The Falcon and the Flower (43 page)

William clearly saw through him and briefly wondered how much Chester had paid him. At least they had succeeded in getting John on the defensive.

“No harm has been done,” John insisted. “She is safely wed to de Burgh, so I don’t know why you are badgering me about it!”

“I’ll tell you the harm, John: Other than a personal affront to me, you have succeeded in driving away the strongest flank of our army. A call to arms of your northern barons failed dismally. De Burgh was the best captain you ever had or could hope to have in the future. He’s the best! His knights are trained better … his men-at-arms are loyal, fierce fighters, with more guts than a slaughterhouse. His Welsh bowmen, his English broadswordsmen, even his mercenaries are better trained than all others. What good is he to us holed up in Wales?”

John waved an arm indicating he could fix things in a trice. “When spring comes I will lure him back into the fold. The de Burghs are loyal Plantagenet men. His anger will have a chance to cool over the long winter months. There is no discord between de Burgh and me.”

Salisbury sighed. There was no point in reminding John of the bad blood that existed between de Burgh and Chester, one of the few other barons still loyal to the crown. Bad blood that would never have been stirred up
but for John and his insatiable appetite for money and women.

William Marshal’s round with John succeeded in roiling his rage until it was almost out of control. “John, you must put an end to this trouble with the church. Splendor of God, man, don’t you realize the seriousness of being excommunicated by the Pope?”

“I’ll not be dictated to by that asshole! I am the King of England! I am the head of the church in England, not the bloody Pope! Do you realize the church has more wealth than the crown?” John’s face was a dangerous hue of purple.

“Do you not realize that wealth can be used against you?” thundered William Marshal. “Louis of France must be laughing with glee at this rift between England and the Pope. He has taken most of Normandy, Anjou, Maine, and Poitou. Now he will be eyeing England, and he’ll have the Pope on his side.”

“You don’t need to tell me they are thick as thieves. Mayhap you’re in it with them. I note your dominions in France to the far south are still in your possession!” screamed John.

William Marshal’s mouth tightened. “I will forget you said that, John. You know I paid dearly to hold my French possessions with the blood of my men. You must end this quarrel with the church by accepting Stephen Langton as Archbishop of Canterbury or the Pope will lay England under ah interdict!”

“If the asshole does that I will seize possession of the bishops who obey the interdict and banish them from the kingdom!”

“Oppressing the churchmen is not the answer, John. Be guided in this by me. The Pope has the power to declare you deposed from the throne, to absolve the English people from their allegiance to you and entrust the
King of France with the carrying out of these decrees,” William Marshal pointed out.

Salisbury joined in the fray. “Such a threat would mean little if you were strong and popular in your own country, but you are rapidly losing the respect and love of all classes of your people.”

John was raving now as he threatened, “I will bring foreign mercenaries into England to overpower any resistance to my actions. I will compel the barons to put their sons into my hands as pledges for their own good behavior. I will use the courts and the exchequer to plunder the clergy legally.”

Salisbury said bluntly, “That won’t be enough to pay for mercenaries. You’ll have to make taxes and scutages heavier and collect them more frequently, and how popular do you think that will make you?”

“Christ Almighty, was a king ever so beset? You are all against me! Where’s Hubert, he’ll support me, if nobody else will.”

“Hubert is too much of a yes man. He tells you what you want to hear to keep you pacified. William Marshal and I know it is time you faced the truth and took a good hard look at yourself,” Salisbury said, totally ignoring the flecks of foam that were on his brother’s lips.

William Marshal’s face grew ever more stern. “We are not finished, John. There is still the matter of your morals to be dealt with. It has come to my ears that you abducted yet another young female, but this time with fatal results.”

“’T is nothing but vicious gossip!” cried John, smashing his fist into the table. “Women literally throw themselves at kings. You cannot deny they are lined up out there to warm my bed. I am a normal, healthy man, I like women! Christ Almighty, you’d have something to complain about if I was buggering my pages like my brother Richard did for years. He had a warm relationship with
the church too … he screwed the Bishop of Fecamp for years. That proud prelate and others I could name were his special favorites!”

William Marshal had such strict morals, he turned white about the mouth to hear of Richard’s pederasty.

