The Falcon and the Flower (39 page)

His mind conjured an erotic fantasy and he groaned. He had heard somewhere that Arab men in the desert trained their horses for what they called
coït à cheval
A man sat his woman astride his horse facing him and made love to her as the horse galloped over the hot sands.
Coït à cheval
horses were rockers, and legend was that it was an experience a woman remembered always.

He groaned aloud this time and Jasmine turned around and looked up into his face. “Are you cold?” she asked with concern.

“Cold?” he repeated with disbelief. Bones of God, his blood was so overheated at this moment he felt he might erupt like a volcano. “Are you cold, Jasmine?” he queried.

“Only my feet, but I can’t really feel them anymore.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded. “We’ll make camp now. I’ll get a fire going right away.”

“No … no … perhaps if we rode all night, we would be there in the morning,” she urged him. He heard the panic in her voice at the thought of making camp for the night and vowed to keep his lust under control. Where was the pleasure in making love to an unwilling wench?

As soon as the fire was lighted, he pulled off her boots and massaged her small feet. His strong hands soon warmed them up and the numbness vanished. Jasmine yawned. She quite liked having her feet played with. In fact, if she admitted it, she quite liked this man who was her husband. She had learned to have a great deal of respect for his strength and courage and his practical common sense. He was also far more attractive than any man had the right to be. If only he didn’t do
that
to her, she could almost be happy, she told herself.

Again he fashioned a lean-to for the horses and she watched him effortlessly cut huge fir branches with his knife. When he was done there was still light in the sky. “I think we would benefit from some hot food. I’ll see if there’s any game about. Stay close by the fire until I return. Call out if you are afraid, I won’t go far.”

“Afraid?” she scoffed as he disappeared into the trees. “What could there possibly be out here to fear!” She put her boots back on and walked toward the sound of a nearby stream she could hear. There beside the water she saw a young, furry cub. “Oh, how sweet, you’re just a baby,” she murmured. She picked the animal up in her arms trying to discern if it was a mountain lion, lynx, or snow leopard.

“Falcon, Falcon, come quickly,” she called.

He came quickly through the trees, dagger already to hand. He was alarmed at what he saw. “Jasmine, put it down and get the hell out of there.” His temper flared at
the danger she had put herself into. “I told you to stay by the fire. I don’t give orders to have them disobeyed.”

The mother of the young wildcat crouched along a tree limb readying herself to spring. As Falcon came beneath the tree, the three-hundred-pound killer sprang, her forelegs splayed, and ten black claws shot out of her pads. She bared three-inch upper canines, white as bone, and stabbed them into his shoulder. He rolled with the animal, desperate to keep her fangs from his jugular. In the same split second the cat was on her back, Falcon plunged in his knife to the hilt and ripped upward. He had no choice but to kill the wildcat.

Jasmine stood white-lipped, staring in horror at the carnage. “Must you kill everything that moves?” she cried.

“Damn it, woman, you were the cause of this wildcat’s death.”

She knew his words were true. He plucked the kit from her arms and ordered, “Get back to the fire.”

“What are you going to do?” her voice rose on a note of panic.

“What I have to do. The kit was born too late in the season. It will starve without its mother. It is more humane to kill it.”

“No!” she cried. “Let me have it for a pet. Please, Falcon?” she implored.

He spoke to her as if she were being an unreasonable child. “It will grow the size of its mother. It will be a mankiller.”

“I’ll set it free the moment the hard winter is past. Falcon, let me have it.” She was so unreasonable in the things she asked him for. It increased his temper that he must refuse her when she pleaded with him. “I’ll call her Shanna,” she said softly.

His patience, stretched beyond its endurance, snapped. “We are escaping with our lives and you drag along a
bloody menagerie. You have a sparrow over there who’s cage is wrapped in an oilskin and a hedgehog at the bottom of my saddlebags. I’m going to feed Feather to Prick, and then feed Prick to Shanna,” he vowed.

Jasmine knew she could have her way with him. She knew as surely as Eve had known in her dealings with Adam. She came close to him. He was so tall she had to tilt her head to look up at him. She put her small hands upon his chest and said softly, “You gave me no wedding present, Falcon … I would have Shanna for my bride’s gift.”

