The Falcon and the Flower Read online

  “Father, enough!” cried Isobel, laughing. “I’m sure our guest is not interested in how we check the salt meat for maggots or the flour barrels for weevils or see that the drains are running clear.”

  Falcon de Burgh put up his hand in protest. “Nay, Lady Isobel, I am most fascinated to learn the role a woman plays in running a castle. I had never given it a thought before. Pray continue, I beg of you.”

  Ela looked at him with wide eyes. “We don’t do the work ourselves, milord, but rather must see that it is done and done well. Cloth has to be woven and clothes sewn. Leather has to be cured for shoes and tunics. Then there is the laundry, the candles, the rushes.”

  Isobel picked up where Ela left off. “We look after the sick and the wounded, select the seed and plan the gardens.” The mischievous look came into her eyes again as she added, “And tomorrow I was thinking about hunting down a few wolves because so many of the new lambs have been taken.”

  “Cry foul, Isobel,” her father exclaimed, laughing. “You must leave something for us poor males to take care of.”

  “My men and I would relish a hunt tomorrow, milord, if your time permits such indulgence,” de Burgh offered enthusiastically.

  “I have some fine hawks and falcons I’d like you to try out; to hell with the wolves,” said Salisbury, who was inordinately proud of his mews filled with magnificent birds of prey.

  Isobel refilled the men’s goblets and the ladies left them to their cups. Both girls were bursting to discuss their visitor to find out exactly the other’s inner thoughts and share them.

  Inside her chamber Ela hugged herself then pulled off her wimple to let her chestnut hair come tumbling down. “God’s nightgown, I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven!”

  “Blasphemy, Ela?” Isobel chuckled, flinging herself into the center of her sister’s feather bed. “That tells me exactly how deep your feelings are running at this moment.”

  “My feelings are indeed running,” Ela said breathlessly. “I’m all liver and lights! Did you note the breadth of his shoulders?”

  “I never noticed”—Isobel giggled—“nor did I observe the length of his thighs, the thickness of his wrists, the flatness of his belly, the bulge of his—”

  “Isobel!” Ela cried in mock alarm.

  “I was going to say bulge of his muscles, so that shows just where your thoughts are centered!”

  “Do you know my legs are trembling? Oh, Isobel, I hope he chooses me, but if he chooses you I will try to bear it,” Ela said with her usual generosity.

  “He has no great rank, you know. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer an earl?” asked Isobel, trying to be practical and objective, though failing utterly.

  Ela’s nose wrinkled. “Remember the last earl who visited father? He ate like a rhinoceros with sore gums.”

  “How could I forget? But in all seriousness, Ela, we do have a large field to choose from and most of the eligible men father approves can be led by their pricks. Life would be easier wed to another. This one I think is dangerous and would be master in his own castle. He is not in awe of Father.”

  “I would give my salvation if he were masterful with me!” Ela sighed.

  Isobel sighed also. “He looks fierce even when he smiles. Ela, my love, I give you fair warning—I want him. Lord, I could eat him whole!”

  “I don’t believe we’ll trap him with the artful tricks of our sex, for women must positively hurl themselves at him. My guess is he wouldn’t even consider taking a wife except for practical reasons,” Ela warned.

  Isobel, who considered herself slightly more clever than Ela, was often surprised by her sister’s astuteness. “But we are equally competent as chatelaines, therefore it will be the one he most responds to physically who will win the prize.”

  Falcon and William sat late into the night drinking cup for cup and matching tale for tale. Half drunk, William became sentimental. “You need a wife, my friend, to bear you fine strong sons. ’T is what all men want above all things. However, in my case it is perhaps a blessing in disguise that I never had any; My father Henry bred a pack of wolves who tried to bring him down like a hunted stag. I’m the only sensible one he bred, but perhaps if I’d had sons they would have been consumed by greed and ambition. I blame Eleanor of Aquitaine for urging the sons to destroy the father, but sometimes I wonder if they needed much urging.”

