The Falcon and the Flower (33 page)

Jasmine’s eyes fastened upon the king and she turned cold as ice inside. It was not Isabella she should blame, nor even the Earl of Chester, for if the king, her uncle, had one shred of decency she would not have been sold. It was John’s innate evil and greed that were responsible for her plight, and she swore an oath in that moment to be avenged for this night’s work.

She closed her eyes and swayed with dizziness. Ranulf caught hold of her to steady her. John threw back his head in uncontrolled laughter. “Have at her then. Some night soon we’ll exchange bed partners and you’ll see for yourself how hot and hungry Isabella is for a well-endowed man.”

Chester threw the bar across the door, turned, and came toward Jasmine. The last thread of her courage fled. She backed away from him, but he went after her and dragged her back to stand before the fire. “Please, milord …” Her voice disappeared.

He took her chin between his finger and thumb and forced her to look at him. “You will call me Ranulf, do you understand?”

“Yes, milord … Ranulf. Please, have you sent word to the men who hold my grandmother?” she whispered.

“You are now the Countess of Chester. You have more important things to worry about than your grandmother. I would advise you to worry about pleasing your husband. Your maiden’s shyness pleases me, but I will brook no disobedience from you. I will not indulge and spoil you as your father has. I will school you to do your duty by me. If you do not please me in every way, I shall punish you.”

She stood trembling.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Ranulf,” she murmured now on a half sob.

“Now come here to me,” he ordered softly, and his hand covered the creamy swell of her breast.

De Burgh arrived in Gloucester at ten o’clock. He had gone beyond weariness. His body demanded action. He sought his own men immediately. They filled him in on what they knew but it wasn’t much. The wedding had been secret with only a handful of Chester’s most trusted men knowing of it.

“If Chester has married my lady I intend to challenge
him. I need your help. When Chester calls for his men I want them to be incapable of responding. This night’s work will be remembered a long time by Chester and by King John, so if you want no part of it, speak now and I will release you.” No man spoke.

“At midnight get the hell out of here. We will meet again at Mountain Ash. Pass the word to every de Burgh man.” He chose two he knew he could trust with his life. “Montgomery … de Clare … attend me. Montfort, look to my destrier. I stabled him. See that he is warmed and fed. He’ll only have a short rest, I’m afraid. I’ll need another strong horse and a couple of packhorses made ready. I also want my lady’s palfrey saddled.”

The next stop he made was at the residence of the Bishop of Gloucester. He was informed by a servant that the bishop had retired for the night and could not be disturbed. By this time de Burgh had little patience left. One strong arm forced back the door. “Stand aside, man, if you know what’s good for you. He’ll be disturbed by what I have to tell him, I’ll warrant.”

The servant was reduced to a handwringing subservient as he followed the three men down the hall to the bishop’s private study. De Burgh offered the token of a brief knock before he entered.

The Bishop of Gloucester, a beefy man with a round, ruddy face, quickly set his drink aside and was on his feet to challenge the intruders.

“Did you perform a wedding tonight between Ranulf of Chester and Jasmine of Salisbury?” demanded de Burgh.

“I did. Who are you and by what right are you here?” the bishop demanded fearlessly.

De Burgh’s hand swept his question aside with an impatient gesture. “Did the king attend the wedding ceremony?” he rapped out.

“I’ll answer no more questions until you identify yourself, sir, and I learn if your business is legitimate!”

De Burgh clenched his fists in fury, then schooled himself with a great effort to patience. “I am Falcon de Burgh. The Lady Jasmine is my betrothed. I have a valid contract with her father, Salisbury. If the king attended the wedding ceremony tonight the marriage is illegal— null and void.”

“Illegal?” echoed the bishop, thinking his authority was being challenged.

“Pope Innocent has excommunicated the king,” de Burgh said simply.

The words took the wind from the bishop’s sails. “By all that’s holy, is this true?” he asked, overawed. The news was devastating, but if he was honest with himself he knew that John had asked for it, deserved it.

“Who will tell him?” he asked quietly.

“Have you the courage?” de Burgh asked sarcastically. “Or is it more expedient for you to ignore Rome and take the side of the king?”

The bishop sat down as if his legs had collapsed. “I cannot do that. My duty is clear-cut; I must uphold the excommunication or Rome will issue an edict against the whole realm.”

