The Falcon and the Flower (10 page)

Chester, usually a man sparing in words, said to Jasmine, “My men will provide you escort, my ladies.”

Ela could not help comparing this man, this great earl, with Falcon de Burgh. His face was pitted by the smallpox and the beard he effected to cover the ugliness failed in its purpose. For all his wealth he wore armor covered by a plain green surcoat, and Ela hunched her shoulders
slightly so that her breasts were not quite so much in evidence. After dreaming of the magnificently endowed de Burgh warming her bed, she did not relish Chester taking a fancy to her, for all his reputed riches. Isobel was about to send the servants off to prepare baths for their visitors when de Burgh strode into the hall.

He had washed the blood from his body at the horse trough and secured his leather jack before confronting Chester. He also had his temper under control, or so he thought.

Jasmine’s heart thudded at sight of him and she moved closer to Chester as if to seek his protection. To explain the baggage the servants stood patiently holding, she blurted to de Burgh, “I am returning to Winwood Keep. The Earl of Chester is providing us with safe escort.”

De Burgh swept the assembly with his crystal-green gaze. “I think not,” he said crisply. “Knights who are allowed to rape peasant women do not escort
my
betrothed anywhere. Seek your room, mistress,” he ordered with quiet authority.

Jasmine gasped at her dismissal, but he had already turned from her to Chester. The earl, sensing the authority and hearing the implication that de Burgh was to become Salisbury’s son-in-law, nevertheless had taken the insult to his knights full in the face. Perhaps the young fool didn’t realize whom he was addressing.

“I’m Ranulf de Blundeville, Earl of Chester.”

“I know. That’s why I could scarcely credit the actions of your men, sir. I am Falcon de Burgh, in charge of Salisbury until William’s return.”

Chester waved a dismissive hand. “If one of my knights has toyed with a maid, he shall be punished. It is hardly an earth-shattering offense.”

“No need to punish him, my lord earl, he is dead. I decapitated him for the rape.”

Chester stared in disbelief. Should he order his men to seize the young lout?

Falcon spoke again. “My men are assisting yours to camp farther a field where they won’t trample our spring crops.”

Something stirred in Chester’s memory. This must be Hubert de Burgh’s nephew, the one who had gained a reputation as the most skilled, cool-headed leader who struck with such passionate fury that he was sometimes called the “Rod of the Lord’s Fury.” The two men stood facing each other. Each recognized that he had just made a deadly enemy. Both anticipated with brutal relish the violence that was sure to come at a future date. This, however, was not the time.

Chester swallowed the insults. “Men need a strong leader in battle, to listen to crude jokes, drink wine cup for cup, chain them like the fierce hounds they are, and whip them when they misstep.” It was a rather flowery speech for Chester, but it passed for an apology of his men’s actions and an acceptance of de Burgh’s execution.

Falcon’s green gaze again fell on Jasmine, and without a word she did as he had bade her and sought her chamber.

Ranulf de Blundeville had been in a quandary when he had heard that Richard Coeur de Lion had been injured. He dismissed it lightly until his informants told him Richard’s mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, had left for Normandy the day she received the news. She was ancient and would not undertake so arduous a journey unless there was a chance the young king would die. There were two heirs to the throne. One was his close friend, John; the other was his ex-wife’s son, young Arthur. There was no love whatsoever lost between Ranulf and Constance of Brittany, and he would do his damndest to see that she never became the exalted mother to the king. Constance would regret that she had never let the lad
come to England, because this would count against him. As far as Ranulf was concerned, John would do very nicely, thank you. Chester had hated to leave the north for one reason only. The moment his back was turned, the other rapacious barons would seize some of what was his, especially since there was no crowned head in England. However, now that he had discovered Salisbury had sailed, he made his decision. He looked at Falcon de Burgh and said, “I’m sending my men home again, but I’m traveling on to Normandy. Have you any knowledge of Richard’s condition?”

Estelle pressed her lips together. John would become king and this man before her would rise even further in power.

De Burgh, needing to be rid of him without delay, shook his head, but added the spur. “William Marshal is guarding the treasury, so all the important nobles are there in case England’s future needs deciding upon.” De Burgh read his mind as Chester silently added, They will be when I arrive.

It was early the following morning that the messages reporting King Richard’s death arrived, just as Estelle had prophesied they would.

