The Falcon and the Flower (20 page)

The sound of her own sobbing awoke her. She sat up shivering, trying to blot out the wicked things she had urged him to, but her body felt pleasurable sensations in all her most intimate places. She hugged her knees to her breasts and vowed with clenched teeth that she would never be wanton, that she would never, ever beg him to touch her; she’d die first.

Falcon de Burgh came awake with a violent start. He was covered with a light perspiration though the night was chill. He cursed under his breath at whatever had awakened him, for it had put an end to the unbelievable magic of the erotic dream he had just had about Jasmine.

Estelle did not wait until the hour of midnight the following night, but knocked upon King John’s privy chamber at eleven. He was clearly annoyed at her intrusion. He wore a flamboyant, rich bedgown embellished all over with rampant stags. A warm supper sat waiting beneath silver covers along with an infinite array of wines from the provinces of France.

Estelle’s mouth quirked with a slightly derisive sneer as she looked pointedly at the crown he wore. Even when he intended seduction he needed the added confidence the symbol of the crown lent him. Dame Winwood began her denunciation of his intentions without preamble. “A man burning with desire wonders why he should not give
full freedom to his sexual desires. But if he is unchecked by custom, morals, or laws he will never understand that sex is a river of fire that must be banked and cooled by a hundred restraints if it is not to consume in chaos both the individual and the group.”

He refused to be thwarted. “I thirst for her!”

“Jasmine’s magic powers as a white witch are unlimited because she is a virgin. If you destroy that power because of your selfish lust, you are playing with the will of the gods and could bring Hellfire down upon your head.”

“Think you I’m afraid of Hellfire?” he asked, laughing.

“Possibly not, your Majesty. But if you have any common sense at all you will be afraid to call down Salisbury’s wrath upon your head when he commands all your armies. If you defile his love child, it will set his sword against you. Moreover, it would be an act of incest, which carries with it, as you know, an ancient curse.”

These words had the desired effect to cool his ardor. His eyes hooded. He would bide his time. As an unmarried maiden she was under the dominion of her father, Salisbury, but what if he found a husband for her? Then she would be the property of her husband, and every husband at court was willing to share his wife with his king, if he so desired her.

Estelle knew her stronger will had prevailed … for the moment. She hoped she wouldn’t need to take stronger measures and brew him a potion that would render him impotent, or worse.

In Scotland, Eustace de Vesci had managed to negotiate a treaty of peace with King Alexander. England would promise to control her northern barons from raiding across the borders from their castles in Cumberland and Northumberland and in return Alexander, the Red
Fox, was to relinquish his claim on those lands. Alexander had finally agreed to the terms of the treaty less because Eustace was his son-in-law than because England’s armies sat on his doorstep.

King John was to travel north to sign the treaty, yet he feared to travel through the land of his own northern barons even more than he feared the French. Salisbury had to send a company of one hundred knights and two hundred mounted bowmen to accompany the royal court north. Even then King John refused to go farther than Eustace de Vesci’s stronghold on this side of the border. He would leave the queen and court at the great fortified castle of Nottingham, where he commanded that the entire army be on hand to accompany him north to sign the treaty.

Estelle and Jasmine were now in fashion. The women clustered about them like puppies at a bitch’s teat. Jasmine noticed a beautiful young woman who always hung back shyly, yet she could tell the girl was bursting with unasked questions. She took her aside the day before they were to travel north and asked simply, “What is it you wish to know?”

Mary-Ann FitzWalter, who had accompanied her father to court to settle a dispute of land, blushed to the roots of her hair as she explained the unhappy situation in which she found herself. “Oh, Lady Jasmine, I am so far gone in love there is no help for me. His name is Robert, Lord of Huntingdon. We were pledged until one day I was riding in Barnisdale Forest and Roger de Longchamp, a friend of King John’s, abducted me. Before he could force marriage upon me, Robert rescued me. He is the strongest, bravest man in England and I will love him till I die!” she cried defiantly. “Robert slew Roger de Longchamp, and the king declared him outlaw and took his lands and title. Now even my father forbids me to see my love.” A tear stole down her cheek and her
throat was so tight with unshed tears, she could speak no more.