  Falcon steered the conversation away from the crown and back to the subject of wives when suddenly William put the blunt question to him. “Would you have me for father-in-law?”

  Falcon clapped him on the shoulder. Though he had not the slightest notion which daughter he would choose, he was very sure of one thing. “I tell you true, William. I will have none other for father-in-law!”

  When they returned from a successful morning’s hunt, Falcon was relieved to see his squire Gervase had arrived at Salisbury. On a pretext of showing him around the forge and armory, de Burgh questioned him closely about Mountain Ash and was satisfied with Gervase’s detailed report.

  “You surely didn’t expect trouble from the castellan you appointed?” asked Gervase.

  “Not before the head of the last castellan rots and drops from its spike,” de Burgh said with a grimace.

  Gervase cleared his throat in hesitation then said, “Morganna gave me no trouble, milord.”

  “Who?” de Burgh asked blankly.

  “The female hostage you gave into my care,” prompted Gervase.

  “Oh, that one. God’s spine, I don’t know why I put you to all that trouble.”

  Gervase began to laugh.

  “I amuse you?” asked de Burgh.

  “You hardly remember her, yet she has set herself up as your mistress and has the servants running to obey her commands.”

  De Burgh flashed his wolf’s grin. “She’ll be in for a nasty shock if I bring a wife home.”

  “I can tell you have made good use of your time, milord.”

  “Both of William’s daughters could run my three castles with their hands tied behind their backs. They have both been well and rigidly trained. Wait until you see them. I can’t choose; I’ll need your help in that direction.”

  Gervase’s happy grin faded from his face and he hoped fervently that de Burgh was jesting with him, but nevertheless he observed the young women closely every chance he got.

  William’s daughters had trained the servants so well that the household ran smoothly as they went about their appointed tasks unobtrusively. Though Falcon de Burgh sought to find some flaw in either Ela or Isobel, he could not fault them in anything. They were efficient, industrious, courteous, full-figured, and each seemed willing, nay eager, to favor his suit.

  As his squire inspected and cleaned every piece of armor in de Burgh’s war chest, the two of them exchanged their thoughts.

  “Since no news is good news, I suppose we can assume all is well with King Richard,” said Gervase.

  De Burgh frowned. “The uncertainty could spawn anarchy, especially with the northern barons. If England is left long without authority, a wave of lawlessness will sweep the nation.” He flashed his grin. “It is good you are keeping my armor at the ready. I don’t like the men to remain idle, so I’ve told William we’ll hunt down his wolves tomorrow.”

  “They are passing the time wagering which of William’s daughters will become Lady de Burgh,” Gervase said with a familiarity de Burgh allowed no other man.

  Falcon’s eyebrows shot up. “And who’s the odds-on favorite?”

  “I believe the betting runs in Lady Ela’s favor, milord.”

  “They’ve undoubtedly discussed her fine points,” Falcon said vulgarly. Gervase flushed slightly and laughed.

  “I don’t know,” said de Burgh, “there’s a lot to be said for Isobel’s humor.”

  “So you have made your choice?”

  “Not really.” De Burgh shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters which. There is nothing to choose between them,” he said almost indifferently.
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  Gervase cleared his throat as he always did when he was about to make a suggestion to de Burgh. “If it were me, milord, I would find out which lands and castles each lady will inherit and then make my selection.”

  “Splendor of God, and I thought I was a cynical bastard! Perhaps you’ve been my squire too long. I’ve tainted you, Gervase.”

  Chapter 5

  Dame Estelle Winwood decided that she owed it to William Longsword to warn him of coming events. The bad news would travel quickly enough, but if she could prepare him for the shocks that lay ahead she would not only feel a great deal of gratification but would entrench herself as infallible in seeing the future when messages confirming her mystic predictions arrived at Salisbury.