“Now the bishops are calling me down from their pulpits, railing against my morals, and all because they believe some filthy gossip. Believe me when I tell you I will put a stop to it!” By now John was foaming at the mouth; his color had begun to alarm the two men.

William Marshal said in a placating tone, “If it is vicious gossip there is a simple way to put a stop to it. Cease taking other women to your bed. It is time to get an heir upon your wife, the queen.”

John’s answer to this quite shocked the men. “It is not my fault Isabella hasn’t conceived. She has only just begun her menstrual courses this month.”

The marshal opened his mouth and closed it again. Once more he tried to find words. “Do you mean to tell us that you consummated a union with a little girl not even old enough to conceive?”

At this John’s eyes rolled back in his head, he fell to the rushes, and his feet began the staccato hammering that always accompanied a fit.

William Marshal hurried out to get Hubert de Burgh. Let him handle the king’s temper tantrum; the marshal needed fresh air in his nostrils.

John was wily enough not to use any of Salisbury’s or Hubert’s men to carry out his vengeance. Instead he relied on Faulkes de Bréauté to select a handful of mercenaries who could be trusted to carry out his orders without question. He would put a stop to the rumors and gossip by making an example of one of the noble families. That bitch who had been a friend of Avisa’s must have her tongue stilled forever. Mathilda de Braose refused to
give her two grandsons as hostages. She had said she wouldn’t entrust them to a man who killed his own nephew, Arthur.

John ordered the arrest of William and Mathilda de Braose, Lord and Lady of Hay on the Welsh border. He liked the idea of setting an example so well that he turned his attention to the church. He would do the same with one victim and watch the rest fall into line. He selected the poor Archdeacon of Norwich, who had been foolish enough to take Pope Innocent’s excommunication seriously and had preached from his pulpit that any priest who served King John was contaminated. John ordered a fine new archdeacon’s cope be made for Geoffrey of Norwich; however, it was made from lead, and when the mercenaries forced it over his head, it suffocated him.

Jasmine kept herself busy from dawn to dusk. She rushed about learning how to competently run a household. She consulted with the castellan and learned the duties of every person housed under her roof. The next time she came face to face with Morganna she said, “And what pray tell are your duties at Mountain Ash? Everyone must earn his keep here.”

Morganna said slyly, “I perform certain services for Lord de Burgh.”

“Indeed?” questioned Jasmine. “Do you perform these services well?”

Morganna’s mouth thinned. “He always leaves me with a smile on his face.”

Jasmine looked her straight in the eye and asked, “How is my husband in bed?”

Morganna again gave a sly reply. “I don’t know … he prefers the floor.”

Jasmine’s mouth twitched with amusement. Falcon had not bothered to mend the hole, so she was certain he spent his nights alone. “You look strong to me. I think
you would be suited to kitchen work. I shall inform the cook she has a new helper to fetch wood for the cooking and carry water for her.”

Morganna seethed with hatred. “I am strong and carrying wood and water will only make me stronger. You are obviously too delicate for such work,” she said with scorn.

Jasmine smiled sweetly. “It is my condition that is delicate. I am with child, didn’t you know?”

Morganna was ice cold inside; she knew exactly what she would have to do.

Jasmine still hadn’t had a look at the occult books or secret doctrine that de Burgh pored over in his solitude, but as she looked down from the tower and saw his dark head out by the stables she decided that her opportunity was at hand.

Inside his chamber, she was almost overwhelmed by the essence of the man. Everything in the room bore the strong stamp of his powerful personality, with the bed dominating. It was massive with black velvet curtains embroidered with his emblem of a golden falcon. Above the bed on the stone wall were great crossed broadswords so heavy she doubted she could even lift them. No wonder his wrists were so thick, his shoulders so heavily muscled, she mused. No rushes for de Burgh; his floor was covered by a thick red carpet no doubt brought back from a crusade to the Holy Land, and the large fireplace had half a dozen wolf skins stretched out before it, all silvery and inviting. No tapestries covered his walls, rather they were bare stone adorned with many flambeaux to give good light and a dazzling display of weapons. He was expert in the use of every single one, from longbow to knives and daggers.

