The Falcon and the Flower Read online

  The man felt fear like he had never felt it before. The dagger pricked his neck eagerly. “Roger de Belamé … Hagthorn Castle,” he babbled, and then he felt nothing really, just a mild sense of the fatality of it all as he began his unplanned journey to eternity.

  De Burgh turned and saw Jasmine struggling against the hold of his men.

  “Does it take two of your bullies to hold me?” she demanded.

  “It takes two of them to keep me from doing violence to you.” He pointed to David’s limp form, which two of the Salisbury knights were gently lifting. “He took that wound defending you. It will likely prove fatal.”

  Jasmine sobbed. “Poor David, please let me help him, he was so brave.” Jealousy tore through Falcon like a steel-tipped arrow. What was between these two?

  Estelle looked up at de Burgh as she examined the boy’s wound. “It needs cleansing and binding immediately. He should also have a couple of hours rest before an attempt is made to move him.”

  De Burgh nodded his agreement and said quietly, “That suits my plans well, Dame Winwood. Take care of the boy while I take care of another.”

  For a moment Jasmine cringed, but then she realized she was being totally ignored. It was not a contrived ignoring for she saw clearly another matter consumed him. He left a burly knight to guard the women and mounted with grim determination.

  The six knights strode into Hagthorn Castle with a sureness of purpose that forced aside any who would impede them. Roger de Belamé and his men had just finished breakfast and were still in the hall. Falcon de Burgh carried a long rope with a noose knotted securely at one end. Without preamble or a sidewise glance he strode to the dais and by dint of physical power forced the noose over Belamé’s head. Four of de Burgh’s knights held the gaping men at bay with their wickedly gleaming long-swords while the fifth jumped onto the dais amid the leftover food and helped de Burgh throw the end of the rope over a heavy beam. They hanged Roger de Belamé on the spot before his impotent men. As they watched him dangling there, kicking until his face turned black, their desire for retaliation melted away, as each in his turn realized the inevitability of the retribution of a man who spread carnage and violence.

  Falcon looked each man eye to eye before he said, “My name is de Burgh. I lay claim to Hagthorn.” He spoke to his five knights briskly. “Stay here until I return from Cirencester. Bring some order to this place.” He glanced with distaste at the hanged man and added, “Clean up the refuse.”

  Jasmine watched de Burgh ride toward her. He bore himself like a conqueror. He rode like a centaur, and she resented his dominance. Then he was close enough for her to see the bloody stripe she had put on his face, and she felt fear and excitement mingled together.

  He ignored her and spoke to Estelle. “Does the boy live?”

  She nodded in the affirmative, but said quickly, “He won’t survive the ride back to Salisbury.”

  “How convenient that we are closer to Cirencester,” he said dryly, aware that the two women had plotted and planned to achieve their goal. He’d taken the decision earlier or they would not be going, so he set about cutting saplings to make a horse-drawn litter for David.

  Jasmine was filled with remorse that harm had come to the squire from Salisbury Castle, and she unpacked one of her cloaks and covered him with it gently. The tender look on her face made de Burgh say through set teeth, “Leave him, mistress, you have done enough.”

  The cavalcade rode north in silence until de Burgh finally said to her, “Have you any notion of what almost befell you back there?”

  “We were set upon by thieves. David sacrificed himself so that I was able to escape them, until you caught me.”

  De Burgh was incredulous. “Are you so naive? Their prize wasn’t packhorses; their prize was a kidnapped bride for their rapacious baron. They assumed you were your father’s heiress.” He hid a smile as he let his barb go in deep. “Think you when they discovered you were worthless it would have gone any easier for you?”

  “Worthless?” she cried furiously.

  “Priceless,” he amended with irony. All too often it seemed to Jasmine that Falcon de Burgh got the last word.

  As they neared Cirencester where Avisa, the Countess of Gloucester, had a magnificent manor house, he spurred his horse to a faster pace. Jasmine kept up with him and decided to pay him back for his cruel remark. Suddenly she jerked the reins on her palfrey so that she darted sideways into him, but his horsemanship was so superb that he simply maneuvered slightly without even glancing in her direction.