  Estelle and Jasmine set out early on their relatively short journey. The sun shone brilliantly, warming the air delightfully even if a little unseasonably. Jasmine wore her prettiest gown for the visit to her father, a shell-pink velvet with a finely spun head veil fastened with silver hair ornaments. She rode a white palfrey and chose a fanciful, ornamented harness for her. Her grandmother prided herself on Jasmine’s appearance whenever they rode out. She saw to it that the girl looked exactly like a princess from a fairy tale and smiled when mouths literally fell open as the virginal, ethereal vision of loveliness passed by.

  They took no maids or attendants with them as Salisbury Castle overflowed with servants, but they did take two extra packhorses to carry their clothes and a goodly supply of herbs and electuaries Estelle had concocted especially for William’s people.

  After they had passed through Old Sarum, about two miles from the castle, Dame Winwood looked at her grandaughter indulgently and said, “Go ahead, child, I know you are longing for a gallop. If you contain yourself much longer spring fever will steal your senses. Just remember, not a word to your father. I want to find out what he knows before I share my knowledge. Power shared is power halved!”

  Jasmine whispered softly to her palfrey and took a handful of its long white mane to anchor herself for the swift gallop. The wind soon took her filmy veil, and Jasmine tossed back her silvery-gold hair so that the sunshine turned it molten, surrounding her whole being with a nimbus of light.

  Falcon de Burgh and his knights had arisen long before light of day to hunt down the wolf pack. It hadn’t taken Falcon long to detect the distant howling, then he easily pinpointed their location by the clamorous yapping that signaled the wolves had made a kill. The men were too late to save a pair of newborn lambs, but they managed to save the ewe from the jaws of death.

  They were bloodied and de Burgh had a pair of wolf carcasses slung across his saddle as they rode back to the castle brimming with satisfaction that they had helped repay some of Salisbury’s hospitality. They suddenly stopped in their tracks as a vision rode into the sunshine from a small wooded area.

  “’T is a unicorn!” Normand Gervase gasped.

  “No such creature,” asserted Falcon de Burgh, his dark brows drawing together in sudden doubt.

  The girl on the back of the unicorn took instant fright at the party of mailed knights only a hundred yards off. Dismay clouded Jasmine’s delicate brow. She wheeled her white palfrey and took flight back into the trees.

  Falcon de Burgh issued a sharp command to his men. “Stay! This quarry is mine.”

  As the great destrier closed the distance to the stand of trees, Jasmine heard the hooves pounding the ground like thunder. She felt like hunted prey. When she glanced up, recognition hit her like a thunderbolt. It was he—the Devil! He would devour her like a hound of Hell bringing down a white doe.

  Falcon de Burgh grabbed her bridle and looked into her face. Fear clearly sketched its dark presence upon her lovely countenance. He was mesmerized at the sight of her. For one unreal moment he believed this beautiful creature riding the back of a unicorn was of another world. Such an exquisite vision could not be mortal. He was enchanted. The unicorn came to a halt and trembled.

  The girl put up her small hands in supplication and breathed, “Ah … no! Whatever have I done that you must hunt me down and punish me?”

  He was off Lightning in a trice. This close, he could clearly see that the “unicorn” was merely a white palfrey wearing a clever ornamental harness fashioned with a long, spiraled ivory horn. “Demoiselle, have no fear,” he whispered huskily, wondering vaguely why his heart had stopped beating. Could this exquisite fairy princess, sprung from a legend, possibly be the same maiden he had encountered the other night?

  Jasmine’s eyes were wide. “Do not think to lure me with gentle words. I know who you are and I know exactly what you want of me,” she said bravely.

  He smiled at her youth and innocence. “Then yield it up to me without further protest,” he teased. He reached up strong arms and lifted her down to him. She was all silver and pink and utterly delicious, like a bon-bon at a birthday fete.

  His great hands encircled her waist and his thumbs were actually caressing the undersides of her breasts. She could feel him through the delicate material. Her breath caught in her throat. She had escaped him once, how could she do so again? She summoned all her courage and defied him. “I will never yield to you, my lord Satan!”

  He did not know if he was amused or annoyed at her words. “You live in a make-believe world. I am not the Devil; there is no Devil. Who has charge of you, that they have filled your head with fairy tales?” For the first time he saw a spark of anger in her lovely eyes.

