The Falcon and the Flower Page 7

  Chapter 6

  Because of William’s imminent departure, he immediately drew up a betrothal contract under the close scrutiny of Dame Estelle and de Burgh in his small study off the solar. When the three interested parties were satisfied, Jasmine was sent for, almost as an afterthought.

  When the servant summoned her to her father, Jasmine thought it was to bid him good-bye. She knew his ship was being readied to take him to France where great history-making events were taking place that would alter all their lives in one way or another. She hurried after the servant, but her step faltered as she entered the study and found de Burgh and her grandmother also there.

  De Burgh was the first one in the room to become aware of her. As she hesitated upon the threshold, he feasted on her breathtaking beauty. His eyes drank in every detail of the exquisite picture she made framed in the doorway. She wore an underdress of the palest blue with silvery ribbons, her tunic embroidered with silver thread. She was as pretty as a confectionary atop a cake he had seen once at a wedding feast. He admitted frankly to himself that she had enchanted him. He sighed with a mixture of relief and satisfaction that the prize was his.

  William cleared his throat, held out his hand for her to come forward, and began, “I … that is, we”—he glanced at Dame Estelle to give him courage—“have decided to betroth you to Falcon de Burgh.”

  Jasmine laughed. Falcon likened the sound to silver bells. Her grandmother gave her a small warning signal with her hand and said, “Your father is serious, Jasmine. The contract is drawn up.”

  Jasmine’s mind was like quicksilver. She instantly assumed her half sisters had rejected his suit, and, clinging to any straw that would unite the ambitious de Burgh to the royal family, she was a poor third choice. Her eyes opened wide in mock surprise. “I had no idea Messieur de Burgh was an earl.”

  De Burgh stiffened. “I am not,” he stated flatly.

  “A baron, a lord?” she inquired prettily.

  He almost flushed. “I am a knight, mademoiselle.”

  “A knight?” she repeated derisively. “A knight who fancies himself a bishop or a rook more like,” she said, referring to the maneuvers of the chess game he thought to play. “You, sir, have mistaken me for a pawn, but let me disabuse you immediately.” She drew herself up regally. “I am descended from kings. I am beyond your wildest dreams, sir. I have decided against marriage in general and against you in particular,” she said. Calmly she took the marriage contract from the table and tore it cleanly in half, leaving the three occupants of the room stunned.

  Her father was aghast. He’d had no notion the child could display such haughty willfullness. “Estelle, whatever has gotten into her?” he asked in bewildered amazement. It was as if the fairies had stolen away his sweet Jasmine and left a changling in her stead.

  Estelle, barely able to conceal her admiration for her protegée, searched her mind for an explanation and was herself left speechless as Jasmine said coolly, “The reason I have such an independent streak is that I was tempered and sharpened in day-to-day struggles for my own identity with my strong-willed grandmother.”

  Falcon de Burgh stared at the vision of loveliness through new eyes. What he had conceived to be a deliciously fragile and pretty toy had the spirit of ten headstrong men! It served only to whet his appetite. She was not yet a woman, but much more than a girl. Her exquisite skin was like ivory velvet, her gilt hair a cascading glory. Fair, innocent, pure, virginal. She was finer than other females—silkier, paler, slimmer. Her body was like a flower, her eyes clear and cool, her lips most inviting, her face delicate, her breasts luscious. Her qualities had allowed him to imagine himself domineering her. He would be dominant and protective at the same time. Now something irresistible had been added. Now between them was an unbearable sexual tension. The very look of her was an aphrodisiac.

  “Hold!” he commanded her in a voice that brooked no nonsense. She turned and gave him a condescending glance. She saw that his hands resting easily on his belt were scarred and powerful. His voice was like the crack of a whip. “You may be insolent to me, demoiselle, without fear of penalty, but I cannot permit you to be insolent to your father. Beg his forgiveness!”

  They stared at each other, their eyes flashing their challenge. She became an ice queen, her look freezing him with a coldness that penetrated his skull. He stared her down and at last in a quiet voice she said, “I beg your pardon, Father.”

