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hat that lay on a stool.”
    Lyonene was encouraged by Ranulf’s smile, the light in his eyes.
    “What happened then? I hope you ran for your mother.”
    “Nay. I could not, for I fear I began to laugh. The door burst open with my father yelling that I was not to be left alone with any man, but then he stopped, for there was the old knight lying face down in a pool of water, the tiercel flying round and round his head and my puppy perched on his skinny behind, tail wagging and a broken red feather dangling from his mouth.”
    Ranulf began to laugh, an almost forgotten occurrence. “I can just see him!”
    “He kept screaming that he was attacked by demons, hundreds of demons.”
    They both laughed together at the conjured picture. “I am sure your laughter did not help the poor man’s temper. I hope your father made you apologize.”
    “Nay, he did not,” she laughed. “He said naught to me, but carried me to my room.”
    “Carried you!” Ranulf wiped a tear from his eye.
    “Aye,” Lyonene gasped, dissolving again. “I was laughing so hard I fell to the floor; I could not walk.”
    Melite quietly opened the door. She was greeted by a wet Lyonene and a nearly nude Ranulf crying with laughter. Lyonene looked up to see her mother smiling at them. “I was telling the story of the old knight with the great red feather.”
    Melite came closer, laughter twitching the corners of her mouth. “My daughter knows not the whole story. After her father carried her to her room,” she continued, looking in mock reproach at Lyonene, “the old knight refused to stay a moment longer at Lorancourt, so William and I solemnly helped him pack his bags and saddle his horse, but we dared neither look at the other nor mention the happening in this room. Just as the man mounted his horse, the tie to his hose broke and it fell about his ankle. William and I, it is shame to say, fell together in laughter as helpless as Lyonene’s. The man rode off screaming at us that he was going to London to sue us. We never heard from him again.”
    Melite’s added story brought new peals of laughter, and the three of them laughed until their sides ached.
    It was Melite who reminded them that it was time for supper and that their guest needed to dress.
    Clothed again in perfectly tailored hose, a tunic and tabard, Ranulf prepared to leave the room. Melite went ahead of him to find servants, and Ranulf had a few seconds alone with Lyonene. “I have never enjoyed a bath so much as this one. I do not think I have ever laughed so. Thank you.” He looked at her lovely face, eyes bright from laughter, and he imagined her at Malvoisin and liked the idea very much.
    Supper was a light meal, soups and stews, twice baked bread, fruit preserved in honey and spices and cheeses. The jongleur that William had hired finally arrived and the meal was quiet as they listened to the man’s long tales of ancient knights, Robin Hood and King Arthur’s court. Impromptu, he composed a song about Lyonene’s beauty. He sang it with gusto, for usually barons’ daughters were not so pretty, yet custom demanded a song of praise of the marriageable young women.
    Ranulf remembered the jongleur’s songs about Isabel, the songs that had great influence on a boy of only ten and six years. He looked at Lyonene as she smiled at the jongleur. In a pique of jealousy, he thought of taking the lute from the singer and singing to Lyonene himself, but he knew there would be time for such things. Yes, he was beginning to feel there would be time for such things. The smile that she flashed up at him warmed him and he returned it.
    The meal was ended and the tables stacked against the wall. It was dark outside, and the castle grew colder. Ranulf was reluctant for the day to end for he feared to wake and find it had been only a dream.
    Lyonene had no such fears, for she looked forward to the morrow as another day such as this. She bade her parents and her guests a good sleep and went up