The Falcon and the Flower (6 page)

Walters, the steward and castellan of Salisbury, had obviously been told to expect de Burgh for in less than an hour he had taken charge of the produce and cattle brought from Berkley and Castle Combe, had shown the men-at-arms a fresh meadow by a stream where they could set up their tents, had settled Falcon’s knights into the knights’ quarters, and had shown young Lord de Burgh into the great hall where he was warmly greeted by William.

Instead of turning him over to a servant to show him his chamber, William put him into the tender care of his daughter Isobel. Falcon was startled at how lovely the girl was. All along he had been harboring a suspicion that William’s daughters might be ugly or, at the very least,
plain. The young woman who smiled warmly at him had expressive dark eyes that showed humor. Her hair was obviously dark, but it was seductively hidden beneath a wimple, and when his eyes dropped lower to frankly assess her figure, he did not find it wanting in any way. Though Isobel was tall for a female, she still had to tilt up her head to look the dark knight in the face. As she led the way to an upper chamber, his eyes were fixed upon the swell of her buttocks as they gently swayed up the stairs. After she ushered him into a luxurious chamber she said, “Father insists upon you having his room while you stay with us. Please don’t protest, I assure you it pleases him to do this for you.” She smiled at him, assessing him as openly as he had her, and she more than liked what she saw.

“Demoiselle, you are too kind. What can I say?” He bowed formally to her before looking about him. The floor was covered by a silken carpet, the walls by rich colorful tapestries, and the huge bed by thick furs. A massive wardrobe covered one wall, and the far wall was fitted with a stained-glass window that filled the room with colored lights when the sunshine filtered through.

“I am sure you will find everything you need, from wine and ale to quench your thirst to soft leather slippers to ease your feet. But I imagine you want nothing more than a warm bath to remove the stains of your travel and ease the ache of your bones.”

“Demoiselle, my bones do not yet ache, thank God,” he said, laughing, but he felt a definite ache in his groin at her mention of a bath.

“Please call me Isobel,” she said rather breathlessly as his maleness filled the chamber.

“Lady Isobel, you are everything your father has told me,” he said as formally as he could.

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ah, save your compliments
until you have met Ela, I beg you, milord; her virtues are outstanding.”

The delicious play on words came back to him later when he was introduced to Ela, for apart from an attractive face and prettily pouting mouth, her most outstanding feature was a pair of breasts that could only be described as breathtaking. Falcon’s eyes sought out Isobel’s and they shared the humor with relish.

Ela had spent the afternoon with the head cook, Joan, a formidable woman who held sway in the kitchens with an iron hand and would have long since bullied William Longsword and reduced his authority to that of a small boy if it hadn’t been for his capable daughters. The result of the afternoon’s running battle between Joan and Ela was a culinary delight designed to seduce a man into wishing for such domesticity that turned ordinary food into manna.

The conversation flowed easily as they dined, showing de Burgh how pleasant a meal could be in the great hall of one’s castle when a well-trained chatelaine was in charge of a man’s comforts. He learned that each daughter had been trained by their late mother to review the accounts and inventory of the castle’s provisions daily. Controlling an enormous staff of strong-willed, capable servants and cooks was no small accomplishment. When necessary Ela and Isobel traveled from demesne to demesne gathering supplies needed for war, bullying the bailiffs and stewards into supplying money, supplies, and arms. They looked after the poor and set the moral standard for all the households on their vast properties.

“Father, enough!” cried Isobel, laughing. “I’m sure our guest is not interested in how we check the salt meat for maggots or the flour barrels for weevils or see that the drains are running clear.”

Falcon de Burgh put up his hand in protest. “Nay, Lady Isobel, I am most fascinated to learn the role a
woman plays in running a castle. I had never given it a thought before. Pray continue, I beg of you.”

Ela looked at him with wide eyes. “We don’t do the work ourselves, milord, but rather must see that it is done and done well. Cloth has to be woven and clothes sewn. Leather has to be cured for shoes and tunics. Then there is the laundry, the candles, the rushes.”

Isobel picked up where Ela left off. “We look after the sick and the wounded, select the seed and plan the gardens.” The mischievous look came into her eyes again as she added, “And tomorrow I was thinking about hunting down a few wolves because so many of the new lambs have been taken.”

“Cry foul, Isobel,” her father exclaimed, laughing. “You must leave something for us poor males to take care of.”

“My men and I would relish a hunt tomorrow, milord, if your time permits such indulgence,” de Burgh offered enthusiastically.

“I have some fine hawks and falcons I’d like you to try out; to hell with the wolves,” said Salisbury, who was inordinately proud of his mews filled with magnificent birds of prey.

Isobel refilled the men’s goblets and the ladies left them to their cups. Both girls were bursting to discuss their visitor to find out exactly the other’s inner thoughts and share them.

Inside her chamber Ela hugged herself then pulled off her wimple to let her chestnut hair come tumbling down. “God’s nightgown, I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven!”

“Blasphemy, Ela?” Isobel chuckled, flinging herself into the center of her sister’s feather bed. “That tells me exactly how deep your feelings are running at this moment.”

“My feelings are indeed running,” Ela said breathlessly.
“I’m all liver and lights! Did you note the breadth of his shoulders?”

“I never noticed”—Isobel giggled—“nor did I observe the length of his thighs, the thickness of his wrists, the flatness of his belly, the bulge of his—”

“Isobel!” Ela cried in mock alarm.

“I was going to say bulge of his muscles, so that shows just where your thoughts are centered!”

“Do you know my legs are trembling? Oh, Isobel, I hope he chooses me, but if he chooses you I will try to bear it,” Ela said with her usual generosity.

“He has no great rank, you know. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer an earl?” asked Isobel, trying to be practical and objective, though failing utterly.