  De Burgh could not hide his surprise when he saw Hubert de Burgh’s men about the Countess of Gloucester’s stables. “What are you doing here, Peter?” he asked his uncle’s squire.

  The fellow shrugged noncommittally and replied, “We are often here. I will inform Lord de Burgh of your arrival.”

  Falcon assumed his uncle had gone home to Dorset from Wales, but now he surmised he must be passing through Gloucester to his sheriffdom of Hereford. Falcon did not offer to assist Jasmine to dismount, thereby depriving her of an opportunity to spurn his help.

  Hugh met them at the door and helped them lift young David into the entrance hall. Hugh asked, “What happened to your face?”

  Falcon grinned and replied, “A love scratch.”

  Hugh grinned back, glanced at Jasmine, and said, “Yes, I heard all about Falcon’s Folly. She is unearthly beautiful.”

  “What are you doing in these parts?” asked Falcon.

  Hugh, evading an answer, said, “I could ask you the same thing. Looks like you ran into a little trouble getting here.”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  At this moment a lovely voice floated down the staircase. “Hugh darling, I believe we are about to have visitors.” The voice and the Junoesque woman it belonged to stepped toward them and said, “Oh, dear, it appears I have let the cat among the pigeons.”

  Falcon’s face certainly did not register the surprise he felt as he learned that his uncle was the Countess of Gloucester’s lover; however, Jasmine could not conceal her shock. This was John’s wife; he who would be king; she who would be queen!

  Hugh, a little guiltily, said, “Thank God it is my nephew who has discovered us, Avisa. May I present Falcon de Burgh.”

  The countess, a tall, handsome woman, looked at the young de Burgh with appreciation. She was in her mid-thirties and had always had an eye for a powerfully built man. She held out her hand to welcome him and he raised it to his lips.

  “A deep pleasure, your grace. May I present my betrothed, Jasmine. She is the youngest daughter of your brother-in-law, William of Salisbury.”

  Avisa swept the girl into a brief, warm embrace then set her away, saying “She is exquisite.”

  Falcon continued. “This is her grandmother, Dame Estelle Winwood.”

  Avisa’s attractive face lit up with recognition. “I remember you from a visit we made to Salisbury when John and I were first wed.” She spoke to Jasmine. “I remember your mother. She was as lovely then as you are now.”

  Such conflicting emotions were racing through Jasmine that she was at a loss for words. She was delighted that Avisa had known her mother, and she was wildly curious about this woman who was about to become England’s queen, yet at the same time she was shocked that she was being unfaithful. She was embarrassed to have such knowledge and horrified that Avisa was slightly amused that she had been discovered.

  Avisa had dispatched a servant to make ready a chamber for the wounded squire. Estelle picked up her apothecary case and followed the men who transported David.

  “As you can well imagine, Dame Winwood, I am in need of a seer at the moment. Perhaps at supper you could foretell the future for me,” Avisa said.

  At this, both de Burgh men made a sound of derision. Avisa looked archly at Hugh, daring him to openly scoff at such prophecies.

  Jasmine had been ignored long enough. “Your grace, King Richard is dead and John will be crowned king. You w
ill be Queen Avisa of England, and I have come to ask to be your first lady-in-waiting.” A hush fell over the room. Avisa looked quickly to Hubert de Burgh and Jasmine glanced defiantly at Falcon.

  Falcon said firmly, “Richard is dead, the rest is speculation from our renowned ‘oracle.’” He inclined his head in Estelle’s direction.

  “Fascinating!” declared Avisa. “We shall dissect the possibility over supper.” She picked up some of Jasmine’s luggage. “Come, my dear, and we’ll find you a pretty chamber.” She towered over the petite girl, making Falcon think how incongruous they appeared. Jasmine had come to be lady-in-waiting to a queen, but it was the queen who was waiting upon his delectable betrothed.

