The Black Lyon Quotes

“You cannot blame all women for the faults of one.”
― Jude Deveraux, The Black Lyon

“You are an impertinent wench! Do you not know the Black Lion eats three girls such as you each day afore dinner?” Oblivious to the staring people around them, she put a finger on his lower lip. “I do not find that a horrible way to die at all,” she said gently.”
― Jude Deveraux, The Black Lyon

“He is a man, no more. We will offer what we have, and he must be content.”
― Jude Deveraux, The Black Lyon

“Real love is not the pretty stuff of the jongleurs. It is a feeling inside that you are one with this man, no matter what he is. Were Travers to sell his soul to the Devil, I would still love him and mayhaps I would bargain for a good price myself.”
― Jude Deveraux, The Black Lyon

“way to the largest bedchamber and began to wash and ready herself for bed. She must trust Ranulf, she must tell him of Giles’s plan. She thought of that long-ago day of happiness she had spent with Ranulf, when she had called him her Lion; that man would understand, would believe her. If only Giles had not been drunk and said those things to Ranulf on her wedding night. No, she did not want a repeat of that rage. As she pulled her green velvet robe from one of the bags that had been hastily thrown into the room, a small pouch fell from the bag. It was Ranulf’s, somehow mixed in with her clothes, and she knew too well what jewels it contained. “No!” she said aloud and pushed it back into the bag. She could not begin her marriage with such lies and deceit. She clutched her hands again and again, their coldness making her skin white, her wedding ring loose. She absently toyed with the gold, felt the two clasped hands worked in the metal. It was late when she heard the noise in the courtyard, the dogs barking, the sounds of water being poured, splashing. She knew they had returned and were washing the black from their bodies at the well. She sat very still, her heart pounding. A torch flickered in the hallway and outlined Ranulf’s dark form in the doorway, his broad shoulders seeming to droop from tiredness He walked to the fire, holding his hands before it, and she could see his hair was damp. He turned to her so quickly that she cried out, a weak little sound as she saw his hand go to his sword.”
― Jude Deveraux, The Black Lyon

“in all of England, perhaps in”
― Jude Deveraux, The Black Lyon