betrothed’s measurements for a tabard to make as a wedding gift, but she finally settled on two gold cups. She did not notice her father’s white face as he arranged for a goldsmith to come to Lorancourt to hammer two of his four precious gold plates into stemmed, jewel-encrusted goblets. To Lyonene, it was reassuring to hear the man and his apprentice hammering for hours each day as they formed the gold sheets around iron balls to make the shape of the cups. She knew that as the cups took shape, the time came closer for her wedding day.
    Each night she fell into bed exhausted, as Melite had planned, but always there was the sweet vision of Ranulf