The Falcon and the Flower Read online

  He chuckled. “Outraged innocence … I must admit you do that very well. Jasmine, you know as well as I that if we don’t show up for dinner they will exchange winks and realize I have taken you up on your invitation to bed you.”

  “My invitation?” Further words failed her.

  He was enjoying her discomfort immensely. He held out an inviting hand. “Why don’t you remove that lovely gown before it gets ruined and join me on the bed, love?”

  Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. “De Burgh, you are more wicked than the Devil. I swear you will plague me to death!”

  He laughed outright. “Jasmine, for God’s sake, unbend a little. Do you begrudge me a little teasing, a little fun?” He sat up and pulled her into his lap. She was furious to be handled so. He kissed the frown between her brows, then he kissed the tip of her nose and said quietly, “If you keep running off someone else will pluck the delicious fruit that is mine. My better judgment tells me to experience the joy of you now. After all, you are mine, we are betrothed, and none will really expect a bridegroom so hot to cool his blood until after the wedding.”

  She paled at his words and pulled herself from his lap on shaky legs. “My lord, I promise to be courteous and civil to you if you will escort me to dinner.” Her lashes brushed her cheeks, hiding her defiance. “I know you are a most valiant knight who does not take his vows lightly. I am defenseless against you and beg you will be honorable toward me and wait for the wedding.” She raised her lashes to peep at him and gauge the effect of her words.

  “You are a little witch”—he smiled ruefully—“who knows how to wrap a man about your fingers!”

  She held out his doublet to him and the corners of her mouth turned up prettily. “Come, you may escort me to dinner, my lord.”

  They dined intimately in a small room that personified Avisa’s cultured taste. The furnishings were elegant rather than massive, the table was decorated with flowers, and they drank from Venetian glass. The quality of the food took precedence over the quantity, and Jasmine realized it was the first time she had ever been exposed to intelligent dinner conversation between men and women.

  Her ignorance of history, politics, and the world at large was abysmal so she only listened and absorbed everything she saw and heard.

  Hubert looked at Avisa and said, “So, there is a definite possibility that you will become the Queen of England.”

  Avisa made a little moue with her lips. “When they married me to John he received all my Gloucester lands, holdings, men, and monies. Combining everything I owned in Wales and England, it made him the richest peer in the realm. I, on the other hand, received nothing; not kindness, not fidelity, not even a child. Perhaps finally I am about to receive my reward.” Avisa glanced at Estelle as if for confirmation.

  After a moment’s concentration Estelle said, “Prince John’s outstanding qualities were vanity, temper, lust, and greed. King John’s outstanding qualities will be vanity, temper, lust, and greed. As before; so again. He will bring you unhappiness and grief.”

  Avisa smiled to lighten the mood. “We were ever a mismatched couple. I don’t believe he ever forgave me for being taller than he.”

  Falcon said, “He was truly the runt of the litter. King Henry’s other sons were as tall and broad as himself, and yet for all his shortcomings, John was always Henry’s favorite.”

  Hubert spoke up. “Henry, now there was a man. He was the best king England will see in a century! After the anarchy and civil war of Stephen’s reign, Henry strived for one law, one government, and national unity for thirty-five years. Do you realize that before Henry if you were charged with a crime you were given a trial of ordeal, or compurgation, or the outcome was decided by wager or battle?”

  “Compurgation?” Avisa asked curiously.

  Falcon supplied, “To purge or purify.”

  Hubert continued. “I know it was before your time, but really it was not so very long ago the law was settled by hocus-pocus.” The three women exchanged amused glances that Hugh had come close to insulting Estelle and Jasmine, but he didn’t notice as he warmed to his subject of the late King Henry. “English law is now based on trial by jury of twelve men of high morals within the community,” Hugh said with satisfaction.

  Jasmine spoke for the first time. “A community would be hard-pressed indeed to find a dozen men with high morals.”

  Avisa’s amused laughter spilled across the table. It was quite infectious, and soon the men joined in the laughter, even though the jest was at male expense.

