The Falcon and the Flower

by Virginia Henley

  He lifted her high in powerful arms and did not set her feet to the carpet until she was before the tall mirror. “I want you to watch me make love to you. I want you to see how it makes you more beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Falcon … Falcon,” she cried, and he dipped his head to taste his name on her wine-red lips. Her eyes stared at their image in the mirror and she saw him go down on his knees before her. His lips teased the tiny golden curls as his hands caressed the backs of her thighs, forcing her forward into his kisses. She felt his tongue search out her tiny bud until it swelled with passion, then he deeply probed all her soft, intimate depths. She bit her lips to keep herself from screaming with excitement. Her fingers entwined his thick, black curls and she pressed his head farther into her warm fragrance. She watched her hands dig into the wide, muscled shoulders, leaving scratches as the intensity of his mouth invaded her senses. His tongue, long and lean, lapped at her, then it stroked her hard and strong. It invaded and plundered her shamelessly until it took her.

  In the mirror she saw her breasts harden, her eyelids droop, her pink mouth slacken. With a cry she fell to her knees before him and kissed him deeply. She tasted herself on his lips and it made her wild.

  “Did you like that, Jassy?” he asked huskily.

  “Oh, Falcon, I loved it! I love you!” she cried wildly. A whole new world was opening up for her. Her blood was so high there was no limitation to the things she wanted to do. “Oh, Falcon, what have you done to me? Have you any idea how you have made me feel?”

  “Of course, darling. You want to be wild and wicked and never say no again.”

  “Oh, yes! I’m wildly curious about your body. Come and lie down on the furs before the fire and let me explore you.” He stretched out in a supine position and she knelt above him with worshipful eyes. She brushed her palms over the slabs of muscle in his chest and bent to put the tip of her tongue to each nipple. She wanted more and more and she felt that she would never get enough of him, ever. Her hands slid over his flat belly then she bent over him with great daring to tongue his navel. He groaned with the unbearable heavy ache she had created in his loins.

  “Did I hurt you?” she asked. She almost felt wild enough to hurt him and be hurt in return.

  “Let me teach you,” he said. “The most sensitive part is here just below the head where the skin is pulled back. You can encircle my shaft with your fingers like so, and move them up and down over the head, or- you can use both hands if you want to stimulate the whole length. I feel a different sensation entirely if you put your palms on either side and roll it back and forth.”

  The wildness inside her erupted and she was consumed with an overwhelming desire to kiss him there. She remembered that Estelle had told her it was probably the most erotic thing a woman could do for a man. She bent and kissed the tip of his shaft then looked into his eyes to enjoy his reaction. As she had hoped, his eyes were stained black with passion, which enticed her to something more daring. She ran the tip of her tongue around the groove at the base of the head. It gave her deep satisfaction to see him rear and buck and gasp, “Jassy … Jassy!” Then she encircled the length of his shaft with both hands and took the head into her mouth, alternately sucking and tonguing him. He knew if he did not stop her it would be over in seconds. Quickly he reversed their positions. After flipping her down onto the silvery wolf skins, he impaled her savagely. She was so highly aroused from their foreplay that she was soon crying out with her orgasm. The moment he heard her, his hot seed flowed as he emptied himself inside her.

  This time they slept while their bodies were still joined; his shaft stayed half-hard with the erotic content of his dreams. The more they made love, the more they began to talk. They shared their fears, hopes, and dreams for the future. They shared everything … laughter, secrets, tears. He read his favorite tales to her from Homer, and to give him pleasure she wore her diamonds to bed while he made love to her.

  They shared their childhood memories, their knowledge, their likes and dislikes, and discovered more similarities than they had ever dreamed. Outside there was another great snowstorm; inside they cuddled in the big bed with the curtains drawn back to let in the heat of the fire.

  She sighed to the tip of her toes, then took one foot and ran it along his bare leg. “Falcon, why are you so opposed to my magic?” she asked, not afraid anymore to bring up the forbidden.