Ela’s nose wrinkled. “Remember the last earl who visited father? He ate like a rhinoceros with sore gums.”

“How could I forget? But in all seriousness, Ela, we do have a large field to choose from and most of the eligible men father approves can be led by their pricks. Life would be easier wed to another. This one I think is dangerous and would be master in his own castle. He is not in awe of Father.”

“I would give my salvation if he were masterful with me!” Ela sighed.

Isobel sighed also. “He looks fierce even when he smiles. Ela, my love, I give you fair warning—I want him. Lord, I could eat him whole!”

“I don’t believe we’ll trap him with the artful tricks of our sex, for women must positively hurl themselves at him. My guess is he wouldn’t even consider taking a wife except for practical reasons,” Ela warned.

Isobel, who considered herself slightly more clever than Ela, was often surprised by her sister’s astuteness. “But we are equally competent as chatelaines, therefore it will be the one he most responds to physically who will win the prize.”

Falcon and William sat late into the night drinking cup for cup and matching tale for tale. Half drunk, William became sentimental. “You need a wife, my friend, to bear you fine strong sons. ’T is what all men want above all things. However, in my case it is perhaps a blessing in disguise that I never had any; My father Henry bred a pack of wolves who tried to bring him down like a hunted stag. I’m the only sensible one he bred, but perhaps if I’d had sons they would have been consumed by greed and ambition. I blame Eleanor of Aquitaine for urging the sons to destroy the father, but sometimes I wonder if they needed much urging.”

Falcon steered the conversation away from the crown and back to the subject of wives when suddenly William put the blunt question to him. “Would you have me for father-in-law?”

Falcon clapped him on the shoulder. Though he had not the slightest notion which daughter he would choose, he was very sure of one thing. “I tell you true, William. I will have none other for father-in-law!”

When they returned from a successful morning’s hunt, Falcon was relieved to see his squire Gervase had arrived at Salisbury. On a pretext of showing him around the forge and armory, de Burgh questioned him closely about Mountain Ash and was satisfied with Gervase’s detailed report.

“You surely didn’t expect trouble from the castellan you appointed?” asked Gervase.

“Not before the head of the last castellan rots and drops from its spike,” de Burgh said with a grimace.

Gervase cleared his throat in hesitation then said, “Morganna gave me no trouble, milord.”

“Who?” de Burgh asked blankly.

“The female hostage you gave into my care,” prompted Gervase.

“Oh, that one. God’s spine, I don’t know why I put you to all that trouble.”

Gervase began to laugh.

“I amuse you?” asked de Burgh.

“You hardly remember her, yet she has set herself up as your mistress and has the servants running to obey her commands.”

De Burgh flashed his wolf’s grin. “She’ll be in for a nasty shock if I bring a wife home.”

“I can tell you have made good use of your time, milord.”

“Both of William’s daughters could run my three castles with their hands tied behind their backs. They have both been well and rigidly trained. Wait until you see them. I can’t choose; I’ll need your help in that direction.”

Gervase’s happy grin faded from his face and he hoped fervently that de Burgh was jesting with him, but nevertheless he observed the young women closely every chance he got.

William’s daughters had trained the servants so well that the household ran smoothly as they went about their appointed tasks unobtrusively. Though Falcon de Burgh sought to find some flaw in either Ela or Isobel, he could not fault them in anything. They were efficient, industrious, courteous, full-figured, and each seemed willing, nay eager, to favor his suit.

As his squire inspected and cleaned every piece of armor in de Burgh’s war chest, the two of them exchanged their thoughts.

“Since no news is good news, I suppose we can assume all is well with King Richard,” said Gervase.

De Burgh frowned. “The uncertainty could spawn anarchy, especially with the northern barons. If England is
left long without authority, a wave of lawlessness will sweep the nation.” He flashed his grin. “It is good you are keeping my armor at the ready. I don’t like the men to remain idle, so I’ve told William we’ll hunt down his wolves tomorrow.”

“They are passing the time wagering which of William’s daughters will become Lady de Burgh,” Gervase said with a familiarity de Burgh allowed no other man.

Falcon’s eyebrows shot up. “And who’s the odds-on favorite?”

“I believe the betting runs in Lady Ela’s favor, milord.”

“They’ve undoubtedly discussed her fine points,” Falcon said vulgarly. Gervase flushed slightly and laughed.

“I don’t know,” said de Burgh, “there’s a lot to be said for Isobel’s humor.”

“So you have made your choice?”

“Not really.” De Burgh shrugged. “I don’t suppose it matters which. There is nothing to choose between them,” he said almost indifferently.

Gervase cleared his throat as he always did when he was about to make a suggestion to de Burgh. “If it were me, milord, I would find out which lands and castles each lady will inherit and then make my selection.”

“Splendor of God, and I thought I was a cynical bastard! Perhaps you’ve been my squire too long. I’ve tainted you, Gervase.”

Dame Estelle Winwood decided that she owed it to William Longsword to warn him of coming events. The bad news would travel quickly enough, but if she could prepare him for the shocks that lay ahead she would not only feel a great deal of gratification but would entrench herself as infallible in seeing the future when messages confirming her mystic predictions arrived at Salisbury.

Estelle and Jasmine set out early on their relatively short journey. The sun shone brilliantly, warming the air delightfully even if a little unseasonably. Jasmine wore her prettiest gown for the visit to her father, a shell-pink velvet with a finely spun head veil fastened with silver hair ornaments. She rode a white palfrey and chose a fanciful, ornamented harness for her. Her grandmother prided herself on Jasmine’s appearance whenever they rode out. She saw to it that the girl looked exactly like a princess from a fairy tale and smiled when mouths literally fell open as the virginal, ethereal vision of loveliness passed by.