  Avisa said wistfully, “My father-in-law was a real man. Unfortunately, he bred sons who were like a pack of wolves or a skulk of foxes—save for your dear father, of course,” she said to Jasmine.

  Falcon raised his goblet in a toast to Avisa. “We would all dearly love to see you our queen, but if it comes to pass, England will rue John. History does not travel upward in a straight line; a single act of violence can destroy years of effort; hatred and fear cancel good works; life is absurd.”

  Jasmine saw an opening to shoot a small barbed arrow, “You live by violence and bloodshed!”

  “I’m highly competitive, that’s without question,” he conceded with a dazzling smile, one black eyebrow contorting into a challenging arch. “But I’m perfectly happy to give the victory to anybody who can take it.”

  Avisa thought on first sight that he had enormous impact. He had a presence that was larger than life. She glanced at Jasmine, hearing the challenge the young couple sent each other. “So, you are to marry?”

  Jasmine said, “We are only betrothed.”

  Falcon said emphatically, “Yes, we are to marry.”

  Avisa’s eyes met Estelle’s in mutual understanding. “Women marry men thinking they are going to change them, and they never do.”

  Estelle added, “Men marry women hoping they will never change, but they invariably do.”

  “Oh, how true,” Avisa said, laughing. She arose from the table and her company followed suit. Discreetly the servants began to clear. “Thank you all for your company tonight. It was pleasant to play ‘what if,’ but it is William Marshal, Hubert Walter, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and your father, Jasmine, who will decide on the succession.”

  Chapter 9

  In Normandy, Jasmine’s father was indeed a deciding factor in who should be the next king. Urged on by the Earl of Chester, all the English barons present argued that the English would never accept Arthur as king. He had never set foot on English soil and because of his mother’s influence he was no Anglophone.

  The King of France was poised like a ravenous bird of prey to swallow Normandy, Brittany, and the Angevin possessions. If they crowned Arthur, a thirteen-year-old boy, he would swoop down and attack. Because of this, William Marshal and William of Salisbury favored John as the next king. Without exception, the barons of the continental dominions of Normandy, Anjou, and Poitou declared for Arthur. Hubert Walter, the aging Archbishop of Canterbury, also opted for Arthur because of a personal dislike for John and his abominations. In the end, however, he allowed himself to be swayed. He shook his head and said, “I promise you that nothing you ever did have you so much cause to repent of, as you will have of this.”

  To settle the matter, they issued a proclamation stating that Richard had named his brother John as his successor to the throne. He was to be crowned May 26, 1199, The most important men of the time were gathered for the coronation. The Archbishop of Canterbury, the chief justiciar, the constable, the marshal, the steward, the chamberlain, and the chancellor were the important posts, and the English barons vied with each other for appointments to the unfilled offices.

  King John was surrounded by William de Warenne, William Earl of Devon, Ranulf Earl of Chester, Geoffrey de Mandeville, Robert Fitz-Walter, Saire de Quincy, Robert de Ros, William Mowbray, Meiler Fitz Henry, John de Courcy, and the de Lacy brothers, Walter and Hugh.

  News of King John’s coronation soon reached Cirencester. Falcon de Burgh con
tented himself to leave his bride-to-be with the new Queen of England.

  He opened the door to the adjoining chamber Avisa had wickedly provided for the betrothed and held out his hand. “Here, take it!”

  “What?” Jasmine demanded, angered that once again he had entered without permission.

  “Your wretched hedgehog, Prick,” he said with a grimace.

  “You lout! Will you be told his name is Quill. You say it on purpose to provoke me.”

  He grinned because, of course, it was true. “No sweet words for me before I depart?” he teased. “No ’t hank you, milord Falcon for allowing me to be lady to the queen’?”

  “Allowing?” She almost choked on the word. “I am the granddaughter of a king. That same King Henry you de Burghs are forever extolling. I am a royal princess … I am—”

  “You, my love, are the result of a night of illicit love, a roll in the hay, or fornication under a hedge perhaps.”

  “Oh … you … you … son of a whore,” she blurted.

