Read The Falcon and the Flower Online
Authors: Virginia Henley
He turned briefly but the darkness blanketed the furtive action behind him, although he could hear the screams of men and horses clearly enough. He did not allow Lightning to lessen his speed until they were in the very heart of the forest and all about them was silence. De Burgh’s knife was already in his hand when Jasmine cried out in alarm as a man stepped forward into the clearing.
“Sheath your weapon. It is I, Robin Hood,” a merry voice rang out.
“Robert!” cried Jasmine, sagging with relief against de Burgh’s chest.
“How did you find me?” asked de Burgh, amazed.
“My men have been tracking you for days, across the breadth of England,” he explained.
“Why didn’t they make themselves known to me?” de Burgh demanded.
“Until now you needed no aid.” Robin shrugged, laughing. “Come, we have your packhorses safe. There’s a cottage through the trees and a warm bed waiting.”
“We should press on,” said de Burgh.
“Rest, if only for a couple of hours. I know how long you’ve gone without sleep.”
De Burgh nodded and Jasmine heaved a great sigh of thanks.
“Mary-Ann!” she cried as the door to the rustic woodcutter’s cottage was thrown open and the light from the welcoming fire spilled across the threshold.
“Are you Lady de Burgh?” Mary-Ann asked anxiously.
Jasmine nodded, but the situation seemed unreal as a dream. She swayed on her feet and de Burgh swept her up in his strong arms.
“We have two beds,” Mary-Ann said happily, “though there’s little privacy, I’m afraid.”
De Burgh grinned at her. “Since we’re all married here, there’s no need for privacy.” He lay Jasmine on the narrow bed. She was trembling uncontrollably from the ordeal of the past hours. He took off her boots and rubbed her small feet vigorously. Mary-Ann brought her some warmed mead and she drank it down gratefully.
Robin and Falcon each shared a horn of ale and de Burgh thanked him gratefully for his help. Robin shook off the thanks and urged him to join Jasmine in the narrow bed. “I’ll wake you long before dawn,” he swore.
Though Jasmine was exhausted, she lay rigid in the bed. The room was bathed in firelight, and she could hear Robin and Mary-Ann murmuring softly in the other bed. Each time Robin and Mary-Ann’s eyes had met, it was like bound lovers claiming each other. Why couldn’t she have found a love like that? Finally it was all too much for her and the tears came unbidden. Falcon gathered her in his safe, protective embrace and allowed her tears to
run their full course until she slept against him in exhaustion.
It seemed to Jasmine that no sooner had she closed her eyes than de Burgh was shaking her rudely awake. The two couples shared ale and oatcakes and the girls made their tearful good-byes to each other.
Jasmine whispered to Mary-Ann, “Have you no regrets?”
The girl shook her head. “I’ve never been happier in my whole life! Falcon will make you happy too, Jasmine, if you will give him the chance.”
De Burgh refused to let her ride her own mount, but ordered her up before him. She raked him from head to foot with a disdainful, black scowl and complained, “Robert always treats Mary-Ann with infinite gentleness!”
De Burgh hid a grin and said, “That’s because he loves her. I hope I’m never fool enough to let love besot me.”
“Oh! You are an uncouth beast!” she cried, and vowed she would not speak to him the rest of the day.
Falcon held to a relentless, slow, steady pace throughout the whole day. He did not rest his mount until early evening. The sky was pewter-colored with heavy gray clouds. The bad weather and cold rains that heralded winter were following them west and would shortly overtake them.
He hated to disturb Jasmine’s slumber, fitful as it had been, but he knew it was necessary. When he eased from the saddle she opened her eyes, startled momentarily at her whereabouts. He held up his arms to lift her down and everything came flooding back to her. She raised her arm and threw aside his hand. Falcon had the ability to infuriate her between one heartbeat and the next. All it took was a word, a gesture, or even a look.
He bit his lip to prevent a fertile oath from slipping out and went to gather wood to build a small fire. Jasmine sat
down upon a fallen log, her teeth almost chattering from the chill evening air. Falcon fed the horses, rearranged the loads on their packhorses, then took his saddle from his tired destrier and put in on the extra horse he had brought along, a chestnut stallion of good height. He returned to the fire to add thicker branches when Jasmine said in a reproachful voice, “I’m hungry, but I suppose a mere woman, must take second place to your horses.”
