The Falcon and the Flower (31 page)

“Chester tried to kill de Burgh. I took the arrow that was meant for him. Now I know why. I overheard his men speak of his plan to wed tomorrow and I fear you are to be the bride,” he said.

“The queen has just informed me that I am to be given to Chester tomorrow. It won’t happen, of course. I’ll be long gone. I’ll seek my father at Chepstow,” Jasmine cried. “Try to get me some boy’s clothes, Gervase, and give me your hat to cover these telltale tresses.”

Estelle spoke quickly. “Don’t waste time looking for clothing, I’ll see to that. You must find de Burgh.”

“He could be anywhere in England. I will try my damndest but it could take weeks,” Gervase said practically.

“Attitude is everything. Do not give the idea of failure headroom. Be positive! You
will
find him because you
must
find him,” Estelle commanded. “I will consult the crystal. Jasmine, your powers are stronger than you think. Our powers combined may be enough. If you have a psychic bond with Falcon de Burgh, he will receive your message that you are in danger. Concentrate, Jasmine! Your soul must call to his.”

Gervase eyed the two women doubtfully. He had been trained by de Burgh to be practical and straight thinking. Did these women really think they could perform a magic trick and pull de Burgh from a hat as if he were a rabbit?

Jasmine’s eyes were closed, her lips moved silently as if she were in a trance. His eyes turned toward the older woman and he saw she was in a different sort of trance. Concentration upon the crystal orb brought sweat to her brow, and she chanted strange cryptic words.

“There! I see a castle,” cried Estelle. “By the color of the stone it would be near Norfolk,” she said with conviction. Her brows drew together as she sorted out the vision. “The castle is in the air, I don’t understand. It moves slowly upward from its foundation and sits in thin air. There, it is rising again.”

“Castle Rising!” Gervase almost shouted, suddenly catching Estelle’s determined enthusiasm. “Hubert de Burgh owns Castle Rising in Norfolk.”

“That is where Falcon de Burgh is. Jasmine, your thoughts must compel him to leave now and come this way. Gervase, you must leave immediately. It is all the way across England, but you must believe strongly enough that you will find him and he will come in time. You must visualize it to its conclusion, no matter how impossible it seems!”

He was dimly aware that they had seduced him into their way of thinking. They were white witches, convinced
of their own power. A lifetime of scorn for such hocus-pocus could not be altered in the space of a minute and he knew how wildly improbable it was that he would find Falcon de Burgh, and yet he must try. He had no alternative.

At Castle Rising that morning uncle and nephew had almost come to blows. “Christ Almighty, Falcon, take a damper. Unlike you, I’m a mere mortal. I can’t sit up half the night and be in the saddle before daylight. That Spanish rubbish we were drinking produces the worst hangover in the world.”

“It’s not the quality of the stuff you drank, it’s the bloody quantity! Why did you have to get paralyzed when you knew we were leaving today?”

“Have ye no vices at all, ye intolerant young swine? Just because your prick’s itching for that fancy piece of yours, we all have to burn leather.”

“I’m off,” Falcon said with finality. “You’re nothing but an old woman. No wonder John picked you to nursemaid all his hostages.”

Hubert, eyeing Falcon and twelve men, booted, spurred, saddled, and waiting, speeded up his preparations to leave. “Falcon, lad, let’s not come to blows over this. Give me a minute. I don’t know what’s your infernal hurry, but you’re acting like a bear with a sore arse.”

Falcon sighed. “I’m sorry, Hugh. It’s just that I have this feeling I can’t put a name to. The back of my neck is prickling, like hackles on a dog that senses danger. I feel if I don’t hurry I’ll be too late.” He shook his head. “I must go, I’m compelled.”

Hugh almost taunted him for his silly fancies, but Falcon flashed him a dark forbidding look as he wheeled his destrier and set his spurs to its side.

