The Falcon and the Flower

by Virginia Henley

  After dinner and the toasts, everyone wanted to speak with her, look at her, touch her. Falcon’s knights fell over each other playing gallant, which greatly amused him and pleased her. She was introduced to every female, from the youngest child to the old woman who made the brooms to sweep out the castle chambers.

  Jasmine’s eyes widened as a young woman came up to the dais dressed as a young warrior in a sleeveless leather tunic with golden bracelets clasped about her upper arms. De Burgh said casually, “This is Morganna. She is hostage for the Welsh king’s good behavior.”

  Morganna’s eyes slid over Jasmine’s ethereal beauty with contempt and she spoke instead to Falcon. She touched his shoulder with a light, familiar hand. “How is your wound?”

  “It is nothing; the scratch is healed.”

  “Wound?” asked Jasmine, looking at the girl, who was not beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, but clearly had a sensual quality a man would find attractive.

  Morganna’s eyes touched Jasmine’s face again. “He was bitten by a wildcat.” She made the statement as if it had two different meanings.

  She is someone to reckon with, Jasmine thought warily, but she would not question de Burgh about the girl. She had more pride than that. After dinner they sat at table for two hours, watching the dancing, the gaming, the dicing. She watched Morganna easily lure Gervase from a game of chance he had been winning. “I believe Gervase is out of his depth with that one,” she said wisely.

  De Burgh shrugged. “By morning he will have lost his purse and gained a better understanding of women.”

  She flared, “Do you treat all women with contempt?”

  “No. An honorable woman I treat with honor.” He took her hand and she drew in her breath sharply. For a brief instant her fingers were against his mouth and the familiar panic rose up in her as the time for bed drew nigh. “Let’s go up,” he murmured huskily, rising and taking her with him with one strong possessive arm.

  Her heart beat thickly as they began to climb the tower steps. She glanced up at his strong profile outlined against the eight-foot-thick stone walls and felt very small and vulnerable. When she would have gone on from his door up to her own chamber, he stayed her with his hand and drew her into the doorway, then leaned his arms on either side of the jamb, effectively trapping her. His head dipped to steal a kiss. As soon as he lifted his mouth from hers she begged, “Please, Falcon.”

  “Do you deny me?” he demanded.

  “No,” she said quickly, “for I do not want another battle on my hands, not tonight.”

  “Battle?” he questioned. “I want to make love, not war.” He pushed open his chamber door and all she could see was the massive bed.

  “Please no, Falcon,” she breathed.

  His mouth was on her throat, kissing its wildly beating pulse, while his fingers sought and made erect a taut little nipple. “Jassy, I’m starving for you,” he said against her throat.

  On a half-sob of fear she cried, “Oh, Falcon, I was so happy tonight. Please don’t spoil it for me.”

  Though he was loathe to do it, his instincts told him that if he gave her time and room enough so she didn’t feel compelled, perhaps she would begin to respond to his advances. He cupped her face and looked down at her with softened eyes. “I was happy tonight too. My bed will be cold to me, but I will try to understand that you need more time, my darling.” His lips brushed hers and he stood aside to watch her climb the tower steps to her solitary chamber.

  There were no servants waiting up for her because they assumed she would spend the night with her husband. Jasmine lighted her candles and undressed dreamily. She had told the truth when she said she had been happy that night. She swore she would become more capable and domestic. She would learn every nuance of running a castle that sometimes housed two hundred. She liked the idea that she was its center, its core, its heart.

  She hung her clothes in the wardrobe, ran her hand over the flame-colored gown he had forced her to change, and laughed softly. Because she had obeyed their lord, she had won their hearts. She put on a warm velvet robe and poked up the fire. She could hear voices, low. She could not make out what they were saying, nor where they were coming from, but she could hear someone talking. She listened at the door and then the window of the tower chamber, but the voices were not coming from these. It was only at a certain place in the room she could hear the talking. The man raised his voice and she was sure it was de Burgh.