  Then before she took another step toward the door, de Burgh said to Estelle, “Take her aside and explain matters to her. Explain that she’s decided things long enough. From now on, I do it.”

  Estelle pushed Jasmine from the men’s presence before she disgraced them all. Jasmine opened her mouth to demand an explanation but the words died upon her lips as she saw the fatality written plain on her grandmother’s face. Suddenly, surely, she knew that the whole fabric of her life was going to be changed. The decision was going to be taken from her hands though she was unwilling to relinquish it.

  Estelle said carefully, “A betrothal is not a wedding. Circumstances change, as they have today. The only constant thing in life is change. Life itself is not a straight line but a circle, or wheel. The wheel turns constantly from elation to despair to elation. Everything passes. The wheel turns. Life goes on.”

  Though Jasmine absorbed the wisdom of the words, she protested. “But I wished with all my heart to go to court!”

  Dame Winwood’s eyes hooded to hide her cunning. “Then bargain for it. If he wants you badly enough he will agree to anything you desire. A new contract must be drawn up anyway since you destroyed the first.”

  William, temporarily alone with de Burgh, explained, “She has been much petted and indulged. I fear she is poor wife material.”

  Falcon smiled at William. “She holds a special place in your heart. Never fear, I too am capable of indulgence, milord, though my fierce looks belie it.”

  William let out a sigh of relief and poured them both a horn of ale against the time the women would keep them waiting. “The barons to the north will have received the news of King Richard’s wounding by now and some may come riding hotfoot to Salisbury. Tell them I could not wait, but extend them my hospitality.”

  “I shall, William, and rest assured if more than one shows up I shall keep the peace between antagonists.”

  “Aye, well, that’s easier said than done, so don’t hesitate to use the full weight of my authority.”

  The door opened and the women swept in. Jasmine did not come meekly in submission, but rather she came as a general to parley. She looked at each in turn and said with quiet determination, “You thought you had a conspiracy of three, but I will be an equal partner in this or I will not play your game.” She let the words sink in, then she picked on the easiest member of the trio. “Father, I am landless. I want an estate of my own that my husband, should it come to that, cannot touch.”

  William, guilty at never having deeded any property to his love child, immediately made amends. “You shall have Marlborough and Foxfield, the properties run together; each has a manor house and a village.”

  Her eyes widened in appreciation and spurred her on to face Estelle. “Grandmother, I ask that you impart to me all your secret rituals from which I have been excluded. I need your power.”

  The old dame closed her eyes in acquiescence. She had intended to impart the knowledge to Jasmine before she departed this earth, so no real harm could be done. Jasmine coolly appraised Falcon de Burgh, Everyone had agreed to her demands so readily that if he balked, he would appear surly and ungenerous. She smiled secretly, inwardly, for she knew she was winning this battle. “I agree to a betrothal if it be a lengthy one, and if you will allow me to take my proper place at court.” She held her chin high and dared him to be ungracious.

  He spread his scarred and powerful hands in a magnanimous and generous gesture. “I allow you to choose, my lady—a lengthy betrothal or court.”

  She fumed because he had ef
fectively turned the tables on her. She would seem peevish if she insisted upon both. “Court,” she said decisively, and watched as his bold mouth curved in satisfaction.

  There was no betrothal ring, no kiss, but the documents were signed and sealed with his signet, which bore a great falcon. As she left the room she vowed, “You’ll rue me, de Burgh.” His eyes smoldered as he silently picked up the challenge she threw down.

  Falcon de Burgh felt slightly uncomfortable the next day when he felt two pairs of reproachful eyes upon him. Ela pouted and kept stealing glances at him, while Isobel gave him a long look then averted her glance permanently. Thankfully, he escaped to the heavy burden of duties that demanded his attention in other parts of the vast Salisbury demesne.

