The Silver Falcon (48 page)

Early that afternoon some riders came to the falconry. William put down the bird he had on his fist and was about to go out when a young assistant came running in.

“The king,” he gasped, flushed. He looked wide-eyed at William. “He wants to speak to you.”

William was inevitably reminded of the day King Henry had come to the smithy. He had run into the workshop to let his mother know in exactly the same manner as the lad who had just come in. How long ago that was. It seemed like another life.

“I’m coming,” he said calmly. His mother had hoped the king was going to order a sword from her. He, on the other hand, could expect nothing from John.

When William came into the courtyard, his heart unexpectedly started racing. Marguerite had come, too. She was so beautiful it took his breath away. He forced himself to close his mouth, which had fallen open in admiration, and to look away from her. He hurried to King John.

“A warm welcome to Oakham, sire.” He bowed long and deep. This time he knew the correct form of address, for “sire” was reserved for kings alone. William stayed down for a moment.

“One of my falcons is sick. Marguerite has been pestering me for two days. She thinks I should leave the falcon with you.” John frowned and scratched his nose. “She keeps telling me that the falcon I entrusted to you at Ferrières had been cured. Though I must admit I can’t believe anyone killed her on purpose. Who would do something so terrible to such a magnificent creature? Besides, the smallest child knows a crime like that is punishable with the gallows.”

William looked down. There was no point in accusing Odon. Guy was dead. He had been found murdered in the woods shortly after the discovery of the poisoned falcon, and nothing, absolutely nothing, appeared to support William’s suspicion.

The king looked ill-tempered. “I fear Pilgrim would not survive the journeys I intend to make. I have spoken to Walkelin. Even he advises me to leave him here. He spoke of you in nothing but the highest terms and offered your services to care for him until I return, though that may be some time.”

William felt the blood rushing through his body to his head. Once there, it heated his cheeks so fiercely they began to burn. Here it was, the second chance he had not dared to hope for.

“Can you tell me what seems to be troubling him, sire?” he asked politely.

“His mutes are as green as young leaves, and he’s visibly weak,” said John with a troubled look. He snapped his fingers, and a young man hurried in with the bird.

William took the peregrine onto his fist and stroked his breast gently. As if to prove John right, the bird promptly cast an evil-smelling green mute. William shook his head thoughtfully and looked into the bird’s eyes. They were almond shaped and dull instead of round and shiny.

“It doesn’t look good,” he murmured. He felt the weakness that had struck the falcon as if it had struck his very flesh.

“Pilgrim’s a good bird. It would cause me pain to lose him.”

“Robert,” William shouted, looking around for his friend.

“I’m coming,” he heard from the mews.

When William turned around, Marguerite gave him a tiny smile that warmed his heart.

Robert hurried in, bringing one of de Ferrers’s hunt assistants. They bowed to the king first, then turned to William.

“Take the bird off me and take her inside,” he instructed Robert. Then he nodded to the assistant. “I don’t need you now. Go back to your work.” Then he spoke to the king. “Pilgrim needs rest, sire, good nourishment, and some herbal medicines that I will prepare for him. I promise to do what I can to make him better soon.”

“Well, I should hope so,” said John with a deep crease in his forehead. At length he nodded graciously and turned his horse.

William glanced hurriedly at Marguerite. He could not let her go again, just like that.

“Excuse me, sire, will you be doing my master the honor of staying at Oakham today?” he asked quickly, bowing once again.

“But of course. I wouldn’t miss the culinary delights that good Walkelin has promised me any more than I would miss the pleasure of being able to rest my head on a feather pillow.”

“Would you permit me, then, to show our new falcons to your niece, if she wishes?” William added with a pounding heart. He had plucked up all his courage and was all the more grateful when Marguerite nodded immediately.

“Oh yes, Uncle. Please let me stay here for a little while,” she begged, giving John one of her most charming smiles. “I would so like to discuss falcons with William for a while longer.” She fluttered her eyelashes, which not only drove William to distraction but also, apparently, had the desired effect on John.