“Just so,” said de Burgh, satisfied the bishop was not weak-livered. “If King John took the time to read his dispatches from Rome, he would know of this. He would have known his attendance at the religious ceremony of a wedding would invalidate it. Get dressed, my lord bishop, you have a wedding ceremony to perform.”

The bishop paled visibly.

“Courage, man. John will have drunk himself into a stupor by now. His brother Salisbury, William Marshal, and the justiciar will deal with the king in a few days.” De Burgh was finished with explanations. “Hurry, man,
if Chester has consummated this marriage, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Ranulf was busy inspecting his merchandise. He was savoring his acquisition, running his hands over every inch of Jasmine’s creamy satin skin, letting his fingers play with her pale silken mass of hair that fell about her shoulders like a silvery waterfall. His palms cupped and weighed each perfect breast, then he let his mouth suck and taste each taut, pink nipple.

Jasmine stood before him like a cold statue of marble. She had withdrawn to a place apart, a place of the mind, not of the body. A place where Ranulf’s avid fingers could not touch.

He removed the last of his clothing and Jasmine’s eyes looked at his body impassively. He was not an attractive man. Though he was tall, it was his body that was long rather than his legs, and though he had no belly, his torso was the same width from shoulder to hip and his muscles had a knotty appearance. His body was devoid of hair except his groin, and this was covered by the same lank, black hair that covered his head.

He reached for Jasmine’s hand and brought it to his swollen member, which had been in a semiaroused state since he had seen her in the pristine white wedding gown.

Jasmine’s small hand lay unresisting in his own. When her fingers did not eagerly close over him, he bent to cover her mouth with his. He forced her lips apart and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth. She went limp as if she would swoon, and he gave her face a small, sharp slap. “Respond to me!” he ordered.

Suddenly there was a heavy crash upon the door. The bar splintered with a loud crack and Jasmine’s eyes flew open. Were the Powers of the Universe she had begged for help coming to her rescue?

Three heavy shoulders applying their power in unison
had battered down the door. De Burgh murmured, “I’ll do this alone,” and the two men who flanked him backed off and took the Bishop of Gloucester a discreet distance down the hall.

Falcon, like an avenging bird of prey, swept into the room. Naked, without a weapon, Chester knew he was trapped. De Burgh stood with one hand on his sword hilt, the other held his dagger. He was dressed from head to toe in black. His black leather boots reached up to his thighs and he had casually tucked his black leather gauntlets into the cuff of his boot. He wore a flared hat to shield his eyes, and only the slant of his scarred cheek and jaw were visible.

Chester threw back his head and bellowed, “Guard! Guard!”

One of de Burgh’s men came to the door. Chester cried, “A hundred crowns if you seize him!”

Montgomery laughed. “I wouldn’t piss for a hundred crowns,” then retreated down the hallway.

De Burgh spoke for the first time. His voice was quietly menacing. “Don’t move unless you want to lose a-testicle.” He was trying to control a terrible bloodlust, and he found it the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

Chester argued, “You’re too late to do anything about it … we are wed.”

“In that case I’ll have to make a widow of her,” he threatened with relish. The vein on Chester’s forehead began to pulsate with fear. De Burgh towered over him, an unforgiving mountain of hatred. Chester took an involuntary step backward.

Jasmine stood rooted to the spot. De Burgh hadn’t spared her a glance. It was obvious he was more interested in taking his revenge on Chester than rescuing her, and in that moment she hated him. She darted to the bed and snatched up the ermine mantle to cover her nakedness. Chester looked quickly over to her.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, man,” ordered de Burgh, the fury inside him still threatening to spill blood.

Jasmine’s eyes were wide with horror. She knew de Burgh’s temper, knew his reckless daring. Any second now he would murder the man who had dared take what was his. The naked steel would plunge in and come out covered with bloody entrails. She saw her two tormentors through blurred, tear-filled eyes. “Devils!” she sobbed, “savages!”

De Burgh looked at her directly for the first time. “Me? I abhor violence,” he said.

Jasmine had an uncontrollable desire to laugh and cry and scream and curse. It all came out on a sob.

De Burgh advanced upon Chester. He saw clearly that he had gone pasty gray and was convinced he’d drawn his last breath. “Take her,” Chester offered desperately. “I renounce all claim.”

De Burgh was amused. A great bark of laughter rang out. “I intend to take her. You never had a claim. Your dear friend King John is under excommunication. His attending the ceremony made it illegal and invalid.”

