The Falcon and the Flower (57 page)

“Aye” came the reply.

He opened the door cautiously and saw that she held out a goblet. Beneath her gown, Estelle’s knees literally knocked together. Some half-forgotten knowledge of peaches had surfaced from her subconscious while she had been in the kitchens. She had taken a rolling pin and broken open the peach pits. Then she had pulverized the contents and mixed it with syrup from the peaches, hoping against hope it would disguise the bitter taste until King John had ingested some of the powerful poison. Her ears were cocked for more sounds of anguish from Jasmine, but an ominous silence was all that now met them.

She offered up the goblet and held him in an hypnotic stare. She began to talk; it was almost a chant. “Long ago I had a prophetic vision that has all come to pass. I saw your brother Richard die and knew you would be crowned king. In the vision you were a wild boar. I saw you murder your nephew Arthur and take the crown across the water to England. I saw Philip of France and his cub Louis swallow whole your Angevin possessions, Brittany, and finally Normandy. Then they set their eyes on England because its monarch was weak. I believe your ancestors, all those men you betrayed, reached up from the water and took everything you possessed. You were too vain, caring only for the jewels in the crown, rather than the power it represented.”

John snatched up the cup and drained it. Immediately he went into a seizure. The whip slipped from his fingers and he fell to the floor, drumming his heels and banging his head. Estelle turned and fled. She called loudly for his gentlemen, and one by one they crept cautiously from their rooms.

“He is dying,” she said in a decisive voice. “So that none of you will be blamed for this I suggest you get him to the stronghold of Newark Castle and the Bishop of Lincoln. He is too weak to ride, in fact I expect him to lapse into a coma any minute. Prepare a bed in a wagon,
hurry.” She retraced her steps back to the king. He lay still now. He had vomited and his face was turning black. Alarmed, she knelt to see if he was breathing. He was not. Frantically she felt for a pulse … there was none. The king was dead!

She pulled off her cloak and wrapped it about him in a way that covered his face. Immediately she heard his men approaching. She stood up and faced them. “Quickly now, he is in a coma, as I feared. Handle him with care, lest he cease to breathe. At all costs you must see that he gets to Newark where both he and yourselves will be safe.”

They carried him down the stairs and out of the abbey to a mule and wagon. “Let me just check him,” Estelle said with great concern. The men mounted their horses and Estelle drew back the cloak from King John’s face. He was dead; very, very dead. She heaved an enormous sigh of relief and urged the men to hurry. She stood in a trance staring after them long after they were gone from sight.

When a frustrated Falcon finally navigated his ship to anchor at Castle Rising, Murphy told him what had taken place. Falcon had seen for himself the horse-drawn wagons being dragged unmercifully beneath the flood-tide, but when he learned that Jasmine had ridden out across the wash he was filled with apprehension.

He paced about like a caged animal, waiting for the tide to sweep back out so that he could ride across the sands of the wash and discover Jasmine’s fate. His face had gone white when Murphy told him that after only one night under the same roof as King John, Jasmine had fled.

Before Falcon could continue his journey, Hubert de Burgh and his men arrived back at Castle Rising. He listened with disbelief as Murphy repeated the tale of the
king’s men riding across the sands and being trapped by the tides of the wash. All were mounted and ready when the tide retreated sufficiently to allow horses to gallop the damp sands.

Falcon de Burgh spurred his destrier and its strong legs dug deeply into the wet sand, sending clods flying behind into the faces of those who followed. Soon, however, Falcon had outdistanced the others in the race to Swineshead. From the distance he could see a slow party of travelers leave the abbey and decided to pursue it. However, as he drew close to Swineshead Abbey he saw Estelle frantically waving to him, and swerved his destrier in her direction.

“Where is she?” He shouted the words as he dismounted and ran as she waved her arm.

“Upstairs!”

Sword in hand, he flew down the corridor like an avenging angel. As he drew closer to her, he felt her presence and rushed through the small anteroom into her chamber. Falcon de Burgh, who had never flinched from anything in his life, recoiled physically as he saw his naked wife trussed spread-eagle to the bedposts. His legs were unsteady as he crossed the room to the bed. With trembling hands he cut her bonds with his sword. The whip marks on her flesh registered in his brain, blocking out everything save the need for revenge.