  His chamber was beneath hers so the sound must be coming up through the floor. She crouched down upon her hands and knees and put her ear to the floor. The muffled voices were definitely coming from below. She was almost certain one of the voices belonged to a woman. Jasmine thought it was probably Big Meg answering de Burgh’s questions about her, and she wished she could hear what was being said. She moved a chair over against the wall and turned back the carpet. That was better, already the voices were less muffled and she heard de Burgh clearly say “No!” Again on her hands and knees, she was both surprised and excited to discover a crack in the thick floorboards where two beams came together. It was a small chink to which she could put either an ear or an eye. She peeped through the crack and saw nothing, then suddenly de Burgh, stripped to the waist, was standing directly beneath her. “Leave it,” she heard him say. He had a small bandage on his shoulder. He spoke again, but only two words floated up to her. She heard him say “bed” and “now.”

  She was intrigued to learn who was in his chamber with him. Then suddenly she saw and was deeply shocked at her own naïveté, stupidity. She saw Morganna’s arms twined about his neck, her body pressed up to his in a kiss. Jasmine sat back on her heels, stunned at de Burgh’s deceit. He was forever crying his needs to her when quite obviously those needs were being taken care of elsewhere. She felt anger, betrayal, and, yes, she admitted, jealousy!

  How dare he? She was Lady de Burgh. Her grandfather had been the great King Henry; her bloodlines were royal. She was mistress here, she wanted to be the center, the heartroot of Mountain Ash, but her position was being undermined by a slut!

  A blinding fury gripped her as she rose from the floor and ran down the cold tower steps that led to de Burgh’s chamber. She threw open his door and rushed inside. He was alone. Surprise showed in every line of his face.

  “How dare you keep your whore at Mountain Ash?” she demanded.

  His eyes swept her from head to foot and saw that she was outraged. Even in a simple bedgown her bearing was regal. Her hair flew about her shoulders, making her wildly beautiful. He wondered briefly where she had heard the gossip, and if it would be best to deny it. He faced her blazing eyes and knew there was no point in trying to placate her. His own eyes narrowed. He was in the right mood for a good fight followed by a good bedding. “I’d have no need for a whore if you fulfilled your wifely duties,” he accused.

  She gasped. “You admit it, you blackhearted rogue! Your idea of wifely duties would have me chained to a bed night and day.”

  “Let me educate you, Jasmine. Men saddle themselves with a wife only so that they will have their sexual needs taken care of on a regular basis,” he said flatly.

  “That is not true. You had other reasons for marrying me, de Burgh,” she accused.

  “What for instance?” he taunted. “Your efficiency as a chatelaine? Your ability to bear me strong sons?”

  She flew at him. “You are a devil!” she cried, tearing off his bandage so savagely that the wound began to bleed again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were wounded by the wildcat? Why did you let her tend you?”

  Suddenly he knew she was jealous of Morganna and he felt exultant. She would not experience jealousy unless she cared for him. She felt the need to inflict pain on him only because she had been hurt. He towered above her. His eyes were clear green crystal, his skin stretched smooth and brown over high cheekbones. He took hold of her shoulders and she watched as the dark pupils slowly obliterated the clear green. He looked down at her with his eyes st
ained almost black by desire.

  “Princess Jasmine, the untouchable. My lovemaking turns you to ice. Take off that robe … get into bed,” he ordered.

  “De Burgh, you took knightly vows to be gentle and honorable with all womanhood.”

  “Damn it, Jasmine, I’m not some courtly knight from a legend … I’m a flesh-and-blood man, with flesh-and-blood needs. You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, have you? But you’re going to learn. All I have to do is think of you and I am hard and ready. When I am actually in the same room with you, where I can see you and hear your laughter, my blood races like flames until I am so hot for you I am dangerous to be near. On the rare occasions I am permitted to touch you, I almost go mad with the need to taste you, the need to bury myself in you, to hold you impaled on me all through the night, to fall asleep with my body joined to yours.”