  “And you, my sweet, are the daughter of a whore,” he said with relish. “Can you be trusted among the young men who will be flocking to Avisa’s court when they hear the news?”

  Her mouth opened to indignantly protest her virtue when she suddenly changed her mind. “No, no, I cannot be trusted. I’ll do my damndest to disgrace you. If you are stupid enough to marry me, milord, I promise all your children will be bastards, just like me.”

  He struck her then. She crumpled onto the bed, then raised tear-filled eyes and swore, “Whoreson coward!”

  He took her by the shoulders and shook her. “I warn you that’s enough. Persist in this and by God you’ll drive me to further violence.”

  Her lips trembled and her eyelashes were spikey with tears, then she felt the rough sweetness of his kisses. He couldn’t help himself. She was so desirable. She was at once earthy and ethereal, a combination guaranteed to drug him and become habit forming. “Jassy … Jassy,” he murmured against her lips. “Let yourself go … let yourself float … sail away with me to another world.” His hands were inside her bodice, cupping her breasts, squeezing them lightly, playfully, rubbing his thumbs gently over her nipples until they stood out like tiny jewels. The velvety caress of his tongue almost made her melt against his powerful chest, but she stiffened as she felt him quicken against the soft curve of her belly.

  “Don’t !” She pulled his hands from her breasts. “You think you can strike me one minute and rape my mouth the next. We are mismatched, unsuited … leave me at once!”

  “Opposites attract!” he insisted. “For a man and a woman to love each other, they don’t have to be cut from the same cloth.”

  “Love?” She laughed derisively. “I’ll never love you!”

  He towered over her, his green eyes blazing with un-quenched passion at the challenge she threw at him. “You shall,” he vowed. “You shall!”

  A shiver ran up her body. Wildly she wondered if it was fear or excitement. Disgust or anticipation? What was it about him that brought out the very worst in her? She had intended to ask him a favor regarding David, now she wondered if she dared. She had had to say a secret good-bye to the squire. When she told him how pleased she was that his wound was healed well enough for him to travel home to Salisbury, he had hinted that upon his return he would be punished by de Burgh for the part he had played in escorting her. “Do you think he will flog you?” she asked incredulously.

  “Without hesitation,” David said, confirming her suspicions of de Burgh’s cruelty. Now she would have to risk a beating to help David. She’d just received proof that if she angered him enough he would strike her.

  “I don’t want David punished for my deeds; he was only obeying my orders. You have a cruel streak, and I fear for him if you intend to take out your anger on him.”

  “You affront me, mistress. I have a reputation for being a disciplinarian, but I also have a reputation of fairness toward men under my command. Why do you champion this David, what is between you two?” he demanded suspiciously. “Is he one of the long string of men with whom you intend to deceive me?” He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. With sure hands he removed her shoes and reached up her skirts to peel the silken stockings from her pretty legs.

  “My God, what are you doing?” she cried, shocked to her very core that he would be bold enough to reach up her skirts to disrobe her.

  His passion was high, fed by his anger. “There is one way to make sure your first child will be mine. I will plant my seed deep within you here and now!” he vowed.

  “I’ll scream the castle down,” she threatened.

  “Little innocent,” he said, caressing her thigh, his fingers seeking higher until they captured the delicious curve of her heart-shaped bottom, “no one would dare disturb us while I was making love to you. They would think you were crying out in passion.”

  Jasmine was by turns icy cold then burning hot. She shuddered as his hands roamed about her private places. Her eyes turned a dark shade of purple and she hissed at him through clenched teeth, “Falcon de Burgh, if you do this thing, I will never, ever forgive you!”

  Falcon longed for her to be generous toward him. He would not see her for a long time, and already his body ached for her at the mere thought of the separation. He hesitated over taking what he desired by force, for he knew deep within his heart that if she did not give it willingly, it would be valueless. Slowly he removed his offending hand from beneath her gown and allowed her to sit up on the bed. He took her face in his hands tenderly and touched his lips to hers, gently, reverently. “Jassy love … give me something, anything to take with me to warm my heart. A kiss … a smile,” he begged persuasively.