A great relief rushed over Chester. His strength was sapped; his knees buckled.

Jasmine looked upon him with contempt. “Where are you holding Estelle?” she demanded.

“I am not holding her,” he denied quickly, fearfully. “I never harmed her. She left Gloucester—ran off somewhere.”

Now it was Jasmine’s turn to be weak with relief.

De Burgh gagged Chester, then trussed him up so tightly he looked like a boar ready for the spit. Then he looked at Jasmine. “You’ve had the mock wedding, now we’ll have the real one.” He was a frighteningly potent image, one of real flesh and of real blood. Falcon de Burgh wasn’t used to the passive role. From the moment he had set eyes on the enchanting girl, all his keenest
instincts as a hunter had been aroused. Her heart started its wild war dance as he reached for her, but he simply ushered her through the door with a possessive hand at the small of her back.

In the hallway he beckoned his men. “Put this door back on its hinges and make sure it will take a great effort to reopen it.” He looked down at Jasmine. “Where is your chamber?”

She was trembling and could not find her voice, so she pointed to a door farther down the hall.

“Here is the good bishop risen from his bed just to perform the ceremony,” he said silkily.

“Falcon, no, I’ve been through so much,” she cried.

He said ominously, “You’ve been through nothing yet.” He led the way to Jasmine’s chamber. The Bishop of Gloucester followed on his heels thinking irreverently that the bride was already conveniently naked beneath her fur.

De Burgh’s strong hand kept her at his side. “I’m sorry to press you, my lord bishop, but I’m afraid our time is running out. Say the necessary words, then you can get back to your safe bed.”

Jasmine glanced up at de Burgh. His face was as hard as granite. The dark arrogance lay on his face as if his very soul was fierce and wild. It was his arrogance that always unnerved her. The thin white scar from brow to cheek gave him such a slanting, devilish look.

It was as if he read her mind. “You put it there,” he pointed out.

The Bishop of Gloucester aided them in exchanging their vows. Jasmine felt she had as little choice now as she had had earlier in the evening.

“We’ll need witnesses,” reminded the bishop.

De Burgh opened the door and called to his men who had just finished securing Chester’s great studded door.

“Do you want witnesses for what comes next?” Montgomery asked with a good-natured leer.

De Burgh flashed his wolf’s grin. “I don’t want you watching, but you can listen if you’ve a mind to. I’ll need you to stand guard at the door.”

All the necessary signatures were obtained, including the Bishop of Gloucester’s, then at last Falcon was alone with his bride. She clutched the ermine wrap about her desperately as he began to divest himself of black cloak and doublet. He removed the heavy chain-link vest and finally his lawn shirt. Stripped to the waist, he advanced toward her.

“Jasmine …” He put his finger under her chin. “Look at me while I explain things. There is no time for pretty speeches. You deserve to be wooed with a flower, a poem, a sigh …” His thumb caressed her cheek. “A stolen kiss … a soft embrace … but you will have none of these. Jassy, forgive me for what I am about to do to you. It seems like all my life I’ve had to do the expedient thing, and tonight I’m again forced to be strong, decisive, practical, and unfortunately for you, quick!”

“Falcon, please.” Her hands came up to his chest in supplication.

“This marriage must be consummated, and consummated now. It must be made legal so that none can take you from me, do you understand?” he demanded harshly.

She looked into his eyes and saw only green fire and knew that he would not relent. She nodded mutely and her lashes swept down to her cheeks.

“Your eyelashes are thick as feathers,” he murmured as he reached out a firm hand to take her wrap. It fell to the carpet and he kicked it aside. For a second or two he feasted upon her, his devouring eyes sliding all over her flowing body. Then he swept her up in powerful arms and took her to the bed.

She turned her face from him as he stripped off the rest
of his clothes and towered above the bed. He closed his eyes momentarily and offered thanks that the flower he so desired had not been plucked by another, then he opened his eyes, expecting to fill them up with the lover’s vision of a lifetime. The bed was empty. Jasmine was kneeling on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, her hands pressed together, her eyes closed as she begged her god to deliver her from men’s evil. His blood ran hot in his veins. His emotions swung wildly with unrequited desire. He had wanted, nay, craved her for so long, banking the fires that had threatened to consume him for months. He had snatched her from the arms of another man and now instead of sweetly yielding up her prize to him, she was invoking the power of God against him.