  Not a few of William’s men had served de Burgh in Wales, yet he would not be satisfied until he had a workable acquaintance with all. Salisbury’s fighting men had good captains for the most part so he made sure not to interfere or criticize when it was not called for. To keep idle men busy, de Burgh had set the knights to inspecting all weapons and mail in the armory. Almost every item housed there needed repairing, oiling, or the rust removed and then polishing. The blacksmith’s forge was kept aglow night and day so that every war-horse could be reshod.

  De Burgh worked alongside the men, knowing if he gave full measure of his strength, they could do no less. He was stripped to his leather breeks because of the blazing heat from the forge and well begrimed with sweat when he became aware of a commotion down by the bailey. Two men, obviously peasants, appeared to be angry and had come to the castle to seek justice from the Earl of Salisbury himself. They were directed to de Burgh, but he could not understand their shouts or wild gesticulations. “Calmly now,” he admonished, “one at a time.” He pointed to the first man to speak.

  “Men-at-arms … a hundred … trampling the new crops … taking our fodder. Not Salisbury men. Be they yours, milord?”

  Red-faced, the other peasant shouted, “To hell with the crops! They raped my daughter—”

  De Burgh listened to no more. He was astride the destrier he had been holding and spurred it in the direction the peasants had pointed. Falcon thundered through the village toward the fields where the new crops of wheat, barley, and turnips were thriving in the April sunshine. He dragged on the horse’s mane and slid to the ground when he saw tents being set up among the crops. He heard a woman scream and saw with his own eyes a knight take the female down by her hair and mount her savagely to ease his lust. Though he was weaponless, anything could serve as a weapon to de Burgh when he was this angry. He grabbed a spade from a gaping peasant and strode mercilessly toward the ravisher. He hit him such a sharp blow beneath the chin that it decapitated the man, covering the white-lipped girl with a gush of hot blood. As he turned, two knights rushed forward with drawn swords to cut down the half-naked savage who had just killed one of their own. De Burgh was vaguely aware that their accents were broadly northern as he rammed his elbow into the first man’s throat and at the same moment wrenched his longsword from him. He cut a brutal swatch before him in the direction of the Other knight and ordered, “Lay down your arms, whoreson. I command all Salisbury.”

  As the knight thought better of continuing the attack against the begrimed colossus, de Burgh ground out, “Where is your leader?”

  “Yonder, at the castle,” said the knight through his teeth, glad to let the Earl of Chester take care of the madman who fought and killed like the Devil.

  As de Burgh swung up upon his horse, a company made up of his men and Salisbury’s arrived at his back. He flung his orders. “Clear these planted fields of these invaders.”

  Jasmine and Estelle, who had never been exactly comfortable at Salisbury, now found the atmosphere definitely unconducive to a long visit. Dame Winwood discovered her grandaughter packing her belongings.

  “We are going home this morning,” Jasmine said decisively.

  “You will draw de Burgh’s anger if you do not take leave of him,” Estelle warned.

  Jasmine’s eyes flashed amethyst fire. “I am completely indifferent to de Burgh’s anger,” she said lightly, but Estelle knew this was an untruth. She had purposely picked a time when he would be occupied and unaware of their departure until after the fact.

  “With a sweet tongue and kindness you can drag an elephant by a hair,” Estelle reminded.

  “A Persian proverb, no doubt. Grandmother, speak not to me of kindness. I have learned that the sensitive ones in this world can be eaten alive before they have time to grow an iron carapace!”

  “You are heading for trouble; I know the road,” warned Estelle.

  Jasmine tossed her pretty head. “That which doesn’t kill me makes me stronger! Please, let’s not stand here all day exchanging proverbs. Oh, God, I hear horses below.” She flew to the window and peered down. “It’s not de Burgh,” she said with relief.

  Estelle peered over her shoulder, “Let me see if I can make out the device … ha! it’s Chester. I should have known the wealthiest baron in England would be in the front row to see which way the wind was blowing. Well, he’ll get nothing out of me. Too bad we didn’t leave an hour past.”

  “We will leave now. Ela and Isobel will have their hands full with an earl to entertain.”

