The Falcon and the Flower (15 page)

He had been watching the glow from the candles making light and shadow in her silvery curls and his fingers tingled to play with her hair. He never dreamed her eyes had been watching him harden, and to preserve her modesty he did not want to rise in front of her. “Would you pour me more wine, Jasmine?”

He could see rebellion clearly writ on her face, then very reluctantly she rose and took their goblets to the side table. He warned, “I chose the sweet bottle for you, the other is more potent.”

Deliberately she splashed the dry wine into her own chalice and drained it then refilled it from the bottle he had first suggested. She took him his cup with an air of triumph.

He knew she hadn’t wanted to serve him. “Thank you, Jasmine, I like a lady with fine manners.”

“Fine manors, more likely!” she said tartly.

“Mistress, that is unfair. The Countess of Warwick has broad lands and fine manors and would favor my suit in an instant.”

She caught her breath. What lies he told to suit his purpose, and yet … and yet … she had seen the way Bess Warwick had smiled up at him with open invitation in her face.

“All men are greedy. King John is to keep well over half of Avisa’s Gloucester lands. You don’t really expect me to believe you’d rather fight for your castles than have them given to you?”

“I am my own man, at my own cost,” he said softly. His eyes devoured her, and she was left in no doubt whatsoever what it was he wanted. She again drank off her wine in a reckless attempt to become tipsy. If she became
drunk, perhaps she would have the courage to strike a bargain with him. She stood up and walked about his chamber, coming to a stop in front of him, within easy reach if he stretched out a hand. She lifted her hair in a deliciously feminine gesture and let it fall about her shoulders. She ran a provocative tongue about her lips and swayed toward him temptingly. “Milord Falcon, if you will cancel our contract, I will give you anything you want.”

He appraised her through narrowed eyes. “If you are offering yourself in return for releasing you from marriage, I do not bribe so easily. You look like a drunken lady of pleasure that I wouldn’t bother to lay.” His dark eyebrows drew together. “You are flown with wine, get to bed.”

Her face flamed with humiliation, but with the pride of a lionness she walked toward the adjoining door. “Go to Hell, de Burgh, or better yet, go to Warwick!”

He bowed and drawled, “Your psychic power grows stronger … that is exactly where I am going.”

She slammed the door and leaned back against it, panting. “He sent me to bed! Just like a child!”

Estelle sighed. Though Jasmine had no idea, her voice was tinged with regret.

Though de Burgh knocked softly on the chamber door only once, it was opened immediately as if he were expected. Although she wore her bedgown, the Countess of Warwick had not yet retired. She had dismissed her woman early in anticipation of his visit and ordered a large cask of wine. “Thank you, milord,” she breathed, and taking his hands she drew him inside and closed the door.

She saw him comfortably seated with a large goblet of wine before she broached her subject. “Falcon, I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking while I’ve been at Cirencester
this fortnight, and the conclusions I’ve reached frighten me to death,” she said.

“What troubles you, my lady?” he inquired.

“Well, you know I’m a widow, and I make no bones about the fact I’d like to wed again, but I’ve been in no hurry. I’ve been taking my own sweet time because the second time a woman marries she should be free to choose so that she will receive some joy from the union.”

Falcon kept a wise silence.

“While King Richard reigned he never exercised his royal prerogative over marriage. His permission was totally taken for granted, but now that John reigns, I believe all that will cease. He intends to live in England, and we all know how avaricious
Prince
John was to fill his coffers.
King
John will be twice as bad.”

Falcon was wondering if she had heard about de Mandeville when she refilled his glass and confirmed his thoughts.

“I heard today that John has sold Avisa for twenty thousand marks. My God, if he will sell his own wife, it will be a nightmare in this country for an heiress. Women with any land, titles, or estates will be literally put on the auction block and sold and the money go straight into the king’s coffers. He will sweep all legalities aside, as he must have done to obtain this divorce so quickly.”

“I’m afraid you are right, Bess. Women will go to the highest bidders. You must choose yourself a husband quickly before John comes across the channel.”