“I’m sure your father would have been very proud of you if he could have lived to see how much you love falcons.” He smiled at Marguerite. “So yes, by all means.” And then, to William, “Bring her to the hall by sunset, no later.”

“May I?” asked William, offering to help her down from her horse.

She giggled and squirmed when he gripped her by the waist. “I’m so ticklish,” she gasped.

William relaxed a little. So that was why she had laughed with the young baron. As Marguerite turned to face him, her soft brown hair brushed against his cheek, and when she met his eyes, her long penetrating look seemed to drill into him like a lance. He felt a tremendous pressure in his chest, like a huge stone.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and again William felt that awful, humiliating blush.

“It is I who must thank you, mistress. For speaking up for me to the king,” he said quickly. The heat in his ears told him they must be glowing like the setting sun again. Would Marguerite ever see him when he wasn’t blushing?

“I’m so happy to be here,” she sighed.

“Would you like…er…shall I show you our newest falcon?” he stammered, then instantly became angry with himself. His question was utterly superfluous.

“How are Arrow and Storm? Did they stay at Ferrières?” asked Marguerite as they walked to the falcons’ stall together.

“No, they’re both here and in fine form,” replied William happily. He told her proudly about the two falcons’ latest exploits in the hunt.

Marguerite greeted the two birds like old friends. She approached them respectfully and stroked them gently. She fired question after question at William, just as he was used to from her. She did not chatter as much as she once did, to be sure—she was obviously trying to become a perfect lady—but that did not seem to come easily to her.

William breathed in her scent of herbs and attar of roses. He was finding it difficult to follow her words, for her nearness to him was making him feel faint.

“Oh, please, let’s not sit down! We’ve been riding for so long that my behind hurts,” exclaimed Marguerite when William offered her a stool, and then she blushed, too.

How delightful she was when she forgot to rein in her liveliness. William found her even more beautiful when her behavior was unforced, and even more desirable.

“All right, if that’s how you feel, a little turn will do you good. Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested, holding open the door and letting her go first.

Sticking close together, they ran across the big field toward the edge of the forest. Their fingers brushed against each other as if by
accident; the contact almost made William burst with desire for Marguerite, and he moved away a little, as if he feared he could no longer hold himself in check.

The trees were coming into leaf, and the pale foliage made the forest seem bright and welcoming. The sun warmed them a little, but it was nothing compared to the fire William could feel burning deep inside him. While he was thinking about Marguerite, she suddenly ran off. He watched her go, frightened.

“Catch me if you can, William!” she cried, full of high spirits and laughing teasingly.

William stood rooted to the spot. Marguerite was surprisingly quick, and soon she had a considerable lead. He was overcome with a terrible fear.

“Wait,” he cried, terrified, and set off in pursuit.

Marguerite ran as fast as she could, but William caught up with her. Just as he was about to grab her, she looked at him, missed a broken branch that was lying on the ground, and stumbled. William tried to catch her, but he lost his balance, too. Marguerite fell, pulling him down with her.

The thick layer of leaves on the forest floor was as soft as a king’s bed. William was lying on top of Marguerite, and at first her expression was fearful.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked anxiously, but he neglected to get up.

Marguerite shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Her eyes were wide-open and her lips were slightly apart, as if all she was waiting for was to be kissed.

William spotted a tear in the corner of her eye and gently wiped it away. “I…” he began, but instead of continuing he leaned down and kissed her tenderly. He took a deep breath of her intoxicatingly sweet scent and suppressed the thought that he was not entitled to it. Just one kiss, he said to himself, one kiss that can be mine alone, that I’ll remember forever, that will unite
us forever—even if it costs me my life because the king has me hanged for it.

His lips touched hers very cautiously, for fear she might reject him angrily. But Marguerite let it happen. When she opened her mouth a little, William’s tongue gently sought out hers. At first, she returned his kisses hesitantly, then with more enthusiasm, and soon she was breathing as hard as he was.

