The Falcon and the Flower (52 page)

He groaned and rolled with her until she was beneath him. He straddled her, pinning her to the bed with his thighs, and held her wrists captive over her head. Then he captured her nipple in his mouth and tongued it unmercifully until she writhed beneath him. She could feel the prod of his manhood against her soft thigh. She needed it to fill her, so she arched up, opening her legs wide to speed his entrance. When he thrust himself to the hilt, she locked her legs across his back and closed her sugared walls upon him tightly so that he could not begin moving in and out yet. She knew that would draw his mouth from her nipple to fuse with her mouth.

His tongue began to ravish her slowly and only then did she stop squeezing down on his marble-hard shaft, allowing him to plunge and withdraw in the exact same rhythm he had set with his tongue.

“Faster,” she begged, but he knew that the slow hard strokes would sustain their bliss for a long time, drawing out their passion as it built up and up, ever higher, ever stronger. He knew when their climax came it would be an explosive hard bang, followed by perhaps twenty delicious orgasmic spasms each smaller than the last until they faded away, leaving only the feel of their pulses inside each other. The feeling of total satiety and satisfaction was overwhelming.

When they were building the outbuildings at Portumna inside the castle court or “bawn,” Falcon got a wonderful idea for Bunratty. Inside the bawn here were to be a dairy, granary, larder, stables, byres, and blacksmiths. Bunratty was built on the Shannon estuary. Why not
build a boat dock to allow their ships to sail right inside the bawn? He divided his time between the castles, and Jasmine was content to let him go, thankful he was not going out on raids from which he might return feet first.

Falcon was at Bunratty when the ship William had sent back to Ireland arrived. It was a hot summer day, and he and Gervase had been lifting hefty stones into place along the seawall they had built inside the bawn. They were both grimy, their bared chests sweat-streaked and tanned a dark brown. Now they would have a chance to see if it was practical to dock the great vessel right inside the bawn, close against the castle wall. He knew his men would welcome a break from hauling heavy stones. Even though unloading a ship was no lightweight chore, curiosity to see what goods had been brought and to hear the latest news from England drew the men to the ship like a lodestone.

After much jostling and shouting and free advice offered from every man at Bunratty, the vessel was docked successfully and her sails furled. Falcon grinned as he inspected the varied selection of goods the ship had brought. No doubt Murphy had been responsible for sending new armor, weapons, and saddles for the horses, and Estelle had sent back velvets, furs, and woolens, which were available in England in much greater supply.

The grin was wiped from his face as he saw a small figure standing hesitantly in the stern. Though she held her head proudly, she did not approach him until he beckoned her. Morganna held a girl child to her protectively, knowing the picture of adversity she created. Gervase’s mouth tightened with anger as he strode away to give de Burgh privacy.

“Was it necessary to follow me to Ireland?” Falcon demanded.

“If there had been no need, I would never have swallowed my pride and come begging.”

“I gave you gold,” he reminded her.

She saw clearly that she did not tempt him. She would bide her time. She must gain his permission to stay; that would be sufficient for the present. “My gold was stolen from me,” she lied. She held up her rigid hand and said bitterly, “I cannot defend myself the way I once did.” The babe began to whimper. “I ask only a roof over our heads,” she said proudly.

Finally he nodded his consent. “Cause no trouble,” he warned her flatly as she slipped past him and went into the Castle of Bunratty. He turned to find Gervase at his shoulder.

“The brat could be mine or any other man’s at Mountain Ash,” he told de Burgh, thinking the girl was blackmailing him.

Falcon said, “She had more good sense than to claim the child was mine, Gervase.”

“Then why let her stay?” he asked, thinking of Jasmine who was so very dear to him.

De Burgh shook his head and murmured, “It is hard for a woman with a child and no man. It is of little consequence. We have so much.”

They heard no news of how William de Burgh fared before the commissioners, but rumblings of the king and his English barons were rife. If rumor was to be believed, an army of over two thousand had been assembled at Stamford in Lincolnshire by John’s northern barons and was prepared to move against him in war if he would not meet their demands. Finally in mid-June they trapped
him on an island in the River Thames called Runnymeade and forced him to sign a document they called the Great Charter.