She sat down opposite him on the bed and as she crossed her long legs, her bedgown fell away to reveal her limbs. “Falcon, if the family of de Burgh united with Warwick, both would have twice its present holdings, twice the wealth, twice the power.”

He moved over to the bed and put his arm about her. “Bess, your offer is most generous, but surely you have heard that I am pledged?”

“I’ve heard different rumors, Falcon. Nothing definite,” she said, her mouth only inches below his.

“Then hear it from my own lips. I am going to wed Salisbury’s daughter Jasmine.”

“Ahhh,” she said on a sigh tinged with deep regret for what might have been. “I do understand, Falcon, truly I do.” She said it sincerely for she really did understand. Not only was it an exalted connection to link him to the royal family, she could see the irresistible attraction of the exquisite Jasmine for a man as virile as Falcon de Burgh. So fragile, small, and perfect. So innocent, pure, and virginal. Jasmine was indeed a delicate flower no male could resist.

Bess touched his mouth with a provocative finger to trace its outline. “Well,” she said huskily, “we aren’t going to let whomever we are to marry spoil what could be a very passionate night, are we?”

He flashed her a wicked grin. “Madame, we are not,” he said, pressing her back on the bed.

The next day Jasmine made a tearful farewell to Avisa. Gossip spread like wildfire at Cirencester, and a spiteful maid had made sure Jasmine knew where her betrothed had spent the night.

Hubert and his knights were departing for the Cinque Ports immediately so he could greet King John and his bride when they arrived at Dover. Falcon bade his uncle good-bye and led Jasmine, Estelle, and their packhorses south in the direction of Salisbury.

He was so used to riding at breakneck speed that he
could not adjust to the snail’s pace set by Dame Estelle. Alone, he would have swallowed the forty miles to Salisbury without even reining in to give his horse a breather, but he could plainly see that even twenty miles before dark would be an accomplishment. This did nothing for his temper, and coupled with Jasmine’s icy demeanor, his patience almost snapped.

The ladies were hungry, thirsty, and tired, but de Burgh’s body was not weary, only his mind. He felt no desire for food, wine, or sleep. He craved action. The need for action pressed him on all sides.

Jasmine was determined not to appeal to him to stop. She’d be damned first. Dame Estelle was just about to suggest they find an inn or camp where they were, when de Burgh said, “We’ll go to our castle of Hagthorn.”

Jasmine and Estelle exchanged amazed glances. They knew they were close to the place they had been set upon and were wildly curious that de Burgh had a castle in the vicinity. Jasmine, however, would not give him the satisfaction of showing him her curiosity, while Estelle rode in silence shrewdly putting two and two together.

Hagthorn was a small castle yet it had rich herds of beef cattle and sheep grazing in the fields about the castle walls. At their approach the evening watch ordered the drawbridge lowered immediately, and the small party rode across the moat into the small bailey. Eager boys ran from the stables to greet the new lord, prompted by de Burgh’s knights who were quartered at Hagthorn.

Jasmine was assisted from the saddle with much bowing and scraping. An amused de Burgh took in the attitude of deference. His men had wrought a great change in the place, and he soon realized this had been easy to accomplish because the people of Hagthorn had been cruelly oppressed and were hoping for better treatment from their new master.

The cooks began to rush about preparing a worthy
meal and the servants all flocked to the entrance hall to greet their lord and lady, hoping to get a good look at them and judge for themselves whether their lives would be markedly improved.

Jasmine was pleased to receive such attentions, for at Salisbury she was usually ignored. Three female servants took her luggage and ushered her upstairs, exclaiming over her pretty clothes and exquisite hair. They fussed over whether the master bedchamber was suitable for a lady, to which she quickly pointed out that she was not Lady de Burgh and would require a separate chamber. The women were so visibly disappointed at this disclosure that inexplicably she found herself saying “I will be Lady de Burgh, we are just not married yet.” Their smiles returned and she was struck with a disturbing thought. How many female servants were twittering over de Burgh at this moment as they ushered him to his bedchamber? Women, it seemed, were attracted to him as if he had a damned magnet in his chest, she thought with disdain.

Estelle also was receiving her share of attention. Men were coming with hot water to cleanse the dusty travelers and other servants brought clean linen and wood.

