The Falcon and the Flower (7 page)

They took no maids or attendants with them as Salisbury Castle overflowed with servants, but they did take two extra packhorses to carry their clothes and a goodly supply of herbs and electuaries Estelle had concocted especially for William’s people.

After they had passed through Old Sarum, about two miles from the castle, Dame Winwood looked at her grandaughter indulgently and said, “Go ahead, child, I know you are longing for a gallop. If you contain yourself much longer spring fever will steal your senses. Just remember, not a word to your father. I want to find out
what he knows before I share my knowledge. Power shared is power halved!”

Jasmine whispered softly to her palfrey and took a handful of its long white mane to anchor herself for the swift gallop. The wind soon took her filmy veil, and Jasmine tossed back her silvery-gold hair so that the sunshine turned it molten, surrounding her whole being with a nimbus of light.

Falcon de Burgh and his knights had arisen long before light of day to hunt down the wolf pack. It hadn’t taken Falcon long to detect the distant howling, then he easily pinpointed their location by the clamorous yapping that signaled the wolves had made a kill. The men were too late to save a pair of newborn lambs, but they managed to save the ewe from the jaws of death.

They were bloodied and de Burgh had a pair of wolf carcasses slung across his saddle as they rode back to the castle brimming with satisfaction that they had helped repay some of Salisbury’s hospitality. They suddenly stopped in their tracks as a vision rode into the sunshine from a small wooded area.

“’T is a unicorn!” Normand Gervase gasped.

“No such creature,” asserted Falcon de Burgh, his dark brows drawing together in sudden doubt.

The girl on the back of the unicorn took instant fright at the party of mailed knights only a hundred yards off. Dismay clouded Jasmine’s delicate brow. She wheeled her white palfrey and took flight back into the trees.

Falcon de Burgh issued a sharp command to his men. “Stay! This quarry is mine.”

As the great destrier closed the distance to the stand of trees, Jasmine heard the hooves pounding the ground like thunder. She felt like hunted prey. When she glanced up, recognition hit her like a thunderbolt. It was he—the
Devil! He would devour her like a hound of Hell bringing down a white doe.

Falcon de Burgh grabbed her bridle and looked into her face. Fear clearly sketched its dark presence upon her lovely countenance. He was mesmerized at the sight of her. For one unreal moment he believed this beautiful creature riding the back of a unicorn was of another world. Such an exquisite vision could not be mortal. He was enchanted. The unicorn came to a halt and trembled.

The girl put up her small hands in supplication and breathed, “Ah … no! Whatever have I done that you must hunt me down and punish me?”

He was off Lightning in a trice. This close, he could clearly see that the “unicorn” was merely a white palfrey wearing a clever ornamental harness fashioned with a long, spiraled ivory horn. “Demoiselle, have no fear,” he whispered huskily, wondering vaguely why his heart had stopped beating. Could this exquisite fairy princess, sprung from a legend, possibly be the same maiden he had encountered the other night?

Jasmine’s eyes were wide. “Do not think to lure me with gentle words. I know who you are and I know exactly what you want of me,” she said bravely.

He smiled at her youth and innocence. “Then yield it up to me without further protest,” he teased. He reached up strong arms and lifted her down to him. She was all silver and pink and utterly delicious, like a bon-bon at a birthday fete.

His great hands encircled her waist and his thumbs were actually caressing the undersides of her breasts. She could feel him through the delicate material. Her breath caught in her throat. She had escaped him once, how could she do so again? She summoned all her courage and defied him. “I will never yield to you, my lord Satan!”

He did not know if he was amused or annoyed at her
words. “You live in a make-believe world. I am not the Devil; there is no Devil. Who has charge of you, that they have filled your head with fairy tales?” For the first time he saw a spark of anger in her lovely eyes.

“No one has charge of me. How dare you say my head is filled with fairy tales? Let me go at once or I shall scream!”

“You obviously live a fantasy that you are a fairy princess riding about the countryside on a unicorn. Are you escaping an ogre or a dragon? Are you fleeing from the wicked queen, your stepmother? How unfortunate for you that upon escaping your castle overgrown with poison vines you should encounter the Devil! Stop playing games. I am no more a devil than you are a princess.”

She pulled away from him sharply. “You are the one playing cruel games. You know very well who I am. You know I am a real princess and I know you are Satan,” she whispered, looking frantically about for some means of escape.

“I am a knight,” he said flatly.