Against one wall his huge war chest held his armor, which was always kept polished and in good repair. She ran her finger over the dark wooden chest that traveled
everywhere with him. Even its worn hinges were lovingly polished. The very air was palpable with the maleness of the man. Everything was oversized to match him. The chairs were big with deep cushions, the desk containing his pens, maps, and books was massive and securely locked. When she opened his wardrobe to see if the keys were in one of his pockets, the scent of him almost undid her. It was a mixture of fine leather, sandalwood, and dangerous male animal. She blushed. It was the same scent that lingered on her skin after he had made love to her. She touched the fine lawn shirts, which seemed far too delicate a fabric to touch that hardened, powerful body. Her hand passed over leather jacks and steel mesh vests; yes, these were more suited to his brute strength. She felt all the doublets for keys, noting as she did that they were not padded as she had thought. Those wide shoulders were all de Burgh.

When she found no keys, she returned to the desk, picked up a wickedly sharp-looking dagger, and tried to force the lock. She heard the door and whirled about, truly caught in a compromising position. Dagger in hand, she was ready for Falcon’s anger, but his eyes were alight as he said her name. “Jasmine.” He made it sound like a caress. His eyes licked over her like a candle flame, taking in the pale-pink gown and silver ribbons. He came close enough to lift a tress of pale hair and rub it between thumb and forefinger. “You are so beautiful,” he breathed.

“I am full of you,” she said, tossing her hair back away from his possessive fingers.

His green eyes slipped down her body. “Are you sure, love? You look far too slender to be with child.”

Her lashes dropped to her cheeks. He was too close. His effect on her was devastating. She began to tremble. “I’m sure,” she managed to whisper.

He took her hand into his own large, warm hand and
said softly, “You’ve given me no chance to tell you how happy you’ve made me.” He put his finger underneath her chin. “Look at me, Jasmine.” When she did, he smiled down into her eyes. “Why are you trembling? You’re the one holding the dagger,” he teased.

“You’re playing with me,” she said, her eyes liquid with apprehension. He hardened immediately at her choice of words and groaned. “I’d like to play with you, Jassy, if only you’d let me.”

“Beast!” she accused. “I’d rather you beat me than punish me by forcing me to bed.”

He winced. “Why would I punish you?” he puzzled.

“Because I came to uncover your secret books of magic. Your powers are stronger than mine. I would learn that power,” she flung at him defiantly.

He was amused and laughed softly to himself as he took out a key to unlock the desk. He lifted out his books and spread them upon the desktop for her to see. With a rueful grin he said, “I read Virgil and the great deeds of the Homeric heroes. Now you know my secret; I am a romantic fool. Tales of fair maids ever set my pulses beating wildly. Is it any wonder you stole my heart?”

She was in panic as she saw the telltale signs. He took her by the shoulders. His eyes were stained black with desire, his lips parted ready to cover her mouth, his manhood moved against her belly with a will of its own.

“You must not … I am with child,” she protested.

“I will be gentle,” he promised softly, dipping his head to taste her pink mouth.

“Gentle!” she cried, flaming with anger as a last defense. “You brute, you don’t know the meaning of the word. Look at this chamber. Everything about you is too big, too hard, too brutal, too uncouth. Once aroused your lust knows no bounds … you are like a rampant stallion. You are too strong, too powerful. I cannot stop you from forcing yourself upon me.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d say you do a damned good job most of the time. Are you really afraid of me Jasmine, or are you afraid of yourself?”

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“Afraid if you let me love you properly you might like it and want more? Afraid to touch me in all my wicked, forbidden places lest it set up a craving in you that will never be satisfied? Afraid to open wide to me, because I might enter your soul along with your body? Afraid because you might not measure up to the other women with whom I have shared passion?”

This last was too much for her. Blinded by tears, she raised the dagger.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” he said quietly. With one swift hand he disarmed her, then he put one foot behind her legs and tripped her. They went down together before the fire. He was sprawled dark and powerfully lithe. His dark brows slanted above his emerald eyes. His broad-shouldered frame revealed unmistakable raw strength. The silence was thick with challenge. Her tumbled gilt hair spread out across the rug, reminding him that when she was naked her beautiful hair was long enough to cover her delicious breasts.