  Ranulf de Blundeville, Earl of Chester, was tall, spare, graceless, with lank black hair and dark, hooded eyes. He had been trained by King Henry II in his ways and in his conception of administration, and the great king had rewarded him well. When Henry’s son Geoffrey was killed in a tournament, his widow Constance of Brittany was given to Ranulf who could be depended upon to govern Brittany in the workmanlike way King Henry desired. Constance hated the union and God alone knows what had transpired between the couple, but the moment King Henry II died, she secured a divorce from the Earl of Chester, who returned to England and became its leading peer. He was enormously wealthy and carried a great deal of weight in the country.

  Dame Estelle Winwood and Jasmine arrived in the great hall after Chester had been told that William of Salisbury had already left for Normandy. Chester had his squire and two knights with him, and Ela was serving the men refreshment, Chester recognized Estelle and greeted her warily. “Dame Winwood, I’m sure you will be able to furnish me with all the information I need.”

  “De Blundeville, isn’t it?” She purposely omitted his title to annoy him. “We are just returning to Winwood Keep; unfortunately you catch me at an inconvenient time.” She had the knack of putting his teeth on edge. His eyes caught sight of the beautiful girl who carried a bird cage containing, of all things, a sparrow. Bones of Christ, he thought, the women in this household are exceeding fair. With the exception of the old ratbag, of course.

  Chester, usually a man sparing in words, said to Jasmine, “My men will provide you escort, my ladies.”

  Ela could not help comparing this man, this great earl, with Falcon de Burgh. His face was pitted by the smallpox and the beard he effected to cover the ugliness failed in its purpose. For all his wealth he wore armor covered by a plain green surcoat, and Ela hunched her shoulders slightly so that her breasts were not quite so much in evidence. After dreaming of the magnificently endowed de Burgh warming her bed, she did not relish Chester taking a fancy to her, for all his reputed riches. Isobel was about to send the servants off to prepare baths for their visitors when de Burgh strode into the hall.

  He had washed the blood from his body at the horse trough and secured his leather jack before confronting Chester. He also had his temper under control, or so he thought.

  Jasmine’s heart thudded at sight of him and she moved closer to Chester as if to seek his protection. To explain the baggage the servants stood patiently holding, she blurted to de Burgh, “I am returning to Winwood Keep. The Earl of Chester is providing us with safe escort.”

  De Burgh swept the assembly with his crystal-green gaze. “I think not,” he said crisply. “Knights who are allowed to rape peasant women do not escort my betrothed any
where. Seek your room, mistress,” he ordered with quiet authority.

  Jasmine gasped at her dismissal, but he had already turned from her to Chester. The earl, sensing the authority and hearing the implication that de Burgh was to become Salisbury’s son-in-law, nevertheless had taken the insult to his knights full in the face. Perhaps the young fool didn’t realize whom he was addressing.

  “I’m Ranulf de Blundeville, Earl of Chester.”

  “I know. That’s why I could scarcely credit the actions of your men, sir. I am Falcon de Burgh, in charge of Salisbury until William’s return.”

  Chester waved a dismissive hand. “If one of my knights has toyed with a maid, he shall be punished. It is hardly an earth-shattering offense.”

  “No need to punish him, my lord earl, he is dead. I decapitated him for the rape.”

  Chester stared in disbelief. Should he order his men to seize the young lout?

  Falcon spoke again. “My men are assisting yours to camp farther a field where they won’t trample our spring crops.”

  Something stirred in Chester’s memory. This must be Hubert de Burgh’s nephew, the one who had gained a reputation as the most skilled, cool-headed leader who struck with such passionate fury that he was sometimes called the “Rod of the Lord’s Fury.” The two men stood facing each other. Each recognized that he had just made a deadly enemy. Both anticipated with brutal relish the violence that was sure to come at a future date. This, however, was not the time.

  Chester swallowed the insults. “Men need a strong leader in battle, to listen to crude jokes, drink wine cup for cup, chain them like the fierce hounds they are, and whip them when they misstep.” It was a rather flowery speech for Chester, but it passed for an apology of his men’s actions and an acceptance of de Burgh’s execution.