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.
Chapter 15
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.
With the straps undone, the armor fell away, leaving him clad in a linen shirt. He turned to face her where Jasmine stood, still up on the war chest, his hands slipping about her tiny waist, his eyes on hers, dark and smoky with desire. His heart was thudding
. She could feel the echoing beat inside her breasts as she hung over him, a tumult of sensations racing through her. He brought his mouth close to hers but did not quite touch her lips as he whispered, “Are you a generous little wench or a selfish one?”
“S-selfish!” she breathed.
“May I share your bath?” he teased.
“No!” she cried, aghast.
He allowed his lips to brush hers. “May I bathe you, then?”
“Absolutely not!” She struggled to free herself but it was in vain.
He brushed her lips a second time, then sighed with resignation. “Alas, I must content myself to merely watch you.”
He removed her ruby-red cloak, then his eyes examined her matching gown to learn the secret of its fastenings. His fingers deftly undid the buttons and slipped the velvet down to bare her shoulders.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing, sir?” she demanded.
“Undressing you for your bath, you said I might watch you. Or did you intend to bathe with all your clothes on?” he teased.
“De Burgh, I did not say you might watch me … you made that outrageous suggestion if you will remember.”
“Did I? I make so many.” He grinned, giving the velvet gown a sharp tug so that it fell to her ankles. She was clad in a short shift that completely revealed her pretty legs.
“You horsefaced lout!” she spat. “I come to you for protection only to have you molest me.”
“Ah, now we are getting to it. Protection from whom, Jasmine?”
She blushed. “It was nothing, just a silly fancy really.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “A silly fancy that sends you rushing to my arms? You risk your reputation and your precious maidenhead to come to my tent where you know I may do anything I please with you?”
“I most certainly would not have come if I had known you would strip me and make me pay a penalty!”
“A small price to pay for my protection, Jasmine,” he teased. “You are welcome to seek another’s protection, since you seem to hate me so much. Perhaps you would seek King John’s protection?” he asked lightly. He felt her begin to shake.
“No … Falcon … I seek your protection.”
“Then you didn’t come to seek me out because you love me. I’m merely the lesser of two evils,” he accused, knowing if he raised her temper she would forget her fear. “What’s the matter with your legs?” he asked, looking down with a slight frown.
“What do you mean?” she said, glancing down at her bared limbs.
“Is one fatter than the other or do they have that peculiar look because of your uneven knees … one is higher than the other?” He lifted her down from the chest. “Walk about for me so I can have a good look.” Stung by his criticism, she paraded before him in her shift to show him his error. He repressed the urge to tell her how exquisite she was. A young woman who had been told of her beauty every day of her life did not need compliments. To tease her he kept a critical look on his face as he judged the fine points of her legs. She was disturbed that he found her flawed and some of her confidence evaporated.
Finally he conceded, “It must have been a trick of the lamplight, they seem quite passable now I observe them more closely.”
She caught the amused gleam in his eyes and her anger rose immediately. “Only passable?” she demanded, hands on hips as she stood before him.
He reached out for her and pulled her against him. His lips brushed hers. “Vain little wench. You know your legs are absolute perfection. Does the rest of you match?” he whispered huskily as he caught a soft, round breast and cupped it in his palm.
She shivered at his touch and said sharply, “Stop playing this cat-and-mouse game with me, de Burgh. Whatever it is you intend, do it, and have done!”
“You mean get it over with quickly while you close your eyes and grit your teeth? Ah, chérie, you haven’t the faintest idea about lovemaking, have you?” His powerful hands caressed her silken shoulders. “A night of love can have no time limits imposed upon it, no barriers of any kind can come between two as they merge and become one.” He stroked the back of his hand down the swell of her breast. “The whole night is separated into delicious phases, each uniquely enjoyable. There is the time before love”—his lips brushed her temple—“the time during love”—his lips brushed her again—“the time between the first and the second loving”—his fingers slipped the chemise off her shoulders—“and the time after love.” He kissed her eyelids. “The overture, the prelude, the performance, and the cadence.”
When she opened her eyes she saw he had her naked. Without another word he lifted her and sat her down in the water. She gasped as his hand dipped beneath the surface to grope about for the soap. She was trembling visibly as he lathered his hands and soaped her breasts erotically.
“Falcon, I came here to you so that I would not be seduced. I think of you as my protector,” she said in a small voice filled with trust.
