The Falcon and the Flower (14 page)

Indeed, an air of unseemly haste pervaded the stately manor at Cirencester. All the barons and their wives who had gathered about Queen Avisa were leaving as quickly as they had arrived. The rumors of the divorce had flown as quickly as feathered arrows and the gentry were cutting their losses before matters became any stickier.

The Earls of Clare, Derby, Leicester, and Warenne and their countesses had departed that morning an hour before Avisa had received official letters and documents bearing the new king’s seals. Only the Countess of Pembroke, the lovely Isabel, wife of the Marshal of England, intended to stay loyally by Avisa’s side. Both Isabel and William Marshal were held in high esteem by their peers because their characters were almost too good to be believed.

The Countess of Warwick, a young widow, changed her mind about leaving the moment Falcon de Burgh arrived upon the scene.

Jasmine saw him and chose to ignore him, but she was annoyed when she saw that none of the other women did so, Elizabeth of Warwick clung to his arm, looking up at him as if she would like to devour him. “Falcon de Burgh, you are a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hello, Bess, how’s the prettiest widow in England?”

She pouted and whispered, “Worried to death!”

“About what, pray tell me?” he said, smiling into her dark eyes.

“I can’t tell you here,” she said, arching her eyebrows to indicate the subject was rather delicate. “Visit me tonight and I’ll reveal all,” she promised saucily.

Falcon de Burgh kept his face straight as he kissed her hand, then greeted Isabel, the Countess of Pembroke.

“Falcon, is there any news of William? He is usually so good at communicating with me, but I’ve heard nothing of his return.”

“Perhaps it is because he doesn’t expect you to be here at Cirencester, Lady Isabel. All I can tell you is that the Earl of Salisbury has returned. King John probably can’t spare the marshal. As you know more than most, the work of ruling the realm falls to him rather than the king.”

Isabel’s lips tightened at the mention of John. She had been totally opposed to John becoming King of England, and she and her husband William Marshal had exchanged sharp words over it, but of course she would say nothing that would reflect upon her husband’s choice in public. Her heart was wrung over this dreadful divorcing of Avisa. Good men did not sunder their marriages, whether they were made in heaven or hell.

Falcon extracted himself from the ladies to search out Hubert de Burgh. He found his uncle in his chamber reading royal dispatches that had been delivered within the hour. Hugh looked up from the parchment he held, pleasantly flushed from the contents of King John’s letter. “Falcon, my boy, let me share my good news with you. John has made me custodian of the great fortress of Dover and warden of the Cinque Ports.”

“Congratulations. With your own Castle of Corfe you will command the whole southern coast of England.”

At that moment an unearthly wail caught their ears. “Noooo, oh, noooo.” Hugh was on his feet and running the moment he heard it. “It’s Avisa. Wait here for me, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Avisa’s face was like a death mask as she paced her chamber, the paper clutched in her fist and pressed to her breast. Her eyes were hollow and terrible to behold. “Whoreson … swine … bastard … He is insane. No, not insane, clever … diabolically clever. He’s known about us all along and this is his sick revenge.”

“Sweetheart, what is it? Tell me!” Hubert ordered.

“Not enough that the pig divorces me, not enough that
the pig makes a fourteen-year-old child the queen, not enough that he keeps all my Gloucester holdings for his piggish, greedy self!”

She screamed and rent her garment across the breast.

Hugh grabbed her in strong arms. “Stop it, Avisa!” He took her to a large chair and sat down with her cradled in his arms. “Now, tell me!” he commanded.

“He’s sold me,” she whispered.

“What?” Hugh asked incredulously.

“He’s sold me to Geoffrey de Mandeville for twenty thousand marks.”

“By God’s glove, de Mandeville is a dead man,” vowed Hubert de Burgh.

Falcon waited for almost an hour, then realized Hugh must have his hands full. He took his saddlebags to the room adjoining Jasmine’s, which he had occupied before. He opened the door between and stepped inside. She was not there and yet her presence lingered in the room. His fingers touched the strings of a lute, and he wondered if she would ever play it for him, and if she sang. He wanted to know more about her. She had an elusive quality, revealing only surface characteristics, while keeping her deeper qualities veiled, hidden, mysterious.