  His impatient hands seized her and stripped off the bedgown, then he lifted her high against his heart and let her slide slowly down his hard body.

  “You lecherous beast,” she cried in anguish, “don’t touch me minutes after you’ve held her in your arms!”

  “I will decide when to touch you. You will learn that I am master in my own castle. I will take you wherever and whenever I desire you.”

  “Have me then!” she panted her challenge.

  He tossed her onto the bed, stripped off the rest of his clothes, then came after her. He towered above her in a white heat of passion. His hot, demanding mouth came down on her breasts. He kissed and sucked and licked every inch of her satiny skin from her neck to her knees.

  Suddenly she was more afraid than she had ever been for she felt a tiny spark deep within ignite and an answering response she had no control over began to pulsate inside her belly and breasts. Her mind began withdrawing the moment she felt the strange sensations. She would not let herself become a slave to this man, her body craving his the way he described how his body craved hers.

  She remembered things she had heard at court, things she had closed her ears to. Whenever Falcon de Burgh’s name had been mentioned one woman always said, “The man is a god. I get wet just looking at him.” Jasmine hadn’t known then what she meant, but she knew now. As his fingers probed her intimately, she knew that for the first time in her life she was wet and slippery.

  He was in no hurry now. His foreplay was leisurely, drawn out. He stroked her body with firm but gentle hands, savoring the feel of every delicious satiny curve and swell. Touching her was never enough for Falcon. He always had a driving need to see every inch of her. He pushed off the covers, knelt beside her on the bed, and gazed at her until his eyes were stained black with passion. Then, starting at her feet, he traced kisses all the way up her legs, not stopping until he reached the delicious golden triangle. He raised his head to again fill his eyes with her delicate loveliness, then dipped it with a ragged groan to tongue and lick the two tiny moles that sat on either side of her mons.

  For seven months she had fought him, and every step of the way it had been fruitless battling against his strength. Now, locked in his embrace, it was as if she lost separate identity. She would not let it happen. She refused to become just another possession. She centered her mind on his wound just inches from her mouth and imagined the searing pain he must have experienced. At that precise moment he plunged into her, but her mind and body were separated from him. She went limp as she felt the mountain lion attack her, then plunge its fangs into her soft body. Then her mind closed off the pain as she willed herself to feel nothing. He felt his seed start and cried out in his passion, and at that precise moment she bit her sharp little teeth into his raw wound.

  “You bitch!” he hissed through clenched teeth. She drew back her hand and slapped him full in the face. He would not retaliate by striking her but would have his revenge in his own time, his own way. She snatched up her bedgown to cover her nakedness. “How does it feel to have your blood on the sheets for a change?” she mocked.

  They looked at each other with hatred, each vowing silently to be finished with the other. The feast at Mountain Ash had definitely ended in climax!

  Chapter 31

  Morganna had been shattered when Falcon de Burgh returned to Mountain Ash with an exquisite bride on his saddlebow. Though she was a hostage, she had had the freedom to escape every day she had been there, but had chosen to stay and await de Burgh’s return. The months had been long because of his absence, and it had gotten to the point where she lived only for his return. She was obsessed with him. He was easily the most satisfying sexual partner she had ever known, and she had known several, including Llewellyn, self-styled King of Wales.

  She had a plan to become mistress of Falcon and Mountain Ash, and all she needed was something to bind him to her forever. She knew what she must do. She knew she must bear him a child. Jasmine’s appearance had thrown her plans into jeopardy.

  So far she had been unsuccessful in luring him to bed, but she knew he and Jasmine had separate chambers and that all was not milk and honey between the newlyweds. There was already some bone of contention between them, so it should be simple for her to drive in her wedge and widen the distance between bride and groom.