He kept his face perfectly straight and said, “You are the woman, that’s your job.”
She flared up. “Where in the world am I supposed to find food in the middle of nowhere?”
He threw out a casual hand. “There is game in the woods, fish in the river.”
She looked at him incredulously. Surely he didn’t expect her to help feed them? She opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again.
“There’s food in the saddlebags,” he said casually.
“Oh,” she said, rising uncertainly.
“Don’t bother, Lady de Burgh, I know how useless you are.” Her bottom lip thrust out and he dipped his head to kiss her. Desire raged within him instantly, but he held it in check. There was barely time to eat, no time whatsoever for dalliance. But he remembered every intimate detail of their consummation. What a sensual delight Jasmine had been the night before! Once he had her safe from danger he would indulge to the full the sensuality she aroused in him. He anticipated hours of pleasure when he would teach her all the ways a man and a woman could love each other. He would not be satisfied until he had taught her to have erotic demands of her own, until he lighted a flame within her that burned with the need to love and be loved. He lifted his mouth from hers and nuzzled her ear. “Useless now … but I intend to change all that,” he promised.
When they had finished their meal, she refused to ride
in front of him, and insisted on mounting her own palfrey. They stayed in the saddle until midnight, when Falcon saw her slip to one side in exhaustion. He lifted her down and lay her on the ground. She was fast asleep. Then he covered her with his cloak and sat down wearily to watch over her, his back resting against the bole of an oak tree.
They were no sooner in the saddle the next morning than the heavens opened and the rain poured down. Doggedly they rode on, sloshing their way mile after wet, cold mile. Jasmine was numb with fatigue. She hoped he would take mercy on her and let her rest every few miles, but he seemed never to look back at her, he just kept riding for seven more hours.
Actually, he was sick with dread for her. She was delicate as a flower and had been soaked through to the skin since early morning. What if she took an ague or lung fever from being wet and cold without proper rest or nourishment? Worriedly he glanced back and saw that her palfrey had come to a stop. Falcon spurred his horse back to her and saw that she wept helplessly. His heart ached for her. He had driven her so hard because he knew it was possible that day to reach William Marshal’s resplendent castle of Chepstow, which offered every amenity. He was certain they were within a mile or two; he could not let her stop now.
A leader of men all his life, he knew there were weakening words or there were strengthening words to urge people on to achieve an impossible goal. He reached into the saddlebags and pulled out one of his cloaks that was merely damp and dismounted. He stood beside her stirrup and scrutinized her face closely. He saw the purple smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes, her bloodless lips, the heartrending droop of her shoulders. He forced amusement to his face. “I’ve never seen anyone so forlorn over a little drenching.”
She lifted her whip to him, but he reached up and gently took it from her numbed fingers. He lifted her into his arms and stood cradling her, then he wrapped her in his big cloak and carried her to his horse. Again he took her up before him and pressed his knee to the side of their mount. As it moved forward steadily, he murmured in her ear, “Sweetheart, just a couple of miles farther is Chepstow. You’ll be able to see your father and I think you know Lady Marshal. She is a fountain of kindness and hospitality. You’ll be tucked up in a warm bed before four o’clock this afternoon.”
She looked at him incredulously. “Truly?” she questioned between sobs, not at all convinced such a miracle was possible.
“Close your eyes and when you open them we’ll be there,” he soothed. She rested her head beneath his chin, her cheek against his heart and fell instantly asleep.
In the vast courtyard at Chepstow they had all come outside to receive and welcome the newlyweds. Lady Isabel Marshal and two of her maids were fussing about Jasmine, who looked like a little drowned cat.
Falcon lifted her down to Isabel, a truly wonderful, kind woman. “Can you put her to bed for a couple of hours, my lady? She hasn’t had an easy time of it.”
Isabel was always happy to have company. She was delighted to have the newlyweds for a couple of days. Lady Marshal, in her late thirties, was still beautiful, but she was also very maternal. She was in her element the moment she saw Jasmine needed a little mothering. She took her upstairs to the best guest chamber and ordered a fire be lighted immediately. Jasmine let the maids strip off her soggy garments and wrap her in one of Isabel’s bedrobes, then they turned back the covers on the big bed and helped her into it.