Jasmine answered a low knock upon her chamber and was disconcerted to find the powerful figure of de Burgh filling the doorway when she opened it.

“May I enter?” he asked quietly as she made no offer to invite him in. After a brief hesitation she stepped aside.

“May I sit?” he inquired politely as his large limbs bent toward a chair.

“No!” she screamed. He jacknifed out of the chair in reaction to her alarm. She ran to the chair and picked up a tiny bundle.

“It’s Quill,” she explained defensively. “You almost squashed him.”

He looked at her as if she were mad. “A hedgehog?” he said with disbelief. “Is this another creature you use for your hocus-pocus?” he demanded, ready to forbid any further dabbling in her ridiculous magic.

“No, it is not. It is a pet. Betrothed to you am I not permitted even a pet?” she asked with loathing.

Irritated that she had put him in the wrong so quickly, he replied, “Of course you may have pets, but Prick won’t last long if you let him up on chairs.

Jasmine blushed profusely. “His name is Quill, sir. Did you wish something in particular?”

“I know you wish to return to Winwood Keep, but I do not believe it is a safe place for two women alone now that we have received news that England is without a king.”

“So, it is official that Richard is dead? You see, Milord de Burgh, my grandmother has seen the future. Now you have proof of what she foretold. John will be crowned king.”

“I have no such proof. I put no credence whatsoever in Dame Winwood’s prophecies, I assure you. King Richard received a fatal wound—it is as simple as that,” he said flatly. She had given him no argument about returning home, and he was suddenly suspicious when he saw that her luggage was still packed. “It is agreed then? You will stay at Salisbury for now?”

“No,” she replied stubbornly. “Must I stay here?”

“If I wish it,” he answered.

She turned from him in anger, giving him her back.
His eyes traveled the length of her appreciatively, noting that her bottom formed a perfect heart. He felt himself harden. He longed to touch her.

“If John is crowned, then his wife Avisa will be queen.” She turned to face him. “I wish to go to visit Avisa at Cirencester. I realize it is a great distance from here, but I wish to be the first to join the queen’s court.”

He thought, Cirencester is only forty miles from here, but I suppose to a young woman who has been pent up her whole life, it seems a great distance. “John is not the heir to the throne and Avisa is not queen. You have a female’s illogic of facts.”

“But Estelle—”

“Is a raddled old trout who has filled your head full of arrant nonsense,” he finished.

Her hand swept back and flew forward at his words, but he grasped her fragile wrist and held it immobile. “Were you going to strike me, mistress?” he asked with disbelief.

“Let me free,” she whispered.

He laughed at her. “You don’t get things from a man by striking him.”

“I want nothing from you!” she cried.

“Strange. A moment ago you wanted me to take you to Avisa at Cirencester. What will you offer me if I let you go?” He slanted an eyebrow.

“What do you want?” She had begun to breathe heavily with her agitation, and he watched in fascination the rise and fall of her tempting breasts.

“I want to dip my finger in your pot of honey.”

She gasped; he grinned with delight. He unclasped his strong fingers from her wrist and she rubbed at the ache they left, backing away from him with untrusting eyes.

“You will learn that I do not like impudence, especially in a wife.”

“You dream, de Burgh! I’m not your wife yet.”

“Never use that tone of voice with me again, mistress, it pleases me not.” His words were like the crack of a whip, and she knew she had gone far enough.

She lowered her eyes. Perhaps she would take Estelle’s advice and use a sweet tongue to get her own way, for she was determined to go to Cirencester. “Milord,” she breathed, and lifted her lashes to peep at him prettily. “If you should receive messages indicating that John is to become our king, would you then take me to Avisa?”

He was on the point of agreeing to accede to her wishes when she cooed a little too sweetly. “I’d feel so safe with such a strong escort as you, m’sieur.”

He exploded, “I cannot be cajoled by flattery, mistress, it is a witch’s trick. I am a busy man while your father is away. I suggest you occupy yourself learning how to run a household. According to all reports you are useless. You would do well to take lessons from your sisters.” He strode from her chamber satisfied that he had put the little minx in her place. He reckoned without Jasmine. His words were like a slap in the face to her, comparing her so unfavorably with her sisters. Well, she would show him! She wouldn’t stay there another day, no, not another hour. If he wouldn’t escort her to Avisa, she would find another who would.