His eye caught the scarlet velvet nightrobe on the chair beside her bed and he was unable to keep his hands from it. He stroked the soft velvet and the delicate scent of flowers assaulted his senses. A familiar ache suffused his loins and he swore softly. He caught his reflection in the mirror of polished silver. Suddenly he saw himself as Jasmine
must see him. The high black boots and leather jack, the emerald earring to match the color of his eyes, the scarred hands and cheek, the deadly weapons at his belt showed him to be dangerous, selfish, worldly.

Suddenly he was covered with guilt. She was so young, so innocent, so delicate; he could not believe that he had actually struck her. He resolved to be more gentle with her from now on. The chirping of the little sparrow caught his attention and he went over to the wicker cage and said softly, “Feather? Pretty boy … pretty boy.” He stuck his finger through the tiny bars and chuckled when it pecked him sharply.

“What are you doing?” an accusing voice asked angrily.

“Nothing,” he said, turning toward Jasmine as she came into the chamber. The sunlight streaming through the window gave her the quality of luminescence. Her eyes, her skin, her silvery-gold hair surrounded her with a light-filled essence that took away his breath.

She examined Feather minutely with her eyes to discover some damage he might have inflicted then raised her eyes to his. “The rumors must be true about King John repudiating Avisa, else you wouldn’t be here.” She said it in an accusing tone, as if he had had some personal hand in the matter.

Remembering his resolve, he explained, “Your father is returned. King John has already divorced Avisa, I’m sorry to say. I’ve come to escort you home. You see now why you should not have come.”

“Damn all men,” she flared. “They always conveniently lay the blame at women’s feet.”

His resolve of gentleness flew out the window. “Must I remind you I advised you to wait until Avisa was crowned queen, but oh no, you had to go running off on a whim.”

“Whim?” she spat.

He said mockingly, “You claim to see the future in your silly crystal ball. Why did you not foresee John making a child Queen of England?”

Jasmine’s eyes widened. “I did … oh, indeed I did see the king and queen sailing on a vessel for England. Estelle … Estelle,” Jasmine cried, going to the door.

Her grandmother came into the room and acknowledged de Burgh’s presence with a brief nod of the head.

“Remember in the tower room when I gazed into the crystal and saw the king and queen set sail for England? I do have the sight, it’s just that I haven’t learned how to interpret it well yet.”

“Hindsight is always amazingly accurate,” Falcon said dryly.

Estelle did not contradict him. She should have foreseen that John would rid himself of an aging wife. She must advise Avisa before she left. All would be brought under the mailed fist of the crown whether they chose or not. Avisa must concede gracefully, or she would find herself imprisoned for years as John’s father had done to his mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine.

Falcon said, “Be ready to leave at dawn. Your father has arranged a place at court for you as lady to the new queen.”

“Think you I am so disloyal to Avisa that I would serve another?” she demanded incredulously.

He smiled. “For once we are in agreement. I’m sure you will be excused from your duties to take on the duties of a wife.”

She had walked right into the trap he had set for her. However, the door had not sprung shut yet. Quickly she said, “On the other hand, a fourteen-year-old girl is still a child. She will desperately need someone a little older to help her adjust to a strange land. Queenship will overwhelm the little girl. I see my duty clearly.” Her chin went up in defiance.

His eyes lingered upon her sulky mouth, which evoked such forbidden fantasies in him that his voice became husky. “You will sup with me tonight,” he stated. It was not a request.

Hubert finally sought out Falcon. He had tucked Avisa into her bed, exhausted from tears.

“Is she taking it badly?” asked Falcon.

Hubert shrugged philosophically. “It is her pride that’s in shreds. As for being queen—she cannot miss what she’s never known. She knows that she is better off without John. She wouldn’t have him back in her bed for a dozen thrones. But it rankles that he’s to marry a beautiful young girl. She’s devastated at the moment because John has chosen a new husband for her.”