“I wish I could stay with you here forever,” she breathed. Her eyes were sparkling, and her cheeks glowed with warmth.

“We would train falcons and have lots of children,” he whispered, and Marguerite shivered as his lips touched her ear. She looked at him invitingly, and he felt brave enough to kiss her neck, very gently and yet passionately.

Marguerite sighed almost inaudibly. She closed her eyes as William’s tongue flicked playfully over her neck. He could feel the wild beating of her heart beneath her tender skin. She tasted fresh as the sea and light as the wind, of love and eternity. Emboldened by the fact that she had not rejected him, he covered her cheeks, forehead, and eyes with kisses light as air, then returned to her mouth and found complete abandonment there. William’s arousal verged on the immeasurable. As if of their own accord, his hands glided downward, pausing on her slim hips, which he could feel through the cloth of her gown, and worked their way toward her belly, whose softness aroused a wish to protect her for the rest of his life.

“I’ll always love you,” he whispered.

Marguerite moaned softly as his hand slid upward over her ribs, exploring gently, till it reached her small firm breasts. William longed to experience the softness of her skin, but Marguerite coughed and pushed him away, albeit halfheartedly. “The sun will go down soon. I have to go back,” she cried breathlessly.

“Please stay, I can’t let you leave.” William pulled her to him and kissed her again.

“But I must!” Marguerite looked at him with tears in her eyes, pulled away from him, and tried to stand up. “Ouch, my foot!” She felt her ankle, looking so charmingly helpless that William reached out and stroked her hair.

“Let me see,” he said, cautiously removing her shoe and moving her foot. “Does that hurt?”

At first she shook her head, but when he turned her foot a little, she took a sharp breath through her teeth and smiled bravely when he looked at her with concern.

“Sorry.” He looked into her eyes and felt he would lose himself in them. “At least it’s not broken. It will heal quickly with an herbal compress. We’d better go back to the falconry. Put your arm around my neck. I’ll hold you up. I’ll bandage you up, and then we’ll get your horse before your uncle tears off my head because I didn’t bring you back on time.”

Marguerite nodded and limped back to the falconry without protest.

William relished every moment and wished the distance could be even greater, so that he could be with her longer. Although she did not complain, he offered to carry her, but Marguerite refused, maintaining the attitude that befitted her station. But after only a few steps, she was clinging to him more tightly. She had never been as close to him as this afternoon, and he had never been so afraid to see her leave. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He would keep this picture in his memory forever. He would never forget the pale scar on her forehead; he had been kissing it just moments before and knew that Marguerite had acquired it when she fell out of her favorite tree years ago.

When they reached the falconry, he treated her foot, placed a gentle kiss on her ankle, and simply smiled when she chided him uneasily.

They rode back to de Ferrers’s hall side by side in silence. William did not dare look at her again. If he gave in to his desire
to feel her soft lips against his again, or to hold her in his arms, he would not be able to let her go. Did she feel the same?

Marguerite did not wait for him to help her down from her horse. She slipped smoothly down to the ground and walked toward the hall. Unable to touch her one last time, he caught up with her. She was hobbling a little. It’s the same foot as mine, he thought, smiling sadly at the thought of what they must look like, the two of them walking alongside each other with the same swaying gait.

“Ah, there you are, my child,” said John, looking at her inquiringly as she walked toward him. “Why are you limping?”

“I was careless and twisted my ankle,” Marguerite explained, showing her foot. “It still hurts quite a bit,” she said, not looking at the king or William.

Could the king tell that something else had happened that afternoon? William’s heart raced so fast that his ribs hurt.

“Here, take this for looking after my falcon,” said the king, holding out a silver coin.

“What’s so funny?” asked John unpleasantly when he saw William’s sudden grin.

“Forgive me, sire. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but I was suddenly reminded of Your Majesty’s father.”

“My father?”

William nodded and bowed again. “He gave me an almost identical silver coin once, as a reward for finding his gyrfalcon. I refused it.”

“You did what?”