Jasmine turned her head, knowing who it was before she ever saw him. She whispered, “Falcon … I—”

“No!” he cried. “I ask no questions … leave it, Jasmine.” He took off his cloak to cover her nakedness, and she huddled miserably upon the bed as her husband left her without even the comfort of his embrace.

Falcon emerged from the abbey to see Hubert in deep conversation with Estelle. He had not sheathed his sword, nor did he intend to until it had found its royal target. “She needs you,” he told Estelle grimly. He began
to remount when Hubert’s voice cut through the red mist that fogged his brain.

“Where are you going?”

“To slay John,” he said evenly.

“You are too late it seems. The king is dead.”

“I won’t believe it until I see it for myself,” swore Falcon.

“It’s true, my lord. He is very, very dead. I sent his body on to Newark, to the Bishop of Lincoln,” Estelle confirmed.

Falcon looked at his uncle the justiciar with alienation in his eyes. “He despoiled everything he ever touched. You will be the only man in England who is not happy at the news.”

Hubert grasped his shoulder hard. “Nay, lad, I’m happier than anyone for I’ve the most to gain. John’s heir Henry is yet a child. Once he is crowned, I’ll undoubtedly be named regent. I’ll be the uncrowned King of England for many years to come. Don’t stand there gaping. Get your women out of here. Get on that ship and go back to Ireland as fast as the wind will carry you. I have the business of the realm to see to,” said Hubert.

Although Jasmine occupied the captain’s cabin aboard the de Burgh vessel, Falcon had so far not shared it with her. When she had come aboard yesterday with her grandmother, the wind was blowing strong. The ship had strained against its anchors, making the timbers groan. Jasmine’s amethyst eyes were half-closed against the wind as she searched the forcastle deck for the dark,
powerful figure of her husband. She saw that he was busy, but refused to go below with Estelle.

Not too many minutes had passed after he weighed anchor before a gigantic wave poised just above the ship long enough for him to shout “Hard astarboard.” The wave struck and Jasmine frantically clung to the binnacle head as the ship turned on her side as if she would roll completely, then incredibly she righted, water streaming from her, washing across the decks. Then she lifted. Jasmine heard Falcon order “Hands to braces” in the maintops. She felt the ship shudder and buck and heard the storm canvas rattle in the wind as the squall heeled her over again. Jasmine was soaked to the skin and waited no longer to seek safety belowdecks.

She warmed herself at the cabin stove and found a velvet bedrobe of Falcon’s to wear while her clothes dried. She expected de Burgh to come for dry clothes after he had weathered the storm, but her wait was in vain. Jasmine knew the storm they had just experienced was nothing compared to the one that was brewing between her and Falcon. She was of a mind to get it all out in the open. She wanted to have at him about his whore, Morganna, and she wanted to explain everything to him about the king. She clenched her fists and ground her teeth in frustration when he did not come. The welts from the whip on her leg and back had crusted over in a thin red line, and she knew she would be able to prevent scars if she rubbed her flesh with a paste of honey and calamint. It became apparent to her that Falcon was avoiding her. Each day when she went up on deck he was in exactly the same spot as the day before. He stood on the ship’s prow as it fell and rose in the waves, staring stonily out to sea.

The situation became unbearable for her. She had a great need to confess all to him and receive his forgiveness, as she would forgive him Morganna, after they had
had a go at each other. Finally she knew he would not come to her aboard ship, so she pushed him from her mind and thought only of the joy of seeing her children again.

When the ship arrived at Galway, she and Estelle disembarked together without any aid from de Burgh. The anticipation of being reunited with her twins almost overwhelmed Jasmine. The moment she saw them she froze for a full minute, wondering how she could touch them when such a short time ago she had committed murder, then in a rush all was forgotten as they ran into her arms, embracing her as hard as she did them.