  She knew, however, she would need all her wiles as a woman to seduce him back to her bed. Even when she was in his arms she did not fool herself into thinking he received as much pleasure as he gave to her. Part of him was ever withdrawn. It was a deliberate reserve that kept his innermost being secret. It tormented her to the point of insanity. To bear his child would let her own and possess that vulnerable bit of his emotions. She knew him to be a man of honor. He would never discard a child that was his, nor the woman who bore it.

  It was almost a month before the supply wagons Isabel Marshal had promised got through to Mountain Ash. At the same time, the lull in the bad weather permitted scores of de Burgh men-at-arms to get through the snow-girt passes.

  Accompanying both wagons and men was the indomitable Estelle. De Burgh welcomed her briefly and politely, but he was by no means sure if her appearance would augur well for him.

  Jasmine, however, was happier to see her grandmother than she had been in a very long time. Dame Winwood managed to bring with her everything Jasmine had left behind as well as a profusion of herbs, simples, ointments, decoctions, electuaries, and the precious crystal ball. In addition to all this, the things Isabel Marshal sent along with the food and fodder were invaluable. She had sent linens, spices, wines, fine materials, cushions, carpets, and, unbelievably, a great oval mirror.

  Tam volunteered to carry all Estelle’s luggage to her small chamber on the almost certain chance that he would get to see Jasmine. When she smiled at him and asked if he could carry the mirror up to her tower room, he lingered there a long time, looking at her feminine belongings, her brushes, perfume, bedrobe, and the soft white ermine wrap.

  Estelle and Jasmine were finally alone, laughing at each other with tears of relief in their eyes. So many questions between them needed asking and answering that Jasmine insisted “You first.”

  “When I discovered Chester had put a guard on your door I knew I would be of no use to you. I realized he could use me to force you to his will, so I disappeared. I went home to Salisbury, then went to Chepstow to speak with your father. I put my faith in de Burgh. If you had a psychic bond with him, he would be your salvation. Your father told me that he had indeed rescued you and carried you off to Mountain Ash. I worried over your having such an ordeal through the icy mountains, but I see that de Burgh took every care of you.”

  “I’ll tell you all the gory details of my two weddings, they’ll make your hair stand on end,” Jasmine said. “But if you think de Burgh takes every care of me, you are mistaken. The moment we are together it is like setting a match to kindling. I am sure no man and woman ever fought more than we do. Estelle, whatever am I to do? I think I’m already carrying his child.”

  Estelle’s heart stopped. All the anguish she had suffered years before when her b
eloved only daughter had quickened with Salisbury’s seed and died in childbed came rushing back to her. Damn men to hell, why did they need to destroy the women they loved best? She saw Jasmine’s delicate body and feared she would never be able to carry and safely deliver a child. She was as ethereal and fragile as a rare orchid. Why had she ever agreed to let her marry de Burgh?

  Well, there was no alternative but to confront him. She’d have this out with him now. She carefully questioned Jasmine about her menstrual flow, asking about all the classical signs from morning sickness to tender breasts. When she was convinced the pregnancy was real she sought out de Burgh.

  She found him in the shed that stored fodder for the animals. With Gervase at his elbow he tallied what stores they had against how many animals must be wintered, taking into account that more horses were arriving nearly every day.

  “Men!” she exploded when she saw him.

  De Burgh touched Gervase on the shoulder. “Leave us,” he said quietly.

  “Well, are you satisfied?” she demanded as the man left them.

  De Burgh kept a wise silence, knowing there was a lot more she was going to get off her chest.

  “Was this some sort of race to see how quickly you could make it happen?” she asked, warming to her subject. “Did you have the need to prove your virility to your hundreds of men?” She took a deep breath. “Blood of God, you must have had her abed day and night to get her with child this quickly.” Estelle suddenly broke down. She covered her face and cried, “It will kill her!”

  De Burgh was dismayed. “I had no idea,” he said lamely.

  Estelle dashed the tears from her eyes. “I warned you repeatedly … we all warned you she was too delicate for wife and mother, but you would not be denied, you would have her at all costs. I thought you understood that you could not play stallion and brood mare with Jasmine.”