“’T is a guise. A knight in shining armor come to aid a damsel in distress.”

The corners of his mouth twitched at the absurdity of it all. “Shall I slay the dragon for you and lay my heart at your feet, my princess?”

Her eyes were filled with dread. “What forfeit will you take to release me? Another kiss?”

“Since you are a thousand times more beautiful than you were the other night, I claim a thousand kisses.” He pulled her against him, unable to keep his hands from her any longer. His fingers caressed her silvery, silken hair, then his lips covered the soft pink mouth whose taste he craved. With his mouth upon hers, he recalled that he had dreamed of her all night, and hot desire flooded his veins. The tip of his tongue tried to enter her delicious mouth, but she wrenched from him and gasped,

“You are the Devil!”

This time he took her mouth ruthlessly, invading the virgin territory. “Yes,” he said in a hard, cruel voice. “I am the Prince of Darkness. I am here to carry you off to my underworld where I will ravish you nightly and keep you captive forevermore.”

Jasmine gasped, alarmingly short of breath, then she slumped forward into a faint.

He caught her before she slipped to the ground. His face filled with awe as he drank in the beauty of his delicate burden. Never in his life had he been filled with such an intense need to protect and cherish. She was so small she seemed weightless. Her skin was like porcelain where the golden crescents of her eyelashes rested upon her cheeks. He held his breath in case she disappeared into thin air, then he found his chest so tight he could not take another breath. What the Devil was the matter with him? His head filled with the pretty scent of her until he actually felt dizzy. He stared at her in fascination, noting the delicious pinkness of her mouth, the delicate size of her wrists, which made her seem fragile enough to be broken into pieces if he grasped her too hard. Her hair was the color of moonbeams, and he shuddered as the silken mass fell over his hands. Lust hit him like a thunderbolt. A childhood legend fleeted through his head in which the beautiful princess could be awakened by a kiss. He shook his head, fearing he had been spellbound. He came out of his trance and realized that she was not going to revive and that he must get her to the castle.

He quickly tied the palfrey’s reins to his saddle, ignoring the fact that the wolves’ blood was making the small horse very nervous, then he swept the girl before him on his destrier and cradled her limp form with one strong arm. The great horse’s hooves struck sparks on the cobblestones of the courtyard as he drew rein and swept his limp burden into the great hall.

Isobel saw him immediately and hurried forward. “Jasmine! Dear God, has there been an accident?”

“Nay, Lady Isobel, somehow I frightened her so much she has fainted,” he said, trying to squelch his anxiety.

“Oh, poor little rabbit! I will take her to the women’s quarters. Perhaps it was the heat.” She quickly summoned two servants to carry Jasmine, and the serving women held out their arms expectantly.

Falcon was loathe to relinquish the delicate beauty, but under the circumstances he had no choice. Isobel followed the women up the staircase and said over her shoulder, “You had best beware Dame Winwood if she knows you have frightened her grandaughter.”

He stood in the hall feeling almost bereft. Jasmine … her name was Jasmine. After a few minutes Ela came to keep him company and to reassure him that all was well.

“She will be fine, milord. The dear little lamb was frightened out of her mind.”

“Who is she?” de Burgh asked eagerly.

“Well, she is our half sister.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “The poor little thing is illegitimate. She’s never been very robust, you understand. The heat made her delirious.”

He ground his teeth in mute rage at Ela’s condescending tone, but she prattled on without heed. “Can you imagine, the silly child thought you were the Devil after her! That’s what comes of leading a sheltered existence, isolated from men. Her maternal grandmother has charge of her. Oh, I must warn you about Dame Estelle Winwood. She is the most curious, eccentric creature … ah, speak of the Devil and she shall appear,” Ela said with a giggle.

The small woman strode in as if she owned the place.

“Ah, Dame Winwood, how good to see you,” Ela said courteously.

“Rubbish!” Estelle spat. “I hoped to be greeted by William.” She gave the young woman before her a critical glance. “Ela, you are running to fat,” she said flatly.

“We enjoy your visits so much,” Ela murmured through tight lips.

The older woman swept de Burgh with a forbidding look. “Is that your great destrier outside? Brute almost nipped me, until I put my fist between its eyes!”

He was startled. Spine of God, it was a miracle Lightning hadn’t bitten her arm off. “Excuse me, madame,” he murmured politely, “I am bloodied from the hunt.” He strode back to the courtyard to assess the damage to his poor war-horse.