  “No one has charge of me. How dare you say my head is filled with fairy tales? Let me go at once or I shall scream!”

  “You obviously live a fantasy that you are a fairy princess riding about the countryside on a unicorn. Are you escaping an ogre or a dragon? Are you fleeing from the wicked queen, your stepmother? How unfortunate for you that upon escaping your castle overgrown with poison vines you should encounter the Devil! Stop playing games. I am no more a devil than you are a princess.”

  She pulled away from him sharply. “You are the one playing cruel games. You know very well who I am. You know I am a real princess and I know you are Satan,” she whispered, looking frantically about for some means of escape.

  “I am a knight,” he said flatly.

  “’T is a guise. A knight in shining armor come to aid a damsel in distress.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched at the absurdity of it all. “Shall I slay the dragon for you and lay my heart at your feet, my princess?”

  Her eyes were filled with dread. “What forfeit will you take to release me? Another kiss?”

  “Since you are a thousand times more beautiful than you were the other night, I claim a thousand kisses.” He pulled her against him, unable to keep his hands from her any longer. His fingers caressed her silvery, silken hair, then his lips covered the soft pink mouth whose taste he craved. With his mouth upon hers, he recalled that he had dreamed of her all night, and hot desire flooded his veins. The tip of his tongue tried to enter her delicious mouth, but she wrenched from him and gasped,

  “You are the Devil!”

  This time he took her mouth ruthlessly, invading the virgin territory. “Yes,” he said in a hard, cruel voice. “I am the Prince of Darkness. I am here to carry you off to my underworld where I will ravish you nightly and keep you captive forevermore.”

  Jasmine gasped, alarmingly short of breath, then she slumped forward into a faint.

  He caught her before she slipped to the ground. His face filled with awe as he drank in the beauty of his delicate burden. Never in his life had he been filled with such an intense need to protect and cherish. She was so small she seemed weightless. Her skin was like porcelain where the golden crescents of her eyelashes rested upon her cheeks. He held his breath in case she disappeared into thin air, then he found his chest so tight he could not take another breath. What the Devil was the matter with him? His head filled with the pretty scent of her until he actually felt dizzy. He stared at her in fascination, noting the delicious pinkness of her mouth, the deli
cate size of her wrists, which made her seem fragile enough to be broken into pieces if he grasped her too hard. Her hair was the color of moonbeams, and he shuddered as the silken mass fell over his hands. Lust hit him like a thunderbolt. A childhood legend fleeted through his head in which the beautiful princess could be awakened by a kiss. He shook his head, fearing he had been spellbound. He came out of his trance and realized that she was not going to revive and that he must get her to the castle.

  He quickly tied the palfrey’s reins to his saddle, ignoring the fact that the wolves’ blood was making the small horse very nervous, then he swept the girl before him on his destrier and cradled her limp form with one strong arm. The great horse’s hooves struck sparks on the cobblestones of the courtyard as he drew rein and swept his limp burden into the great hall.

  Isobel saw him immediately and hurried forward. “Jasmine! Dear God, has there been an accident?”

  “Nay, Lady Isobel, somehow I frightened her so much she has fainted,” he said, trying to squelch his anxiety.

  “Oh, poor little rabbit! I will take her to the women’s quarters. Perhaps it was the heat.” She quickly summoned two servants to carry Jasmine, and the serving women held out their arms expectantly.

  Falcon was loathe to relinquish the delicate beauty, but under the circumstances he had no choice. Isobel followed the women up the staircase and said over her shoulder, “You had best beware Dame Winwood if she knows you have frightened her grandaughter.”

  He stood in the hall feeling almost bereft. Jasmine … her name was Jasmine. After a few minutes Ela came to keep him company and to reassure him that all was well.

  “She will be fine, milord. The dear little lamb was frightened out of her mind.”

  “Who is she?” de Burgh asked eagerly.

  “Well, she is our half sister.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The poor little thing is illegitimate. She’s never been very robust, you understand. The heat made her delirious.”