Estelle soon put her hands on a smallish pair of riding breeks and a padded doublet. She told one of the stable-boys to ready Lady Jasmine’s palfrey and went in search of one of de Burgh’s men-at-arms. She had no authority to recruit one of his men, but of course a thing like that never entered Estelle’s head. “The future Lady de Burgh must get to her father William of Salisbury. She needs a man she can count upon to escort her safely to Chepstow. Are you that man?” she challenged.

“I am, madame. Whenever my lady is ready.” The soldier grinned to himself. The dung would fly if de Burgh turned up and found she had run back to her father, but he had more brains than to refuse help to the lady who would wed his lord. If he knew aught of brides, she would have supreme influence over his life and every other man belonging to de Burgh, especially those with Plantagenet blood.

Jasmine’s heart was racing as she pulled on the leather breeks and fastened them securely with a black sash. She pulled on her riding boots, all the while issuing orders to Estelle and at the same time bidding good-bye to Feather. Excitement was building inside her. She scooped up her beautiful hair and tied it severely with a leather thong, then crammed the brimmed hat over it and pulled it low across her brow. Her nerves were so highstrung, she felt like laughing hysterically when she thought of the faces of the ones she was tricking. The look of neat spite would be wiped from Isabella’s face. But underneath, Jasmine was driven by fear. She knew that thwarting the monarchs’ evil plans was a dangerous, almost insane thing to do, and if her escape didn’t succeed the consequences would be terrifying and swift, not only to herself but to her beloved grandmother. Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring her vision, and the lump in her throat threatened to choke her. How could she leave Estelle?

Estelle saw her tears. “Jasmine, stop thinking of me and think of yourself!”

“Promise me you’ll slip away from here somehow. I’ll send Father’s men back to help you. My God, it seems you’ve sacrificed all your life for me.”

“And that is precisely why you must get away now, before it’s too late!”

Jasmine bit her lips to stop a sob from escaping. With shaking hands she drew on her gloves and picked up her small riding whip. She opened the door and stopped dead. There on the threshold were two very large guards. “Let me pass,” she commanded.

“We have orders. You cannot leave, my lady.”

“Whose orders?” she demanded hotly. They remained silent. She took a chance and darted between the pair, but immediately they grabbed her and shoved her back inside the chamber, none too gently.

“Unhand my granddaughter, you vile lout, before I curse your soul to Hellfire!”

“Dame Winwood, we have orders to escort you to your chamber, where you must remain.”

“Have you no fear of my dark power?” Estelle demanded with all the force she could muster.

“Aye, Dame, but we fear the king more than the Devil himself,” said one while the other pleaded,

“Don’t curse us, Dame Winwood, we are only carrying out our orders.”

“I shall curse you and your offspring unless you take me to the king.”

One looked at the other and he nodded imperceptibly.

“Go back inside, Jasmine, and lock the door until I return,” she said.

The minutes crawled past so slowly, Jasmine thought she would scream. She took off her gloves, flung the hat across the room, and began to pace. The minutes stretched into hours. The pacing had worn off her nervous
energy. Slowly her anger and frustration were replaced by fear. She sat down upon the bed and for the first time her imagination began to skirt about the odious idea of them actually wedding her to Chester. The thought was unendurable, and she tried to push it from her. Black shadows stretched from the four corners of the room to unnerve her further. What if Estelle had tried to coerce the king and she had been arrested? What if Gervase was not able to find de Burgh? If by a miracle he did, would there be enough time? Would de Burgh care enough to come to her rescue? What chance did he stand against such invincible power as Chester and King John?

She could throw herself on the king’s mercy—if she begged him he might not give her to Chester—but she knew John’s price. She knew he would take her himself for bed games, and she shrank more from him than she did from Chester.

Perhaps her only hope was to throw herself on Chester’s mercy. Though she shrank from the idea, she was becoming desperate. In the small hours of the morning she lay down wearily upon the bed and slept.