She waited until de Burgh had ample time to get back to his blacksmith’s forge, then she sought out her grandmother in the stillroom. “Estelle, I have permission to visit Lady Avisa, soon to be Queen Avisa, at Cirencester. My things are all packed. Hurry and make ready. De Burgh is providing one of his men to escort us. Darling, you were right. A few sweet words and he was wax in my hands,” she lied.

She hurried out to the stables and looked over the men as eagerly as they looked at her. She soon found her mark, a young squire of about sixteen, yet long-limbed and well muscled. He was in her father’s service rather
than de Burgh’s, which suited her better. “Ah, you must be the young man Milord de Burgh described to me,” she said airily.

“Me, my lady?” the lad said, blushing.

“Yes, you. What is your name?”

“David, my lady,” he said, his heart hammering in his chest at her closeness.

“You are to escort my grandmother and me to Cirencester. When you have saddled our horses, you may come to the castle for our baggage. We brought our own packhorses.”

He nodded that he knew which horses and packhorses had come from Winwood Keep, but he could not credit that he was to be entrusted to take the beautiful Lady Jasmine to Cirencester. “Perhaps it was not me Milord de Burgh meant, my lady,” he said doubtfully.

“Of course it was you. He told me you were handsome and well made and I distinctly recall he used the name David. He has made a point of knowing all the men of Salisbury who serve my father. No one escapes his notice, David. He must be most favorably impressed by you to choose you for my escort.”

“Thank you, my lady, it is indeed a great honor, one I’m sure I am most unworthy of,” he said, dazed.

“Pooh,” she said prettily, “don’t stand about being modest. I wish to leave immediately.”

In the courtyard, Estelle was busy giving David orders regarding her precious cargo and how it should be distributed on the packhorses. She never traveled without her magic paraphernalia and her apothecary case containing her potions, herbs, and elixirs.

Jasmine was in a panic to be gone, so finally she simply brought down her riding crop on her white palfrey’s rump and it surged ahead, out of the courtyard, heading toward Salisbury Plain. David had no choice but to follow her leading the packhorses. As for Estelle, it took her
quite some time before she was able to catch up with the little cavalcade. At least five miles had been covered before she came abreast of Jasmine. “Your wicked juices overflowed, did they not?” she asked with a shrewd glance.

“Oh, I’m sorry I was riding too fast for you, Grandmother.”

“That’s not what I meant, and well you know it. You took off as if the Devil was after you because you don’t have permission for this little jaunt, do you?”

“Estelle, whatever makes you think such a thing?” she asked.

“De Burgh wouldn’t let you travel with only one escort, and he certainly wouldn’t have chosen a handsome youth like David to take you gallavanting across the country. He’s like a dog with a bone.”

“Estelle, I swear to you I asked his permission to go to Cirencester.”

Dame Winwood let out a raucous laugh. “And he said
no
, didn’t he? If you think he will release you because you lead him a merry chase you think wrong. Such a one as that would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

By this time David had had a chance to gather his wits, and he had come to the same conclusions as Dame Winwood. However, he was caught between the kettle and the coals. He couldn’t make her return to Salisbury and he couldn’t abandon the ladies, ergo he must carry on with this journey and pray that nothing untoward befell his charges. Already the sweat trickled down his back at the thought of what de Burgh would do when he discovered her gone and caught up with them.

By the time they reached Marlborough on the great Roman road that ran east-west from London to Bristol, the sun had begun to set. Estelle, practical as always, decided they could go no farther. This main road had inns for those who traveled, and while they waited outside,
she sent David in to secure them a room. They had no money, so it would have to be procured on the strength of the Salisbury name.

The common room at the White Boar was filled with smoke, tempting aromas of food and ale, and a motley collection of merchants, mercenaries, men of the cloth, and thieves. David, desperate to find the ladies safe shelter for the night, was a trifle loud in identifying his party. Wishing to impress the landlord with the status of his charge, he called, “The Earl of Salisbury’s daughter wishes shelter for the night.” He certainly gained the innkeeper’s attention, but unfortunately every other ear in the place was pricked, most out of sheer curiosity, but some out of pure greed. One man took a swift look at the women as they entered and slunk off to make himself a profit. He made straight for Hagthorn Castle where the notoriously cruel and rapacious Roger de Belamé often paid for information that would give him an advantage in acquiring more of this world’s goods than he had been allotted.