“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.
His hands immediately loosened the silver ribbons, and one impatient hand slid down inside the neckline and went round down her back until it rested warmly at the base of her spine. Then he forced her body against his. As his demanding mouth covered hers she could feel him rising hard against her. His lips brushed twice across hers before he used the tip of his tongue to trace the outline of her mouth, sending a shocking trail of fire deep down inside her. Her hatred for him was hot. Then suddenly, clearly she realized she didn’t have to be in love to feel the fire.
He held her captive against him while his strong, insistent arousal throbbed against the curve of her stomach. Then he sat back on his heels and quickly took the pink gown off over her head. She protested repeatedly, but he was deaf to her pleas. Somehow she felt if she could keep her shift on it would protect her from his onslaught, but he seemed to have a dozen hands intent on plucking her naked. When she was nude, he clasped her hands above her head to prevent her clawing him and looked down at her hungrily. She lay like silken enchantment upon the furs, the fire highlighting her breasts and belly. He dipped his head to place a kiss deep within each armpit. He had done it before yet still she blushed deeply at the intimacy of such an act. He freed his shaft from the constriction of the tight cloth that covered him, and his magnificent erection sprang up with a will of its own. He poised over her, breathing harshly. Whenever he lay with her it was like slow torture. His mind and his body were at war with themselves. His flesh was fiercely demanding, his blood sang with delirious excitement, but always just beyond the ragged edges of his lust, his mind told him he wanted more.
The ultimate, of course, would be if Jasmine loved him, but he was a practical man and he would settle for much less than love. All he asked was that she desire him … no, even less than that. He would be over the moon if he could pleasure her—make her orgasmic. He lowered his body over hers and reached down to guide his shaft with trembling hands. His fingers forced her open further to accommodate his size. Because he took her so seldom, he could not control his peaking passion, then he surged upward pouring a throbbing, white-hot orgasm into her.
Jasmine felt panic rise within her, for before God what he was doing to her made her feel like nothing else mattered but his body inside hers. And she didn’t even love him! Yes, you do, a voice said inside her head. “No, I don’t !” she screamed the denial aloud and looked straight into the eyes of Morganna, who had entered his chamber without knocking.
The scene spread out before Morganna was like a knife twisting in her guts. Hatred exploded inside her brain as she saw that Falcon’s need for his wife had been so great, so urgent he hadn’t taken the time to disrobe.
When de Burgh realized the appalling intrusion he commanded harshly, “Get out!”
Blinded by hatred, Morganna fled.
“I’m sorry, Jasmine darling,” he soothed softly.
“Don’t apologize,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad she saw you making love to me.” There was a note of triumph in her voice that Falcon found disconcerting. He looked down at her in amazement. He could see the pearl drops of his sperm on the inside of her thighs and he was hard again instantly, orgasmic but nowhere near sated.
She saw his intent and tried to rise. She got only to her knees before he pressed her to him with powerful arms.
“Not again!” she cried.
“Yes again,” he insisted urgently.
“It’s too soon,” she protested.
“It’s never too soon, I know strokes to soothe you, Jassy.”
She pulled from him with blazing eyes. “Your sensual excesses are inexcusable! Have you forgotten I’m with child?”
“If that bitch hadn’t interrupted me when she did … I had you one stroke from climax!”
“That bitch walking in was the only part I enjoyed,” she spat cruelly. It was suddenly too much for Jasmine. She began to sob and shake. In truth he had brought her to climax, and her first release was so great the tears came flooding. She would never let him know what he had done to her … and she would make sure she controlled her betraying, treacherous body in future.
Chapter 33
That night Mountain Ash was raided. The invaders took sheep, cattle, fodder, and valuable horses. The thatched huts of the villagers that had sprung up outside the castle walls were set ablaze as a diversionary tactic to effect a clean getaway. Fire in the night was a terrifying experience, as the raiders well knew. In the blackness the flames crackled and roared, enjoying their wicked orgy of destruction.
The villagers were brought into the castle, and the next day was spent rebuilding their huts for them. Estelle and Jasmine were busy tending burns and comforting the children. Falcon de Burgh bided his time. He would be very sure of his target before he struck back. Once he did, he would make certain Mountain Ash was never raided again, for when the Welsh got inside a castle they killed, looted, and raped like wild beasts.
In the hall at supper his eyes sought out Morganna. She felt his eyes on her immediately and smiled with satisfaction. The moment he finished eating he excused himself to Jasmine and left the hall. Morganna followed him to his chamber, as he knew she would. He was stripped to the waist when he opened the door and drew her inside.
She could not keep her hands from him as she hoped to arouse him to untold heights. He undressed her quickly and lifted her to the bed, but then his caresses slowed in a tortuous, maddening, drawn-out session of foreplay that she neither wanted nor needed. In an amazingly short time she was mindless, begging him for the fulfillment she knew only he could give her.
Falcon, his hot mouth against her breast, said, “Where does Llewellyn store his treasure?”
“Mmmm … treasure?” she murmured thickly.
“Which castle houses what he has stolen from English castles?” He suspected she had been in communication with Llewellyn, as she rode out often through the mountains.
She didn’t care if she betrayed Llewellyn to this man. She would do anything for him. All he had ever had to do was ask.
Her fingers closed about his swollen member. “Please, please.” She rubbed and writhed against his marblelike thigh. Through the red haze of passion she sought a name. “Penderyn.” She gasped.
He blew his warm breath over a distended nipple. “No, Morganna, that is where he stays in winter, where he launched the raid from. Where has he hidden his treasure … gold … jewels?”
“Ohhh … Brecon … now, plea
se!”
Brecon! He might have guessed. It was a mountain fortress where at least three rivers joined to prevent attacks.
“Falcon …” she beseeched. He gave her thirty seconds of his attention. He manipulated her briskly with his hand to give her release, then quit the bed. Already he was miles away from her, his quick mind totally absorbed with a plan of revenge against Llewellyn. Though the hour was late, he did not hesitate to go down and rouse Gervase and Montgomery from their beds. He wanted to set his plan before them to see if they could pick any holes in it.
Morganna fell asleep in his bed, and it was there that Jasmine discovered her the next morning. She had wanted to tell Falcon that she would have her household servants move the villagers back into their rebuilt huts and supply them with food and blankets. When she saw the lithe brown form of Morganna curled up in his bed, her heart stopped. Tears immediately filled her eyes and she ran blindly down the tower steps and out into the cold morning, fighting a great wave of nausea. She leaned against the bailey wall and vomited, but somehow instead of making her feel better, it made her feel worse. She knew she was going to faint and realized how dangerous it would be to lie long in the freezing cold without a cloak. Blindly she reached out her hand then crumpled beside the wall.
Tam strode swiftly toward her and scooped the small, limp form into his arms. He swept into the hall and came face to face with de Burgh. “My lady is ill.”
Falcon was startled to hear the protective tone the young knight used as he called her his lady, but he was so concerned over Jasmine that he let it pass. “Bring her upstairs,” Falcon directed, and the two men swiftly climbed the tower steps. Tam naturally carried her into de Burgh’s chamber. By this time Jasmine had opened her eyes and begun to protest weakly, “No, please.”
Tam stopped only two long strides into the room and Falcon almost crashed into him. Tam took in the shameful scene of the naked girl in the bed and turned accusing eyes on de Burgh.
Jasmine turned her face into Tam’s broad chest and whispered, “Please take me upstairs.”
The Falcon and the Flower Page 34