William of Salisbury sat stunned as Estelle told him of her visions. Years ago he had scoffed at her predictions, but he had lived to rue the day that he had dismissed the things she told him. Older and wiser, he now knew better than to doubt the truth of her crystal gazing.

“Thank you for bringing me the warning, Estelle. It looks like I will have to go to Normandy.”

She nodded her agreement. “The news will reach Winchester first, then the news will be brought to you tomorrow or the next day. Neither of us has any love for Eleanor, but I must admit I pity her losing her most beloved son Richard.”

“Amen to that,” said William, crossing himself.

“Perhaps this is not the time to speak of it, William, but when the time does come that a new king rules England and sets up a royal court here, Jasmine wants your permission to join that court.”

He frowned and shook his head. “Court is too worldly for the child.”

“She is a child no longer, William. Rest assured I would accompany her and protect her always,” Estelle emphasized.

“We’ll speak of it when the time comes, Estelle. I know you would protect her with your life. For now, make yourself comfortable. If there is anything you wish, you know you need only to ask. I must go to the chapel and pray for Richard’s soul,” William said with a catch in his throat.

Later, at supper, Falcon de Burgh looked in vain for Jasmine but of course she did not appear in the dining hall. William singled him out for a private word and told him of Dame Estelle’s prophecy. Falcon was incredulous that a man of William Longsword’s stature would place any weight on the words of a superstitious old woman. He tried to lighten William’s somber mood and dismiss her as an eccentric, but William only shook his head sadly and said they would have confirmation soon enough.

De Burgh took himself off to bed where he would be free to indulge his fantasies of Jasmine. He wanted to pursue his thoughts of her, his mind lingering upon each remembered detail. His thoughts of her were persistent and involuntary. She intruded herself upon all his senses. When he closed his eyes, he heard her whisper his name. His recollection of the sight, smell, and touch of her were vivid and disturbing … physically disturbing!

He stripped and washed himself. The heat of the day had been oppressive, but as he stood before the open window a cold blast of air swept into the chamber, accompanied by a flash of lightning and healthy crack of thunder.

He opened William’s massive oaken wardrobe and selected a handsome black, velvet bedrobe, then he stretched out full length on the bed to ponder the strange predictions William had foretold. Try as he might, he could not prevent Jasmine from intruding upon his every thought. Without his noticing, as darkness descended the room was periodically lighted with brilliance as the lightning
flashed and the thunder crashed directly above the castle.

Suddenly the door flew open. “Father … I need your wardrobe,” cried a lovely yet terrified female voice. All at once the lightning flashed its brilliance about the chamber and its occupants saw each other clearly. Jasmine looked wild-eyed at the black-visaged man before her and, opening her mouth, screamed her lungs out.

The crash of the thunder drowned out her scream, and once more the chamber was plunged into blackness. Falcon heard a door slam. By the time he had lighted the candles he found himself alone.

“Jasmine,” he breathed. She had been so close and yet so far away. She had gone as quickly as she had come, and yet her presence lingered in the room in a most tangible form. Obviously she had come to her father’s chamber for protection from the storm, not knowing that William had given his chamber to his guest. Regrettably her fear of him had been stronger than her fear of the storm … unless … he carefully opened the heavy wardrobe door a crack and looked inside. She was huddled in a white velvet bedgown with her arms wrapped protectively over her head. The lightning struck again and she screamed, “Shut the door!”

He slipped inside the massive wardrobe and pulled the door closed on them. Silence. Blackness. His excitement threatened to overwhelm him. Finally he whispered, “Jasmine … take my hand.” Blackness. Silence. “Do not fear me,” he commanded softly. “Whose heartbeat?” he asked, then answered, “It’s ours,” in wonder. He wanted to laugh at her for being afraid, but he could not. He wanted to carry her from the wardrobe and show her how irrational was her behavior, but he could not. He wanted her to talk to him so he could explain away her fears, but he knew she could not. Somehow without speaking they were communicating. Jasmine tried to recall
Isobel’s words about the dark knight. Hadn’t she said she hoped to marry him? Obviously he was not the Devil. She had seen his face in the crystal because he was to be part of her family’s destiny. Silence. Blackness. The minutes stretched out until the tension between them became unendurable, then suddenly he reached out decisively and a tiny hand was in his and he felt a ridiculous desire to stay thus handclasped through eternity.