Isabel came to the bed with a goblet of mulled wine.
“When you awaken I’ll have a bath ready before dinner. Then you will be able to have a lovely visit with your father and tell us all about the wedding.”
Jasmine drank down the warm spiced wine. It went to her head immediately. She held up two fingers. “Two weddings, Isabel … two husbands. I was married twice.”
“Whatever do you mean, child?” the woman asked, amazed, but Jasmine was fast in the arms of Morpheus.
A hot bath was prepared for Falcon in the bathhouse, but he quickly dismissed the two maids who came to help him as Salisbury, Hubert, and William Marshal entered the room.
“You don’t mind an audience, do you? We can talk up here,” said William.
Falcon grinned as he picked up the soap. “I’m highly honored to have the marshal of England, the justiciar, and the sovereign’s brother watch me bathe.”
Salisbury slapped him on the back. “I’m proud to have you as son-in-law. Welcome to the family.”
Falcon held up his hand. “Save the welcome until you’ve heard what I’ve done. When I arrived in Gloucester I found her already wed to Chester. I dragged the poor bishop from his bedside to confirm that John had attended the ceremony. I told him the Pope had excommunicated the king and that made the marriage he’d performed in the presence of the king null and void. Then I forced him to wed Jasmine to me. I left Chester trussed like a haunch of venison.”
“By Christ, what takes possession of my brother to do these things?” Salisbury demanded with impotent fury. Then he answered his own question. “The whoreson did it for money, of course. He sold her to the highest bidder. At least Chester did it for lust, but John did it just for the money!”
Falcon cut in. “John lusts for Jasmine as much as Chester. I had to remove her from his grasp.”
William Marshal was disgusted. “We have to put a stop to it. His lust knows no bounds. If he sees any woman he desires he takes her. If she is unwilling he simply has her abducted. Sometimes with fatal results.”
Hubert brought the conversation back to Falcon’s plight. “How did you escape?”
“My men stayed behind so that we could get away safely. My men-at-arms will probably stay in the king’s service, but I know most of my knights will follow me into Wales. They will go straight to Mountain Ash. They’ll make short work of Chester’s men if they are attacked. The king will order my arrest and come after me, but with any luck it will soon snow and the passes into Wales will be effectively blocked for the winter.”
William Marshal poured Falcon a horn of ale. “The king has far too many problems on his plate to worry about you, although he doesn’t have the brains to know it. When we confront him in two or three days’ time it must be forcibly brought home to him that he must settle his differences with Rome. If I have any say in this, I will insist he lead a more circumspect life. It is time he started being faithful to his wife the queen and begetting sons.”
Falcon didn’t want Salisbury to think he had deserted the army. “From Mountain Ash I will patrol the Welsh Marches and keep the peace.”
Salisbury replied, “I think it prudent you are putting a distance between yourself and the king. After the winter has passed and tempers have cooled, will you be willing to fight again in the king’s cause?”
“I will, providing it isn’t a civil war,” Falcon answered bluntly.
“Aye,” replied William Marshal, “that’s what we must avoid at all costs. If John was well beloved by his barons,
he could afford to thumb his nose at the Pope, but with support of neither church nor barons, he cannot rule.”
Salisbury shook his head. “There is an imbalance of mercenaries in my army. I don’t like it.”
Falcon said, “They are great fighting men, but they are in it for gain alone, not for any loyalty to England.”
Hubert spoke up. “Falkes de Bréauté will control the whole of the Midlands when he marries Devon’s widow.”
Falcon stood up in the wooden tub and William Marshal handed him a towel. “That wedding will have already taken place.” He grinned. “I bet John was conspicuous by his absence so there would be no doubt of its legality.”
“God’s bones, I’d like to be a fly on the wall in Gloucester Castle right now. John’s excommunication being shouted from every pulpit, Chester the butt of everyman’s jest. You must have sat the whole place on its arse!” said Salisbury, laughing.
“You must be dead on your feet, man,” said William Marshal. “Hubert has told us how you swam the river.”
Falcon donned dry garments provided from the marshal’s resplendent wardrobe. “Hugh, how did you get here before me?” asked Falcon.