The Archbishop of Canterbury, the barons, and their learned clerics spent twelve days adding on clauses. John signed only because it was expedient to do so. He had no real intention of keeping it, and felt he could easily repudiate it by saying it was signed under compulsion.

King John now saw the need to gather all those who were loyal to him. He needed as many friends and allies as he could muster. He was always sure of Hubert de Burgh, the Earl of Chester, and his brother Salisbury. He now needed William Marshal as he had never needed him before. Thinking to please the king, the commissioners deciding the court case between William Marshal and Meiler fitz Henry decided in Meiler’s favor. John flew into a rage, overturned their decision, and confirmed the marshal’s claims for his hereditary lands in Ireland. He did likewise with William de Burgh, Lord of Connaught, John had the marshal’s younger son Richard as hostage for his good behavior, and of course he asked for William de Burgh’s sons also. It was an old and common custom and William agreed since his sons would be in the charge of their uncle, Hubert de Burgh, England’s justiciar.

William asked for a private audience with John, who granted it on condition he bring Estelle to the castle. Her immediate reaction was to refuse, but after deep meditation she realized that her fate and John’s were linked. Their paths ran together and they were not yet done with each other. It was as inevitable as a Greek tragedy.

As she and William waited for their audience, she observed her companion at close quarters. The dankness of their lodgings in London had done William de Burgh’s health no good at all. He now had a permanent pallor and in spite of her dosing, lung disease was ravaging him.
She saw death in his face. The sea voyage home would likely do him some good, but it would be temporary.

Her thoughts skipped ahead as she tried to guess John’s attitude and his opening gambit. Would he use force or blackmail or persuasion? She was mildly surprised that the king spoke in conciliatory tones.

“Dame Winwood, Estelle, you deserted me in my hour of need. Have you no remorse?” he bantered.

From his life of indulgent hedonism he had become fat, the girth of his belly had expanded alarmingly, and his face was bloated and mottled.

“Allow me to offer congratulations on your son and heir, your majesty,” she said.

He beamed with pride at the small sop she threw his way. He is a slimey bastard, Estelle thought. He can see as plainly as I that William is ill, yet he will not offer him a seat. She looked the king directly in the eye and said, “May we sit down, sire?”

“How remiss of me. By all means be seated. We have much to discuss. It seems I too must offer congratulations. My dearest niece Jasmine has produced two sons to carry on the great bloodline of de Burgh.” He turned to William. “Would you be kind enough to carry a letter for me to the lady?”

“Of course, sire,” William agreed.

John’s shrewd eyes saw that de Burgh was dying. “Your nephew, Falcon de Burgh, is a strong, ambitious leader who generates great loyalty in his soldiers. Are you not afraid to place your sons’ lands and titles in his keeping?” William had already negotiated with John to have Falcon act as regent Lord of Connaught until his sons were of age.

“I have complete faith in Falcon de Burgh’s integrity. He is building his own castle at Portumna, which will go to his sons. We are de Burghs. We do not devour ourselves.”

Estelle winced inwardly. William was implying that the Plantagenets had devoured themselves. John smiled thinly and chose not to take offense, which told Estelle that the king wanted something of them.

“I have found from bitter experience that the best way to curb ambition and stop a man from taking land and titles unto himself is to give him his own to worry about,” the king said.

Estelle knew John would keep her. Now she saw that he also wanted Jasmine and that he would use her children to get her. Conveniently the king had a map and a scroll on his desk. “Let’s see.” He pretended to ponder. “Suppose I give Falcon de Burgh the towns of Meelichard, Kilfeakle as well as Portumna … and, er … the Castle and lands of Askeaton in Limerick near Bunratty, which you told me he had turned into a dock for your ships.”

“I am certain your generosity will overwhelm him, sire,” replied William.

“Deeded to him and his outright, of course,” John said magnanimously. “Same terms as I have with you, William—his sons hostage for proof of loyalty to the crown.”

Estelle knew Jasmine, knew that she would never agree. She thought of poor Mathilda de Braose and shuddered.