He could not resist her. He commanded hundreds of men with ease but found it almost impossible to handle one small female. She looked toward the dead wildcat and the tears streamed down her sweet face.

“Don’t weep. It’s over and done and no tears will change it. Take the kit back to the campfire.” When she had gone he stripped to the waist and washed his wound in the icy river. His chain-mail vest had prevented the fangs from disabling him and he knew his blood would soon coagulate in the freezing mountain air.

Jasmine surreptitiously fed the kit her supper while Falcon wasn’t looking then took off one of her petticoats to bundle it, and put it in a basket on one of the packhorses.

The next day Falcon became concerned when he discovered Jasmine asleep in the saddle. He took her before him again but could not seem to warm her or keep her from falling into exhausted slumber. He stepped up the pace, knowing he must reach Mountain Ash this day. Her endurance was at an end, her face alarmingly pale as the snow, and he touched it repeatedly to see if she was fevered.

When at last the wearied pair rode into the courtyard at Mountain Ash, the whole castle came out to greet them. He was amazed to see every last one of his knights
there before him, including some Welsh knights he hadn’t seen since he had last been at the castle. Two of them stepped forward now, eager to relieve him of his burden. Gower and Tam were brothers, strapping great louts, always ready for mischief.

“My lady is nearly done. I’ll need a woman to look to her needs until she is recovered,” Falcon explained.

The brothers looked at each other and said in unison, “Big Meg.”

Falcon handed Jasmine down to Gower, but only until he dismounted, then he took her back into his own arms. “Get her. I’ll take Jasmine to the tower room above mine.” There was no need for him to point out that would be the safest place in the castle of Mountain Ash, for an enemy would have to first defeat Falcon to get to her.

The men vied with each other for the honor of carrying Jasmine’s luggage to the tower room. She smiled sleepily at Tam and he lost his heart forever. Gower bent to set the fire to blazing while his eyes were alight with mischief. He winked suggestively to Falcon and said, “A week in bed should put her right.”

Tam gave his brother a hard punch in the ribs. “There’s no need to be lewd. Don’t you know a lady when you see one?”

“Christ, are you trying to teach me manners?” Gower asked, doubling with laughter, for Tam was surely the lewdest youth in all Wales.

“Ye can’t teach manners to pigs,” asserted Tam, giving his brother a hard shove from the room. They jostled Big Meg as she was about to enter the chamber and she threatened to bang their heads together. She looked as if she could fell a horse. “Uncouth, uncivilized half-breeds,” she cursed, referring to their parentage—English father, Welsh mother. She took one look at the small, pale girl in Falcon’s arms and the maternal urge
almost overpowered her. “Out, pigs!” she ordered. “That goes for you too, milord, beggin’ your pardon. She’ll not be sharin’ your bed for a night or two until she can hold her own against an overdemanding bridegroom.” Her eyes shone with the light of battle, daring him to countermand her orders. The three men showed mock fear, but Falcon couldn’t conceal a grin.

“It’s a package deal, Meg. She comes with a bird, a hedgehog, and a wildcat, and I give you fair warning that once she’s had a decent night’s rest and some warm food, she’ll be a match for you, me, and this pair of muscle-bound swine you mistook for pigs.”

Gervase had set Falcon’s chamber to rights. His war chest and full armor gleamed from a fresh polishing, and Falcon didn’t ask how the men had managed to get back to Wales with a full complement of weapons and armor.

Gervase said, “I’ve only been here a couple of days. I got through the passes before the snow started, but from what I’ve seen the new castellan didn’t do too shabby a job here. There’s enough fodder stored to last the winter and the men had a successful hunt two days back.”

Falcon tossed his doublet and cloak to Gervase. “Some clean clothes will feel good.” He removed his chain mail and Gervase saw the blood on his shirt. He knew better than to question him. De Burgh would tell all in his own good time. Falcon told him briefly what had happened in Gloucester and ordered a twenty-four-hour patrol on the walls.

Falcon stretched cramped shoulder muscles. “Christ, I could eat an oxen, harness and all.”

Gervase grinned. “The kitchen spits are turning at double speed. Here, have some ale to tide you over.”

Falcon drank the horn of ale and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Is there any of that mead they brew in these parts?”