  Silently she picked up the-stockings he had removed from her and pressed them into his hand. She had decided it was best to let him go without another word. Distance between them was the safest, for whenever they came together it was like tossing a match into a keg of gunpowder.

  The Earl of Salisbury sailed home the first week of June. He was surprised that Falcon de Burgh had had no trouble with the Salisbury knights, and his opinion of his future son-in-law’s ability to handle men rose another notch. John had appointed his half brother William as head of his armies, no small responsibility with the King of France threatening war and the rebellious unrest always present in Wales and Ireland. To top it all off, King Alexander, the Red Fox of Scotland, was demanding the return of Cumberland and Northumberland as the price for maintaining peace and loyalty to newly crowned King John.

  William regaled de Burgh with a description of the coronation and all who were present. Then he said, “I always knew John was jealous of Richard, but now I realize he must have hated him and coveted everything that was his. He has been waiting and plotting and planning for so long, he didn’t wait to remove his coronation robes before he started issuing orders and bestowing honors upon his sycophants.” William spread his hands. “Well, at least he recognized I’m a soldier and not a courtier. I’m head of the armies and over half of them are mercenaries, so we’ve got our work cut out for us.” He paused. When de Burgh made no protest at the use of the word us, he went on. “I’d like to give you command of five hundred bowmen as well as Salisbury’s knights and men-at-arms.”

  Falcon grinned. “Thank God you recognize that I too am a soldier rather than a courtier.”

  William cast an appreciative look about. The order de Burgh had brought to the well-stocked armory was evident. “Speaking of court, where is that little minx, Jasmine? I have arranged for her to go to court to be lady to John’s new child-bride, Isabella of Angoulême.”

  “New bride?” Falcon asked with disbelief. “He’s married to Avisa.”

  “John has put pressure on the church to grant him a divorce.”

  “He can’t do that to Avisa!” de Burgh exclaimed, shocked.

  “Falcon, he can do anything. He is the king. He intends to rule. He saw Isabella of Angoulême, a radiantly lovely child,
vividly dark … only about fourteen years old. She was promised to Hugh de Lusignan, but John didn’t give a shit about that. He abducted her, then said she agreed to become his new queen.”

  Falcon said, “He has no grounds for divorce.”

  William laughed though there was little mirth in it. “The divorce has been granted. They dragged out consanguinity again. Avisa’s grandfather, Robert of Gloucester, was the illegitimate son of Henry I. Anyway, it’s a done thing. Avisa will be well rid of him. Why so much concern for her?”

  “Jasmine went to be lady to Queen Avisa,” Falcon said lamely.

  “I suppose that Estelle put her up to that?”

  “William, I have discovered that Jasmine needs no one to put her up to things. She is capable of making her own mischief.”

  “What woman isn’t? I’ll send for her,” said William.

  “No, I’d better go and get her. Oh, hell, I might as well tell you the whole tale of her near-abduction before you hear of it elsewhere.” When he had finished William roared with laughter.

  “I fail to see the humor, sir,” Falcon said stiffly.

  William’s eyes twinkled. “You took charge of hundreds of men without a problem, but one little girl leads you on a devil’s dance.”

  Falcon grinned and rubbed the scar on his cheek. By God, wouldn’t the sparks fly when he went to fetch her home. He could hardly wait! Yet he didn’t relish a visit with Avisa. A woman who had just had a throne pulled out from under her would not make the best company.

  Indeed, an air of unseemly haste pervaded the stately manor at Cirencester. All the barons and their wives who had gathered about Queen Avisa were leaving as quickly as they had arrived. The rumors of the divorce had flown as quickly as feathered arrows and the gentry were cutting their losses before matters became any stickier.

  The Earls of Clare, Derby, Leicester, and Warenne and their countesses had departed that morning an hour before Avisa had received official letters and documents bearing the new king’s seals. Only the Countess of Pembroke, the lovely Isabel, wife of the Marshal of England, intended to stay loyally by Avisa’s side. Both Isabel and William Marshal were held in high esteem by their peers because their characters were almost too good to be believed.