  He was silent for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. “Let me see if I can explain it so you will understand how I feel. The price for life is involvement, responsibility, effort. I don’t want my men, my people to live in an imaginary world where everything or anything they fancy can be achieved effortlessly through magic.”

  She stretched luxuriously. “Ah, you are only opposed to fakery and hocus-pocus. I shall still practice my real magic.”

  “I can see I shall have to use my belt on you,” he threatened, taking her roughly in his arms.

  “Even you must admit some of it is real or at least unexplained,” she protested between kisses.

  “Well, let’s see,” he mused. “Take that mystical crystal ball you use to see visions. It might hold others spellbound, but I know that its swirling, smoky illusions are nothing more than colored sand particles that float in water that has a drop of glycerine in it.”

  She playfully took handfuls of his hair into her fists and pulled it. “You are no fun at all!” she accused.

  “Fun?” he demanded fiercely. “Let me teach you what fun is all about.”

  His erection brushed against her thigh and she teased, “Are you always in that wretched condition?”

  “Always,” he admitted, lifting her above him to set her astride him. She did no more than keep him hard while he played with her silvery-gold hair and rosy breasts. She provoked every sense of his body with tantalizing guile. Lord God, he was hard. “Jassy, you make love to me this time … you set the pace … do the things you like.”

  She blushed and said shyly, “You will think me wanton, overbold.”

  He shook his head. “Modesty is misplaced in the bedchamber.”

  She sat like silken enchantment on his lean, muscled body. She covered his face with kisses, then flushed at her own boldness as her tongue traced the arched curve of his top lip. His mouth opened and she thrust in her tongue to duel and play with his. His mouth was like Heaven, she decided. She could feel his erection bucking and jumping between her legs, searching frantically for her entrance, and she teased him by sliding her silky thigh up its entire length. His voice dropped an octave as he said huskily, “Mayhap next time I’ll let you set the pace.” With firm hands he took hold of her bottom and lifted her onto his magnificent erection. His hardness impaled her with pleasure. “Hold on tight, darling,” he murmured as his hands cupped her bottom and lifted her up and down on him effortlessly.

  For long moments at a time the focus of his mind was raptly absorbed watching her take her pleasure. Her sensations were so delicious, he noted with satisfaction, it caused her breath to stop. All the way up inside her, he suddenly wished he’d imprisoned her for three weeks, rather than three days, for he knew he was going to wear himself out, and her, in the time they had left, experiencing every degree of lovemaking possible between male and female.

  Finally with head thrown back in abandon, she cried out his name and her nails left bloody half-moons on his shoulders. She knew something vastly important had happened to her locked in this chamber. It would divide her life forever into before and after. She felt newborn as if she’d only just come fully alive. She was experiencing a divine, immense new power, a secret side to herself that had been unknown, unexplored. Forevermore she had the knowledge that blissful, exquisite pleasure was only an arm’s length away.

  It was early in the morning after their third night together that she heard someone at the door. She flew across the room and pressed herself against the huge door to try to muffle the sound of the low knocking with her naked body. Outside Gervase stood hesita
ting with key in hand. He was flanked by Big Meg and Estelle. Their anxious faces reflected their worry about what had gone on behind the locked door for the last three days. Falcon awoke and slipped from the bed. He came up behind Jasmine, lifted her hair to press kisses to the nape of her neck, then enfolded her in strong arms beneath her breasts. Every vulnerable part of her was open to his hands, while his insistent shaft rose up against her buttocks.

  “Go away,” she called through the door. “We need another day together.”

  As the three exchanged surprised glances, they heard the unmistakable ring of triumph in de Burgh’s laugh.

  Finally winter decided to give way to spring and the mountains of Wales were filled with wildflowers and bird-song. The people at Mountain Ash had had to get used to a lord and lady who were very deeply in love, but they were still a little shocked at their intimate behavior in the hall each night. They acted like newlyweds when in reality Lady Jasmine was almost ready to give birth. Falcon fed her from his own plate. She wrinkled her nose at the sweet sugarplum he offered her. “I only fancy sour things these days.”