“I’ll raid the cellars,” Gervase promised.

Falcon thought Gervase was back in short order, but when he turned he saw that it was Morganna who had entered his chamber without knocking. She had hot water and clothes.

“I don’t recall sending for you,” he said curtly, his eyes unreadable.

“Nevertheless,” she said with double meaning, “you have need of me.”

He held her with his eyes for long minutes, then lowered his challenging glare. The moment he did so, she advanced and began to remove his shirt.

The master’s return had a profound effect on the entire castle. Spits and turning irons were brought out and cooks, maids, and scullions raced about like an army of ants. Fires were started in all the great smoking chimneys and underneath the brick ovens. The castle itself was small, consisting of tower, hall, kitchens, armory, knights’ quarters, and servants’ rooms, but the outbuildings sprawled out behind consisting of stables, barns, dairy, stillroom, smithy, and storage sheds.

A holiday atmosphere prevailed. They were safe and snug for the winter with no harder tasks to accomplish than cleaning their armor, sharpening their weapons, and grooming their horses. When the men suffered from being cooped up they could count on Falcon taking them on a raid or two, but for the next months the battle-weary knights could eat, drink, dice, and lift their eyes from their swords long enough to select a pretty face or plump shoulder among the women servants of Mountain Ash.

Only a handful of Falcon’s knights were married because most were very young men. All the men, women, and children alike had a burning curiosity regarding the new bride, Lady Jasmine de Burgh. Some had never seen her and most of the knights who had, had only done so from a distance. It was the custom that there would be a
feast the second night back at Mountain Ash and they would be able to see their new lady up close for the first time.

Jasmine awoke midmorning. She had been able to sprawl across the great bed whose curtains had been drawn back to let in the heat from the cozy fire. She yawned and stretched and threw back the luxurious fur covers.

Big Meg bullied her back into bed. “Yer feet don’t touch the floor until evening,” she said firmly.

“But I feel fine, Meg. There are a hundred things I must learn how to do.” Jasmine’s domestic shortcomings appalled her. “I’m afraid I’ve been brought up too frivolously. I’m in ignorance of the simplest chore.”

“You’ll get your beauty sleep. Tonight at the feast every eye in the hall will be fixed on you. Their curiosity about you is beyond all bounds. I’ve had to forbid them entrance to the tower today. You’d never believe the silly excuses they use to get up here. The men are as bad as the women. Well, not quite. Women can be right catty little bitches when confronted with a woman far more beautiful than themselves.” Meg set a great tray of food before her. “You’ll do nothing but eat and sleep all day and get your strength up to hold your own against that lot down there. They’ll examine you so closely, they won’t be satisfied until they know the color of yer drawers!”

Jasmine laughed happily. She was all woman and would love being the center of attention. She stretched her dainty feet into the depths of the feather mattress, took a large bite of the deliciously salty gamon ham, and contemplated which of her gowns would show off her unusual coloring to best advantage.

She hadn’t felt this happy in a long, long time. She drifted off in a warm haze of drowsiness only to be rudely annoyed by raised voices.

“Christ, Meg, I didn’t give her to you body and soul, I do still have rights of ownership!” Falcon insisted.

“A poor choice of words, de Burgh,” Jasmine shouted from the bed. “Let him in, Meg, I need to sharpen my claws on some hapless fool.”

As he looked at her lying in the bed, the anger in his eyes vanished immediately and was replaced by one of hunger. Big Meg moved off to respect the lovers’ privacy, but still hovered in the background to prevent him from exercising his rights.

“Are you feeling stronger, Jasmine? I brought you some mead.” Falcon held it out to her and watched hungrily as her pink lips touched the honey wine. His physical response to her was immediate and marked. It was ever so. He sat on the edge of the bed so that it would be less obvious. “You look luscious,” he murmured. “I can’t believe you’ve come through the ordeal so well.”

She blushed and looked away from him, but it did not free her mind of his overpowering presence. He cupped her face and drew her mouth up to his, then his hands slipped beneath the covers to caress her silken breasts. He said huskily, “Leave us, Meg.”

“No, sir. You put her in my hands to restore her strength. I’ll not have you draining away her vitality with your lovemaking,” she said bluntly.