  When they were out of earshot of the men, Jasmine felt an explanation was needed. “When my grandmother saw these things in her crystal, I wanted to become a lady of the queen’s court with all my heart. De Burgh forbade me to come to you here at Cirencester, so I simply left. Unfortunately, our escort David was set upon and stabbed in the back, and then de Burgh caught up with us and there was hell to pay.”

  Avisa smiled confidentially at her and whispered, “These de Burgh men are the very Devil, are they not?”

  Jasmine opened her eyes wide solemnly and said, “I hate him. They betrothed me to him against my will.”

  Avisa was amused, though she had too generous a nature to let the amusement show. My God, how she envied this innocent the awakening the girl was about to experience at the hands and lips of Falcon de Burgh.

  “Oh, my lady, this chamber is lovely,” Jasmine exclaimed. “In fact, the whole manor house takes my breath away. I’m afraid Winwood Keep is a very rude place, and even my father’s castle of Salisbury is poorly furnished compared to this.”

  Avisa said kindly, “I’m sure you’d like to bathe and rest after your wretched journey. Just pull the bellrope for a servant for anything you desire.”

  “Ah, I cannot take the time. With your permission, my lady, I should like to help Estelle nurse David.”

  When the two de Burghs found themselves alone, Hugh explained, “I had designs on Avisa for my wife many years ago. However, she was too good a catch for the likes of me—heiress of the Earl of Gloucester with huge estates in the west extending into Glamorgan. King Henry married her to his favorite son, John. After that, John’s financial worries were over and it stopped people dubbing him John Lackland. When John made me his chancellor, Avisa and I spent a lot of time together.”

  “Aren’t you risking your neck by putting horns on John? Christ, you know the Plantagenet temper borders on madness,” Falcon said with concern.

  Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “You know what a swine he is—faithless since his wedding night. He’s never here nowadays. They live their own separate lives, thank God. I love her; what can I say?”

  “More to the point, what does your wife Beatrice say?” his nephew asked. Beatrice was the daughter of the feudal head and great lord of the east, William de Warenne.

  Hugh said defensively, “I’m a damned good husband to Beatrice. She’s a happy woman and I have a great deal of affection for her, but this is different. I still dream that someday, somehow, Avisa and I will marry. There, I’ve said it, and don’t let it go any further unless you want to lose a testicle.” He shook his head. “God alone knows why we love one woman above all others. You yourself have chosen Salisbury’s love child when you could have had a legitimate heiress.”

  Falcon grinned, then sobered. “Hugh, what if it comes about that John is crowned king?”

  Hugh poured Falcon a hefty goblet of wine and shook his head. “I’ve always been a Plantagenet man. I almost worshipped King Henry, as I know you did when you were a boy. Then after his death it seemed natural to serve Richard. It’s been almost a decade … where have the years gone? I don’t want John as my king any more than the next man does. I know too many of his faults—I know more than I should, loving Avisa, but I’m still a Plantagenet man. When it boils right down to it, I’d far rather have John as my friend than my enemy.”

  Falcon drained his wine cup and said, “Well, the Plantagenets and the de Burghs have a lot in common. For a century we’ve been addicted to power. We’ve fought for it, blackmailed for it, betrayed for it, risked all for it, and we’ve never been able to get enough.”

  “Amen,” said Hugh, setting down his cup.

  Falcon said, “I’d better see how the boy fares, although from what Salisbury tells me Dame Winwood is an expert at medicine.”

  “You trust her medicine but not her magic, is that it?” Hugh laughed.

  Before he ascended the stairs Falcon said, “I trust neither, but let’s put it this way: I don’t believe her curses could kill me; her poisons could.”

  David lay prone upon the bed, naked to the waist. His wound had been cleansed, poulticed, and bound. Jasmine sat at his bedside, holding his hand.

  As de Burgh bent his head to enter through the doorway his eyes took in the tender scene. She hadn’t even taken the time to change her travel-stained gown before she had rushed to the boy’s side. His crystal gaze swept over her. “Seek your own chamber, mistress,” he ordered quietly. “You will wish to improve your appearance before you dine with your future queen, I am sure.”