Jasmine was amazed at the similarities of their abductions, yet de Burgh had gained by killing de Belamé, while Robert had been declared outlaw. Jasmine took the velvet cloth from the crystal and gazed into it for long minutes. “Mary-Ann, let your heart be light, for you will see your Robert when we arrive at Nottingham Castle. You need have no worry for him. He is fearless, strong, and before he is done his name will be legend. Your path will not be smooth, but good will triumph over evil. It seems that you are not the only one to have affection for this man. He draws friends like a lodestone. He is a great leader. Mary-Ann, never refuse to do as he asks. He will protect you with his life.”

“I know that, Lady Jasmine. I would do anything for him. For just one more kiss I would gladly die. I melt the moment he touches me.”

Jasmine’s thoughts flew to her dream and her cheeks stained a delicate pink. What must it be like to be deeply in love? Pray God she never found out if it brought her to Mary-Ann’s besotted state.

In spite of her silliness over a man, Jasmine liked this girl. They were both out of place at this court where the queen’s vicious words were as sharp as any dagger and all around were her allies, the cunning tongues of her ladies. “Ride beside me tomorrow when we leave for Nottingham?” Jasmine suggested, and Mary-Ann quickly agreed.

The servants had been up all night readying the king and queen and their entourage for the trip north. The courtyard at Westminster was a seething mass of humanity. The master of household was trying to create order from chaos as he organized the baggage train, which would stretch out over a mile. Grooms stood trying to calm the horses as the people traveling with the court
came from the castle to mount the animals they would ride north.

Jasmine had chosen a cloak of ruby velvet for traveling. She saw Queen Isabella surrounded by men and women who shouldered each other for position and quit the vicinity as quickly as she could. She could find neither Estelle nor Mary-Ann FitzWalter, but she saw a groom lead out her white palfrey and with light steps she ran across the yard toward it.

Suddenly she was aware of eyes upon her. She looked up quickly and was horrified to see none other than King John leering at her. He was surrounded by men who were also stripping her with their eyes. Each had acted as procurer for John at one time or another. They were making suggestive remarks, each trying to amuse the king with his ribald banter, but John had the dirtiest mouth in the realm and none could top him.

They formed a half circle about her that she could not penetrate without coming into physical contact with them, and she realized how very foolish she had been to choose the ruby-red cloak. With her silvery hair about her shoulders she would stand out in any crowd, especially once she was mounted on the white palfrey. As she pushed between two men her gown brushed against them and John said, laughing, “You can rub up against my leg anytime, kitten.”

Suddenly she couldn’t believe her eyes as Falcon de Burgh’s long strides brought him to the king. She flew to his side immediately, looking up into his face with pure joy. “Falcon, how glad I am to see you!”

He blotted out the king and the other men. The plumed helmet made him tower over her, blotting out even the sun. He knew instinctively she had flown to him for protection. Something had frightened her or, more likely,
someone!

“Jasmine, my love,” he said, his deep voice carrying a
message to all that this woman was his possession and God help any who forgot it.

King John’s eyes narrowed as de Burgh cupped the beautiful maiden’s face and bent to claim a kiss. Jasmine tried to resist, but he forced compliance with possessive arms. When he released her she was flying the flags of her anger in her cheeks. She demanded so none but he could hear, “Must you paw me in public?”

“It seemed the quickest way to brand you as mine,” he murmured simply. He gently set her aside and saluted King John, handing him a sealed paper.

John took it and read Salisbury’s giant scrawl. “I send you the best captain you or I have ever known. You may safely place your life in de Burgh’s capable hands.”

So, John thought, this is the man my brother has chosen for his precious daughter. Suddenly he laughed aloud as a most diabolic thought struck him. “Take charge, de Burgh. I expect to see Nottingham two days hence.”

De Burgh nodded. “My knights will ride ahead of you, your Majesty, my bowmen will be solidly at your back.”

King John’s eyebrows rose and he rebuked lightly,
“My
knights, de Burgh …
my
bowmen.”