John’s eyes sought out Estelle’s. “You are cold, Dame Winwood. How would you like to return to your cozy apartment here at the Palace? It is being held for you exactly as you left it.”

She sat before him with hooded eyes. For all the years her daughter had been dead she had harbored a grudge against Salisbury and all other men. Now she let the hard lump of resentment melt away. All men were not created evil. Salisbury, de Burgh, even Murphy were saints when compared to this man before her.

“Estelle, you force me to beg,” the king continued.

“The private condition for which you treated me so successfully grows ever worse. I am reduced to the ministrations of Orion,” he said as a final inducement. “Will you stay and attend your king?”

She sighed. Whatever happened would be on his head. “So be it,” Estelle decided.

Jasmine knelt before a great trunk filled with the most exquisite material. She had haggled with an O’Malley captain who had sailed into Galway just this morning from Morocco. She picked up a length of black silk so fine it was transparent. Half-consciously she became aware of a shadow, a sudden droop of the spirit. Something must be wrong. She stood up and looked out to sea. The clouds cast long fingers on the water. On impulse she ran up to the nursery to check on the boys and heaved a sigh of relief as she saw Rick deliberately push a bowl from the table. It broke into three pieces of crockery awash in bread and milk. Mick’s hair was daubed with an unidentifiable substance that had been edible at the start of the meal.

Big Meg said, “He does it a-purpose so I’ll bathe him. ’T is unnatural the way the young imp takes to water.”

Jasmine laughed. “I often look between his toes to see if he’s growing webs.”

Big Meg scowled at Rick who had a tentative finger on another bowl. “An’ you, Rickard de Burgh! I’ll give your clod of a head a thump against the stone wall if you break any more pots.”

He pushed the bowl from the table and gave his mother a beatific smile. Her heart started a wild war dance at the child’s resemblance to his father. Falcon was at Portumna trying to get the castle finished. Was this premonition she felt connected with him?

Faintly, from somewhere, something threatened. She was restless as a tigress. She looked down at the black
material she still held in her hands. Was its color significant? She closed her eyes and meditated for a moment. She conjured a picture of Falcon so detailed she saw the blue-black shadow of the beard he always had until he shaved. He was well. The danger was not to him.

It was more a threat to the power she had over him. A slight smile curved her lips. She had powers she had not yet even tried on him. She would go to him. She would test her powers. Tam would argue against the thirty-five-mile ride, which wouldn’t get her to Portumna until dark had fallen, but Tam was like putty in her fingers.

The Castle of Portumna was impressive even in the dark. It had massive walls with fretted battlements and two high towers guarding the gates. In the daylight she would be able to see its delicately carved arches, but now the things that stood out were black window slits and a great pile of stone that would gradually disappear as the castle was completed.

The only reason they were able to enter the castle at all was that the iron portcullis was not yet in place. Knowing she wished to surprise Falcon, Tam took himself and the horses off to the stables so their late arrival wouldn’t rouse the sleeping castle.

Jasmine made her way silently to the battlements. She had brought only one thing with her to Portumna—the length of filmy, black silk that had evoked such disturbing vibrations the moment she touched it. She disrobed quickly and draped the fine-spun silk around her body.

Jasmine looked up to the heavens. The sky was like black velvet strewn with diamonds, and the crescent moon cast a silvery light that bathed everything in mysterious shadows. She raised her arms to the heavens and chanted softly: “Earth and Water, Air and Fire, Wand and Pentacle and Sword. Work ye unto my desire, harken ye unto my word!”

Then Jasmine held out her hands and beckoned.

Falcon came awake with a start. What had disturbed him? He listened but heard nothing, yet he could not roll over and go back to sleep. Something compelled him. The night was still and warm, and its heartstopping beauty beckoned to him. He reached for his chausses and slipped them on, then he stretched his great muscles to rid his body of its lethargy and like a nightstalking beast stole up to the battlements. He blinked, not believing his eyes. Surely that was Jasmine silhouetted against the far battlement? He took long strides toward the vision, sure in the knowledge that no other woman but his had hair the color of moonlight.