She awoke with a violent start. She realized it was late even though the morning was dark with a sky heavy with rain. Her stomach rolled like an empty drum and she felt sick with dread as her thoughts flooded in on her. This was the day her life would be ruined. This was the day her future ended. This was the day that would end in a nightmare.

She flung open the chamber door. “Where is Dame Winwood? I demand you take me to her.”

“She’s in her own chamber where she belongs. You need have no concern for her safety, her door is well guarded.”

The two guards were different men. If they had changed the guard there was little hope of their falling asleep, she reasoned. Then she saw that they wore the
badge of Chester. “Take me to the Earl of Chester, his apartment is just down this hallway.”

They looked at each other. She pressed. “If you do not I shall scream my head off and claim that you assaulted me.” She opened her mouth to scream. A big hand was clamped across her mouth, “All right, my lady, don’t force us to hurt you. We wish you no harm, especially on your wedding day.” They escorted her down the long hallway. As one reached out to knock, she threw open the door and sped inside, slamming it behind her.

Ranulf de Blundeville sat at breakfast in a velvet bedrobe. Jasmine leaned back against the door jamb panting. He rose immediately and came toward her. Chester in a bedrobe was more threatening than Chester fully clothed, and her knees turned to water. “My lord earl,” she breathed, “please help me, you are the only one I can turn to.”

“What in the name of God are you wearing and what have you done to your hair?” he demanded.

“What do my clothes matter,” she flared “when my life is about to be destroyed?”

At the insult, his jaw clenched and the pockmarks on his face stood out in patches of white. He reached up a hand to undo the leather thong. As he removed it her pale silken tresses tumbled down and he let out a hiss of relief through his teeth. “When I purchase an
objet d’art
I do so for its esthetic beauty.”

“My God, you are not listening to me,” she cried. “I do not wish to marry any man, least of all you!” She had not meant to tell him in such an insulting fashion.

High on his cheekbones, twin spots of red began to spread like bloodstains. “You offend me, mistress, as does this male attire. Remove it!”

“I will not,” she said flatly.

The vein in Chester’s forehead began to pulsate. His hands grabbed the neck of her doublet and jerked it viciously
apart. She wore only a thin shift beneath it. She felt the color drain from her face as her heart stopped. Her breasts rose and fell before his hooded eyes and in that moment he reminded her of a snake. One that was ready to strike.

“Why must I marry you?” she pleaded, whispering the words piteously.

“Because I have paid for you,” he said bluntly. He took a soft breast in each hand and squeezed cruelly. “I have paid for these … and this!” He grabbed her between the legs, a feat made easier by the breeches she wore. Her breath came out on a sob and he took his hands from her.

“I will send women to bathe and dress you as befits the bride of the greatest earl in the realm. The wedding will be at six o’clock in the chapel of Gloucester Cathedral.” His eyes narrowed. “Make very sure you are beautiful for me.” He opened the door and thrust her at the two guards. “Return her to her chamber until it is time to escort her to the chapel.”

She stumbled back to her room, devastated by men’s rapacious duplicity.

Gervase cursed the heavens that were responsible for the continual downpour that began before his horse had covered ten leagues. After three hours he was forced to slow his breakneck speed for fear of breaking his stallion’s legs in the slippery, oozing mud its hooves churned up. There was no point in changing to dry clothes for he was already soaked to the skin, and would be again in a matter
of minutes. He did not carefully reason out the route to take, he more or less went by instinct and left it to Fate, always keeping in a northeasterly direction. He knew Northampton was just short of the halfway mark and he need not pick his route too carefully until he was past that point. Then he would have a difficult decision to make, but for now he put it off as long as he could.

The de Burghs decided to ride as far as King’s Lynn then head southwest to Peterborough. The weather was foul enough to make any God-fearing man stay home by his hearth, but Falcon de Burgh pressed on, oblivious to the elements. At King’s Lynn the bridge across the River Ouse had been washed away. The great river was swollen and angry from the torrential downpours of the last few days and it had flooded its banks.