“Who?” asked Falcon.

“Obviously whoever offered the highest price. Geoffrey de Mandeville,” said Hubert, his mouth tightening for the first time.

“What will you do?” asked Falcon.

“Sooner or later kill him, I suppose.”

“It would seem more logical to me to kill John,” Falcon said bluntly.

“It would of course, but I’m too bloody ambitious for that, so I’ll substitute de Mandeville. I intend to be King John’s justiciar.”

Falcon looked at Hubert long and hard. He could not understand how he could take King John’s preferments while John was venting his sick revenge upon the woman Hubert was supposed to love.

Hubert saw the look and said bluntly, “Wait, my boy— wait until you have a woman standing between you and power. See which one you choose.”

“Well,” said Falcon, putting the best face on it, “let’s hope you get both someday.”

Falcon ordered a brace of partridge, a compote of small buttered vegetables, and a strawberry torte for dinner. He went to the wine cellars himself and chose both a dry and a sweet chablis brought from France. Then he changed into a white linen shirt and left off the thigh boots in an attempt to look less threatening, less like a pirate looking for booty. He knew she would not come of her own volition, so once a servant brought the food, he tapped lightly upon their adjoining door and opened it.

Jasmine gasped. She was sitting clad in only her under-dress, a filmy peach-color affair. The russet-color tabard that was to go over it lay draped upon her bed. He could not help himself. He went to her swiftly and put his hands upon her exposed shoulders. Her rustling garments had offered a whisper of invitation. Instant fantasies flamed up in him arousing such a desire that triggered forbidden taboos.

“Don’t dare to touch me!” she cried.

He slanted an eyebrow. “You invite my fingers. You knew I would come for you to sup with me.”

“I forgot,” she lied.

He put his hand under her chin and tipped her face up. He looked into eyes shadowed by curling lashes. “You have a convenient memory.” His eyes lingered on her soft pink mouth. “Am I permitted a taste?” he asked mockingly.

“No!” she flared.

“We are betrothed. You deny me?” he asked quietly.

“I would deny you even if we were wed!”

“Denial would avail you little,” he said, amused. He cupped her face with his hands and reverently lifted it to his lips like a first communion.

The moment was shattered as Dame Estelle came in carrying her packed bags. “She draws you like a lode-stone,” she said with faintly concealed contempt.

“Is this how you gather your mystic knowledge, by listening at doors and spying through keyholes?” he asked with matching contempt.

“Sometimes,” she admitted defiantly. “That way I found out John has sold Avisa to Geoffrey de Mandeville for twenty thousand marks.”

Falcon wished Jasmine had not learned this ugly truth, but of course Estelle had been bursting to add fuel to the fire of Jasmine’s hatred for men.

“Oh, my God, I must go to her,” said Jasmine.

“You will not, mistress.” His voice brooked no disobedience. He picked up the russet tabard. “Put this on before you drive me to the brink of madness.”

Estelle helped her into the tabard and he held out a demanding hand for her to accompany him into his chamber.

Jasmine was afraid of the suppressed sexuality and violent danger that were just below the surface in this man. She thought him capable of any atrocity! In his chamber she strove to overcome her suffocating fear. Estelle had been carrying out her agreement and teaching Jasmine everything she knew. Jasmine called up her words to aid her in this intimate situation.

Estelle had shown her how to gain control over another. She had said that if you knew what people wanted, where they went to in their beds at night as they dreamed their wildest dreams, then you were well on your way to controlling them. Jasmine would watch Falcon closely and learn his deepest desires.

The food and wine were laid out on a side table. Falcon seated her in a comfortable easy chair and served her from the buffet. He poured her a chalice of the sweet chablis and set it at her elbow. Then he prepared a plate for himself and filled his own chalice from the dry wine. They began their meal in silence. Jasmine looked down at her plate, but her eyes strayed to his powerful hands. She
studied him covertly, her eyes sliding from the very top of his dark head to his long muscled legs. She saw the material grow taut across his loins and her eyes darted to his in shock.