At her soft words an aching tenderness began in his heart and spread throughout his chest. He knew he would shield her their whole lives if she would let him. He stood up and said gruffly, “Have your bath, love.”
He walked his usual rounds, checking on men and horses, then stood outside his tent until he saw her silhouette emerge from the tub and pull on her shift. As he lifted the tent flap and entered he saw her shiver from the cool night air. She moved the small brazier, which gave off little heat now, closer to the war chest and sat down primly, clutching her cloak. She felt his bold eyes caress her body like a physical fondling. The bath had relaxed her and after the long day in the saddle she wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. She hoped he would be gentleman enough to give her his furs and bed himself down elsewhere.
“Have you ever slept on the ground?”
She sat up very straight and shook her head.
“Don’t worry,” he said softly, removing his shirt, “I will cushion you against its hardness.”
Her eyes flew open in indignation. “Are you hinting, de Burgh … are you dreaming? Please disabuse yourself of the notion I am about to share your bed!”
“Jasmine, you know if I decide to have your body tonight, you will have to do as I say.”
Her eyes were fixed on his hands, on the long slim fingers that had the strength to kill. “You have the strength to force me to your will!” she accused bitterly.
He shook his head regretfully and murmured, “Jasmine, when I make love to you …” He didn’t finish the sentence, but his words implied that it wouldn’t be under these circumstances.
She gave an inward sigh of relief and pulled her cloak tighter about her chilled body. He shrugged as he removed the remainder of his clothes and slipped under the furs. “Suit yourself,” he said, hiding amused eyes from her.
She sat for a whole hour without moving. Each minute seemed longer than the last. De Burgh was obviously sound asleep from the deep even breathing that came from the warm furs. Damn him to Hell, she was freezing! The last coal in the brazier had cooled and blackened long ago. How could the day have been so hot and the night so cold? she wondered wearily. What if she froze to death … while the author of her misery was totally oblivious to her dire peril? Did she dare to steal his furs while he slept? She heard a rumble in the distance which her terrified mind identified as thunder. The next instant she slipped under the furs beside him as quietly as she possibly could. His whipcord arms were around her instantly, pulling her head down onto his shoulder. “Jassy …” he murmured softly as his lips brushed her temple, “have no fear.”
Instinctively she knew she was safe from everything in the whole world. His warmth became hers as she melted against him and sleep claimed her. Of course Falcon could not sleep, for the night held magic for him. He lay in exquisite torture, needing her more than he had ever needed a woman before, and yet his need to protect and cherish were greater than the demands of his body. He knew a deep, satisfying pleasure that she was here beneath his hand, trusting him implicitly. W
ith the scent of her filling his head, he allowed his imagination full rein to run riot and indulge every fantasy as his blood ran like fire along his veins, pulsing his shaft until he thought the ache would kill him. He caressed a handful of her pale golden hair, kissed it, smelled it, tasted it, then bound it about his neck; chaining them together. He lifted the furs slightly so he could see her delicate pale breast through her shift pressed against the dark tan of his chest covered with the mat of black hair.
Their bodies made such a contrast it sent a deep thrill through him. He promised himself he would furnish their bedchamber with a very large mirror so he could watch their bodies when they made love. He rubbed the tip of his arousal against the silken skin of her thigh and shuddered at the feeling of pleasure it brought him. She turned toward him in her sleep and her soft breast thrust against his hand. He cupped it gently and dipped his head to taste its sweetness. He had to stop himself from sucking hard on the tempting, erect nipple, for it would surely waken her and she would withdraw from him.
He knew a need like he had never known before. It was an unbearable torture for him not to take her there and then, but he had promised her she would be safe with him. He would wait for their wedding night, but his willpower was not strong enough to forego the sensuality of touching her from head to toe. The deep need to feel her beneath him, between his thighs, overpowered him, and he straddled her carefully. Then he slowly crouched above her and let the silken head of his hard shaft slide across her breasts, up the valley between them, then he dared to proceed until it was a hairsbreadth from her lips. He was so sensitized there that when he felt her faint warm breath against the tip he thought he would go mad. He had thought he could stop at any time, but now he realized he had reached a point where he was out of control. Crouched above her, he fought a battle with his white-hot senses. He closed his eyes to blot out the enticing pale loveliness that provoked his manhood. His mind and his body were at war. It was slow, painful torture, but finally he forced his fiercely demanding flesh to withdraw and he lay back down beside her and willed his blood to cool. He couldn’t move; he was too weak with lust.
The Falcon and the Flower Page 16