  He looked at her with love in his eyes. She bent toward him and whispered, “I love the way you look at me.”

  “How do I look at you?” he asked.

  “As if I were naked!” she said, blushing.

  He took her hand and brushed her fingers with his lips. The tenderness and concern he felt for her brought a great lump into his throat, and he prayed silently for the thousandth time that she would come through her childbirth without complications. They had talked it out and he was amazed that she faced it unafraid. She was prepared for the suffering; he wished to God he could say the same.

  Whenever he saw the worry mar Estelle’s brow he felt guilty about impregnating his delicate wife, yet at the same time he tried to keep his fear at bay. He masked his anxiety for Jasmine’s sake, knowing she would need all his strength as well as her own.

  Early in the morning on the last day of May he searched everywhere for Jasmine until he became almost frantic. He found her in the laundry shed bending over a tub like a washerwoman, while half a dozen female servants stood about her wringing their hands.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Have you all gone mad?” he blasted the women.

  “Don’t scold, Falcon. I wanted to bring on my labor, and every woman I asked said her’s began while she was doing the wash.”

  He wasn’t amused, in fact he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been angrier. “It’s too soon,” he said with a worried frown. “You’re not supposed to have the baby for two or three weeks yet.”

  “Falcon, I do believe it worked … I think it’s begun,” she said faintly, experiencing a tearing pain in her back.

  He swept her up in his arms and carried her to their chamber, calling impatiently for Big Meg and Estelle. “For Christ’s sake, Meg, you shouldn’t have taken your eyes off her, you know she can’t be trusted! Hurry and pull back these covers.”

  “If her labor’s just started, it won’t be born until next month,” said Meg, laughing.

  “What the hell are you talking about, woman?” Falcon asked blankly.

  Jasmine put out her hand to calm him. “It’s an attempt at humor, darling. This is the last day of May … it won’t be born until June.”

  “It’s a damned silly time for humor,” he said irritably. “Estelle, thank God. I found her doing the wash!” They exchanged worried glances and he walked toward the window and beckoned her.

  “Have you got that stuff for pain you told me about?”

  “Yes, yes, I have colewort and poppy for if it gets very bad. Falcon, it’s not going to happen in five minutes, you know. We’re in for a long day and night of it. The best thing you can do is go and have a stiff drink with your men; this is women’s work.”

  “To hell with that rubbish.” He appealed to Jasmine. “You do want me to stay with you, darling, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. Help me to undress, then you can rub my back.”

  He settled her in bed, then threw off his boots and climbed up on the bed behind her. “Here, lean against me, while I rub the pain away.” He propped her between his legs and she used his long, hard thighs to rest her arms. She leaned back against him feeling warm and safe and cherished. She drowsed a little until another pain came, but it was still bearable.

  “Do you remember teasing me because you thought I was too slim to be with child?” she asked, touching her enlarged stomach.

  He teased her now. “No, I don’t remember you ever being slim. Haven’t you always been fat as a little piglet?” She giggled happily for love really was blind. He told her over and over how lusciously beautiful she looked when in reality she felt grossly swollen and ungainly.

  “We have to settle the names. If it’s a boy I can’t decide between Rickard and Michael. Let’s see … Rickard de Burgh … Michael de Burgh.”

  “I like Rickard,” he said definitely.

  “I like Michael,” she announced.

  “Naturally, and if I’d said Michael, you would have said Rickard!” he pointed out.

  “I think it will be a girl. What was that name you said you liked?”

  He kissed her ear. “If it’s a girl it will serve you right. I hope you have a willful little witch just like yourself.”

  It was over twelve long hours before Jasmine went into hard labor. Falcon was all but forgotten as she went down to the gates of pain in woman’s usual way.

  Estelle pointed imperiously to the door and he was glad to leave. He couldn’t bear to watch Jasmine suffer any longer. Like many a man before him, he swore he would never do this to her again. He played hazard with his men who stayed up all night with him, but he lost at every throw of the dice. He paced the hall, alternately booting stools across the room or kicking the logs in the fireplace impatiently.