One of the women asked shyly, “May we know your name, my lady? We know the new lord is called de Burgh, but we do not know your name.”

“My name is Jasmine of Salisbury and this is my grandmother, Dame Estelle Winwood. You say he is the
new
lord? How long has Hagthorn belonged to him?”

“Since the day he stormed the castle an’ hanged that wicked Baron Belamé on a beam over where he sat at table. Between one mouthful an’ the next! Heavensent he was, like an instrument of God.”

A shy young woman carrying wine knocked on the door politely then entered and said hesitantly. “Welcome, my lady. I am Joan. I was married to one of de Belamé’s
knights until the early spring, but he was killed in a raid.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Jasmine, noticing that the woman’s clothes were shabby. Indeed all the people at Hagthorn were poorly clothed, the servants clad in no better than rags, in spite of the fact that the castle was well appointed.

“Oh no, my lady, I am happy to be widowed by such a man. I was terrified that I might be taken by de Belamé or another of his knights, but since your great lord’s knights have been in charge here, our lives are improved in every way. Milord de Burgh’s knights are truly chivalrous. They live by the vows they took.”

When Joan and the servants finally withdrew, Jasmine said to Estelle, “Can you believe it? He took possession of this place that day we were set upon. He told me there was a plot to abduct me and force me to wed for my father’s money.”

Estelle said, “He took a swift revenge. Never underestimate him, Jasmine; he is tough, damned tough.”

Jasmine said in awe, “But he stormed a castle and hanged its owner and returned to us in little over an hour. I wonder if he is a warlock?”

“He never misses a chance to scoff at witchcraft, and yet … he may have the power and be unaware,” Estelle mused.

Jasmine stared at Estelle wide-eyed and whispered, “He has always reminded me of the Devil. You don’t suppose he is in league with Satan? He seems to have a power over women.”

Estelle said dryly, “Except the one he desires over all others.”

“Perhaps that explains why he wants me so much. I’m a witch and a virgin. If he gets power over me, his strength and powers might increase tenfold.”

Estelle looked at her for long moments and said cryptically,
“Ah, child, if you got him in your power you might control the world, as we know it.”

Two hours after their arrival a feast was served them in the dining hall. Falcon and Jasmine sat on a high dais. Directly in front of them at the head table sat Estelle and Falcon’s knights. A young man with a harp asked permission to sing a ballad he had composed, and Jasmine was delighted that they were to be entertained. The Countess of Gloucester always had troubadors, jugglers, or dancers in the hall, and Jasmine decided she would have the same when she became chatelaine. The young minstrel sang a praise to de Burgh of his gallant feats, likening him to a falcon who had swept down from the skies upon wings of vengeance and in a single swoop vanquished the evil that had threatened their lives for so long. Then he sang a romantic ballad about Jasmine’s ethereal beauty, and though she realized it was a song from his repertoire that could be adjusted to praise any lady present, she clapped with pleasure when he had finished.

Falcon whispered to her, “You look so happy tonight. I hope you won’t be disappointed to learn that we will have to stay an extra day. There are so many things that need my attention.”

She was surprised at his thoughtfulness. Usually he simply issued her orders or didn’t consult her at all. She thought she could afford to be gracious for once. “I don’t mind at all. What things are so pressing?” she asked politely.

“There are so many disputes, I’ll have to hold a court of law tomorrow. The shepherds and the cowherders are disputing territory. There are prisoners in the cells below whose fates need deciding upon, even servants inside the castle are vying for positions they held before de Belamé replaced them with his own slime.”

“I see,” she replied.

“Would you like to make some of the decisions, Jasmine?” he asked generously. “This is our castle, not just mine. You sit in judgment on the problems of the castle servants and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, surprised that he was giving her the responsibility. “I will do it!”

“I also must decide which one of my knights to make castellan here,” he said as if voicing his thoughts aloud.

Her eyes went to the head table and for the third time during the meal she watched as glances of admiration were exchanged, showing a strong attraction developing between Joan, the young widow she had met, and one of de Burgh’s knights. She leaned toward de Burgh and murmured, “Are you considering the tall, fair-haired knight with the mustaches?”