  Stung by his criticism, Jasmine gave Falcon a look that almost scorched his skin before she swept past him. Only the knowledge that David was on the way to recovery kept her from refusing to leave his side.

  When Jasmine saw her reflection in the polished silver mirror in her chamber, she realized de Burgh’s criticism was deserved. Perversely, hot hatred for him welled up in her. She purposely chose the loveliest gown she had brought. It was a deep peony-colored velvet. She was brushing her long, pale-gold hair when de Burgh entered the room with only a pretense at a knock. Avisa had placed her in the room, saying “Every woman should have a pink bedchamber … it’s like being in the heart of a rose.”

  Jasmine made such a stunning picture that for a moment his thoughts scattered and he felt his heart skip a beat. Then he recalled the earlier scene and demanded, “What is between you and this David?”

  “Nothing!” she flung vehemently, “Since he is a man. I hate men.”

  “What’s wrong with men?” Falcon asked, surprised at the vehemence.

  Her chin went up and she dug both fists into her bright-pink girdle. “The word men begins with ’me’ to start with. All men are totally selfish. I’ve had a thorough education in the ways of men.” She said the word with loathing.

  Bemused, he asked, “What do you know of men?”

  “I know they are hard to please and easy to displease,” she flung at him.

  “What else?” he asked in a warning tone that she completely ignored.

  “I know that the last one wants to be the first one and the first one wants to be the last one.”

  He was angry that she had learned of sexual matters from Estelle.

  “Go on,” he said in quietly menacing tones.

  “I have been warned about the devastating attraction of the ’lurking bastard’ in men,” she finished triumphantly.

  He took her by the elbows.

  “Let me go,” she said furiously.

  “Never,” he vowed.

  His nearness made her conscious of every pulse of her blood. The kiss was an age in coming. It started as a slow lazy thing with all the time in the world, then it strengthened until her slim body was crushed against his. She knew that he was taking, not giving. The kiss was so ruthlessly lustful it forced her to yield to his masculinity. When he let her go abruptly, she gasped for breath and staggered a little on weakened legs.

  He had wanted to kiss her for so long, he had no idea what had kept him in check. Now that he’d had a taste of her, however, it wasn’t nearly enough. He was in a reckless enough mood to see how far he could go. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face to him again. Before his lips touched hers he stopped and said, “Every time you speak to me, mistress, you dare my manhood.”
He emphasized this last word by brushing it against her to show her how rock-hard he was. “That kiss was to warn you what will happen if you persist.”

  With the taste of him on her mouth and the feel of him against her soft belly, she could not disguise the fear she felt. This close she could not take her eyes from the wound she had inflicted upon him and they became liquid with apprehension. He relented a little. “Compose yourself and I’ll escort you to dinner.”

  “I’ll not dine with you,” she stated.

  The muscle in his jaw flexed. The moment he’d relented an inch, she had taken a mile. One hand slipped about her waist while the fingers of his other hand traced the neckline of her gown and began to stray toward her tempting breasts. “Is this your way of suggesting we retire for the night? Certainly it is the first time we have had a chance to be alone together. I too think we should use this night to become more intimately acquainted.” His lips brushed the silken flesh where his fingers had played.

  Her mouth went dry. He was deliberately misunderstanding her words. Now she wanted nothing more than to have him escort her to dinner. “I’m hungry,” she said pointedly.

  “But not for food,” he whispered huskily, brushing the pale golden tendrils back from her temples and searching her eyes for a sign of awakening desire. He saw only stubborn resistance. He removed his doublet and stretched out upon the bed. “If we are ensconsed for the night, we might as well make ourselves comfortable. My boots, Jasmine,” he ordered casually.

  “You ill-mannered lout!” She choked. “Remove yourself from my bed and remove yourself from my chamber. You know we are expected downstairs. Avisa is preparing a special dinner. I have more manners than to flout her gracious hospitality.” Jasmine grasped at straws. “If I don’t go down immediately I’m certain Avisa will come to fetch me.”