  Upstairs on the big bed Jasmine bit down on a rolled linen towel to muffle her screams as the dark head of her son forced its way into the world. She was wringing wet with perspiration and was at the limit of her strength. Estelle was visibly relieved that it was almost over. So long as there was no trouble getting the afterbirth and providing no hemorrhaging began, all should be well. She carefully passed the male child to a waiting Meg and his lusty cry echoed to the rafters.

  “Holy Mother of Heaven,” exclaimed Estelle, “there’s another child!”

  “I know,” Jasmine whispered faintly.

  “How long have you known?” Estelle demanded, her nerves stretching to their limit.

  “Weeks,” Jasmine replied, closing her eyes, then opening them wide as a scream was torn from her pale lips.

  De Burgh took the stairs three at a time the moment he heard the child cry out. He threw open the door and filled the chamber with his presence.

  “Out!” commanded Estelle.

  “To hell with that,” he shouted, “I won’t be ordered about in my own castle. Is she all right?”

  “Get out. I haven’t time for male tantrums. If you don’t get out I’ll have Big Meg throw you out!”

  He backed off quickly. Something must be wrong. The child was born, but Jasmine was still screaming. He went out into the tower staircase feeling useless and impotent, and guilt was almost crushing his heart. He ran up to her tower room, tenderly touching items of clothing that belonged to her, each evoking memories so poignant he couldn’t breathe. He clenched his fists and shook them at the heavens. “If she dies … if you play me such a bastardly trick … I’ll …” He listened intently, but her screaming had stopped. He could hear the baby crying lustily, but he could not hear Jasmine.

  He ran down the stairs and went into the chamber again. None dared to stop him this time as he fell on his knees beside the bed. “She’s unconscious!” he accused.

  Estelle said, “She’s asleep, Falcon.”

  “How do you know?” he demanded.

  “Because she is exhausted. It took every last ounce of her strength a
nd mine to bring those into the world.”

  Big Meg held a naked male child in each arm. Falcon was stunned. “Twins? I have two sons? Jasmine gave me two sons at one time?” He felt dizzy.

  “Don’t go fainting on me, I have enough de Burgh men to look after,” said Estelle, laughing.

  “My god, it’s a wonder I didn’t kill her. Is she really all right?”

  “You go and do the bragging and let her do the sleeping. I’m just as amazed as you. She came through this magnificently.”

  Mountain Ash had never been subjected to such unrestrained rejoicing and celebrating in its history. At the end of twenty-four hours the castle could have been overtaken by its weakest enemy, for there was only one man in residence who was still sober. Falcon was stretched out on the floor beside their bed waiting for Jasmine to waken. When she did finally open her eyes for a few minutes, their hands and eyes met and held. Neither of them needed words to convey their feelings to the other. Finally Jasmine whispered, “Michael and Rickard de Burgh.”

  He tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin. “You do realize they will inevitably be known as Mick and Rick?” She smiled contentedly and closed her eyes.

  Chapter 36

  The arrival of June brought more than twin sons, it also brought messengers to Mountain Ash. Estelle had known visitors would come and one stranger would change all their lives. Strangely, each and every one was associated with Ireland. She told de Burgh and was gratified that he neither lost his temper with her extrasensory perception nor ridiculed it. She mentioned it to Jasmine, but her granddaughter’s days were filled with her babies, searching out a wet nurse to help supplement their feedings, and her nights were filled with a husband who was madly in love with her. Their time alone together was all too brief to suit either of them.

  If he encountered her in a hallway he would sweep her into his arms for an impassioned embrace until they were interrupted by the intrusion of a servant. Even in the company of others he found he could not keep his hands from her. They touched and burned and exchanged tender, promising looks. Occasionally he had been lucky enough to encounter her in an outbuilding such as the stillroom, and he had barely allowed her time to bar the door before he had undressed her and lifted her onto his demanding manroot. They always made love as if it were for the first time—and the last. The dark splendor of his body contrasted so sharply against her pale silken beauty.