Falcon bowed to the king, put one large hand at the small of Jasmine’s back, and propelled her forward. He took the bridle of her palfrey from the groom’s hands and without a word lifted her into her saddle. Mounted, she was on eye level with the tall, powerful knight. She had been grinding her teeth in mute rage since he had spoken of branding her as his property. She lifted her chin and appeared to be a cool vision of poised womanhood. “De Burgh, you will never own one small part of me.”

Stung, he joined the battle at once as he always did. “I may never own one small part of you, but be assured I will have the use of it.”

She gasped at his vulgarity and turned aside from him.

So, he thought, the warm greeting was a little performance
she had been acting out for the benefit of others. She had wanted to show the king and his men that she was under Falcon de Burgh’s protection. All he had to learn now was which man she feared. He knew instinctively in his bones that it was John.

De Burgh moved his knights out immediately, and King John and his party took their place at the center. The queen and her attendants fell in line behind. Falcon put one hundred bowmen at their back and the other hundred at the rear of the packhorses and baggage train. He would set no breakneck pace. Such a large party of women and packhorses could be expected to cover only a certain number of miles per day regardless of when the king wished to reach Nottingham.

The travelers were fed at the king’s castle of Berkhamsted, twenty or so miles from London, and then the journey was continued until nightfall. Arrangements had been made to house the king and queen at Northampton Castle. The Earl of Northampton’s hospitality was evident in the sumptuous meal and the entertainment he had provided for the entire court, which numbered over one hundred. The three hundred knights and bowmen set up their tents in the surrounding meadows, but were provided with food and fodder for the horses.

Dame Winwood was as stiff as a corpse by the time they arrived at the castle. Once inside their cramped room, she imperiously bade Mary-Ann FitzWalter rub her back with oil of wintergreen and sent Jasmine running to the kitchens for a restorative julep of fennel. As
the girl carried the steaming basin toward the women’s quarters of Northampton Castle, she was encompassed by the unmistakable aroma of licorice.

Young Will Marshal took her aside for a word of caution. “Lady Jasmine, I overheard the king say he fancied his palm read tonight. That he was in sore need of a certain fair maiden’s magic touch. I believe he will dispatch a servant for you after dinner.”

“Oh my God, no.” Jasmine gasped. Her finely arched brows drew together as anxiety gripped her. Hazard or haven … her choice was simple. She would seek out Falcon de Burgh. She found him with his knights, but she was shocked to see the number of women who had sought their company. De Burgh was being offered food by two and ale by another and aught else he desired by all three! Falcon saw the fear and weary fatigue in her at once. He felt an urge to carry her to his bed and hold her cradled against his heart all night. He begged a favor from the serving women and pointed out his crimson silk tent in the meadow beyond.

“You hunt women more than you hunt the stag,” Jasmine accused.

“Untrue, chérie, ’t is they who do the hunting,” he said with a guilty grin.

They stood looking at each other. Jasmine could find no words to convey that she sought his protection.

Finally he said, “Will you come to my tent, my lady?”

She dropped her eyes shyly from his and nodded her head. His strong fingers curled about her small hand and his warmth crept up her arm. The only thing she needed from him was his strength. At this moment it was a relief to drop the rigid guard and become the soft, dependent woman.

When they entered the tent, Gervase, who was just lighting the lamp, turned and could not help his jaw from falling open. He went to de Burgh to relieve him of his
armor but Falcon shook his head. “My lady will help me,” he said.

Her eyes flew about the tent, taking in its sparse furnishings. It contained only his war chest, a lamp and brazier for light and warmth, and the thick fur skins upon the floor, which was carpeted against the damp earth. She stood before him perplexed by the trappings of his hauberk, gambeson, and chain mail. “Where do I begin?” she asked, puzzled.

He laughed at her. “My mail is far too heavy for you to lift … I just wanted Gervase to leave us private.”

“You think me useless!” she flared.

“Useless?” he said, drawing close. “I could think of so many uses for you it would take a lifetime to fulfill.”

She ignored his meaning and climbed nimbly upon the war chest to undo the fastenings at his wide shoulders. Just then two women carried in a wooden washtub and the third emptied the hot water buckets into it which she carried on a shoulder yoke. They had thought the bath was for him, of course, when he had made his request, but when he tossed them silver they were happy enough to let him share it with his pretty little whore.