Jasmine was undone. The tears flowed unbidden as relief washed over her that the only man who could separate them was gone forever. She chose to sleep in their room this first night home. She told herself she was happy. So long as they loved her, that was all that mattered. She had a long, relaxing bath, after which Estelle dabbed on the honeyed calamint, then in a warm bedgown, she cuddled her babies and rocked them until they fell asleep. She too needed rest, needed to heal. She was asleep before ten o’clock, but after the witching hour, along about one in the morning, she awoke restless as a tigress. She put on her slippers and the velvet bedgown and went silently up to the castle ramparts. Her eyes crinkled against the wind as she looked out over the battlements, her silvery hair streaming out behind her.

She did not know how long she had been there before she realized she was not alone. She was startled and then unnerved to see Falcon staring at her in the shadowed moonlight. He did not speak. He did not move. She knew he was angrier with her than he had ever been before. She knew she would have to be the one to force a confrontation.

“Well, haven’t you the guts to face me?” she accused, taking the offensive while it was still open to her.

“If I come any closer I will knock you down, madame,” he said with suppressed violence.

She swaggered over to him, planting herself squarely in front of him, and dug both fists into the red velvet bedgown. Falcon was all in black. “You are a Devil!” she threw at him. “An unfaithful, lecherous Devil to boot!”

“You dare speak to me of faithlessness?” he roared.

“Dare? I’d dare anything! What will you do, take a whip to me?” She tore open her bedgown to expose her breasts. “Will you put more scars upon me?” she taunted. “Perhaps you’d carve your initials into my breast as you did to your whore!”

“That is a damned lie,” he bellowed, “and she is not my whore! After you left I confronted her and she admitted she picked the child up on the docks. You owned me heart and soul, yet you had not one grain of faith in me,” he accused. “You couldn’t wait to run off to whore for the king.”

The hate, love, all-consuming passion between them boiled over. She swung back her arm and slapped him full across the face.

He retaliated immediately and slapped her back. He had no idea of his own strength. The blow felled her, and he looked down at the crumpled figure of his beloved in horror. “My little love, my sweeting, what have I done?” he crooned as he bent to pick her up and cradle her against him. She clung to him sobbing and he rocked her until she cried out.

“Falcon, let me confess to you what I did,” she whispered.

“Nay, nay, there is no need for confessions between us. I will always adore you and cherish you no matter what you have done,” he promised, almost alarmed at what she would tell him.

“Falcon, please, I must,” she insisted.

He braced himself for the blow to come.

In a contrite low voice she said, “Falcon, I murdered King John.”

“You … murder?” he questioned.

“Yes, yes, I did. I gave him hemlock to make him impotent. It worked too well.”

Falcon began to shake. It came to her that he was laughing. “Jassy, Jassy, do you mean to tell me that he didn’t abuse you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “so I had no real justification in killing him.”

“Darling, Estelle claims she poisoned him with peach pits,” he assured her.

“Oh my God, it feels wonderful to share the guilt,” she said, a bubble of laughter rising through the tears.

“I think we have done enough shouting and brawling on the ramparts for one night. I think we should finish our conversation in bed, don’t you?” he invited.

“Yes, please,” she murmured, snuggling against him for warmth.

He carried her to their chamber where he laid her in their bed and removed her bedrobe. “You are the loveliest woman on earth,” he vowed.

“When you look at me, I feel that is true.”

“My God, I’ve near starved to death for you,” he said, climbing into bed and pulling her softness against the hard length of him. He kissed her a thousand times before he moved on to more intimate play. “Do you forgive me, darling?”

“I’ve never seen you so angry with me.”

“You stir my pirate’s blood,” he whispered, burying his face in her delicious silken hair.

“Mmm, I do it apurpose to provoke you,” she teased.

He knew he was the luckiest man alive. She was lovely and hot-tempered, but had a beguiling way of turning sweet as honeyed mead.

“I was dreadful jealous,” she said quietly, and he felt exultant at her admission.

Her fingers closed around his shaft and he groaned. “Oh, that feels wonderful, Hyacinth, don’t stop.”

“Hyacinth?” she cried, pretending to pull out handfuls of his dark hair.

“I mean my little flower,” he teased, shaking with laughter. He turned over and imprisoned her on top of him. She could feel his manhood seeking her center. Suddenly they were very serious. Face to face, he looked deeply into her eyes as he slowly impaled her inch by delicious inch onto his lance.