The Falcon and the Flower (36 page)

“We crossed the bridge at Cambridge, changed horses at Tewksbury where your men and mine parted company. I arrived this morning and missed all the heavy rain.”

William Marshal said, “We’ll get some hot food into you and let you get to bed.”

Falcon glanced up in time to see the three men wink at each other.

“Jasmine dear, your bath is ready,” said Lady Isabel, shaking her gently. Jasmine opened her eyes and yawned.

“Oh, I so hate to disturb your sleep but I know you will want a bath before you go to your bridegroom tonight,” Isabel said, hanging Feather’s cage by the window.

Jasmine was on the point of asking her to find de Burgh another chamber when Isabel clasped her hands together and said with shining eyes, “Oh, ’t is so exciting for me to have a new bride here, and since this will be your first night together, I mean in a real bed—oh, you know what I mean—I’ve ordered a special bridal supper, but after the toasts I promise you I won’t let the men keep Falcon at table.”

“Thank you, Isabel,” Jasmine said faintly, unable to spoil the woman’s obvious enjoyment.

Isabel helped Jasmine into the steaming water and liberally lathered her flaxen hair with soft soap. “’T is easy to see he fell in love with your great beauty. Well, he won’t be disappointed tonight when he sees how utterly lovely you’ll look.”

Jasmine, realizing she had no alternative but to share the bed with de Burgh, said, “Isabel, may I borrow a night rail from you?”

Isabel laughed. “Oh, you are shy of him seeing you nude. I bet he’s an outrageous rogue who has you in a continual blush. How I remember my wedding night. I was like you, I had no experience of men. I lived in Ireland with my parents until my father’s untimely death, then I was cloistered here at
Chepstow and
finally taken to the Tower of London for safekeeping so no man could
abduct me for my vast land holdings. They married me to the marshal of England and I was terrified of him until he took me to bed and worshipped me. Even though I have grown children, I’m still in love with my husband.”

“You really love him?” asked Jasmine in disbelief.

Isabel nodded happily. “He still makes me breathless with desire when he gets that speculative look in his eyes. We are lucky, Jasmine, there aren’t too many love matches, you know. Hubert told us how magnificently heroic Falcon was when he sensed you were in danger. All the bridges had been swept away over the Ouse River and he plunged into the raging waters, risking his life to reach you in time.”

Jasmine looked at her strangely. Isabel sighed. “You must be very much in love.” Jasmine stepped from the tub and stood by the fire to towel her hair dry. Isabel lifted the lid of Jasmine’s traveling trunk and took out the pink velvet. “I’ll just warm it to take the dampness away,” Isabel said, draping it over a brass fireguard. “I’ll go and get you that nightgown for later. If I can put my hands on it, I have the most alluring black negligee William brought from France a few years back. It will be shockingly delicious for a wedding night!”

Jasmine wished she’d never asked for it. The maids came in to remove the bath and then they put scented satin sheets upon the bridal bed at Isabel’s insistence. They brought a good supply of wine and sweet cakes for the bridal couple and saw that the fire was well banked with plenty of wood and coals in a brass holder.

“Your son Will was very kind to me at court, Isabel. He was one of the few friends I made.”

Isabel sighed. “Will and his father had the most awful fight when he left court. He urged his father to turn his back on King John, but William said that would be like turning his back on England. Loyalty, I’m afraid, comes very high on William’s list of virtues. Men are quite silly
really. They have this wretched code of honor. They chose John for king and they will stick by him to the end, no matter that he’s the worst king that England has ever known. Women are far more practical than men with their high ideals. We see men as they really are.”

Jasmine grimaced and said, “I don’t even know where my poor grandmother is, but she always says men only sweat, fart, snore, and shout.”

Isabel’s laugh rang out. “Oh, Dame Winwood is so outrageous, but if we don’t go down to dinner soon that’s just what they’ll be doing!”

When Isabel entered the private dining room with Jasmine on her arm, all the men in the room stood and gave a collective sigh. Never had there been a more beautiful, feminine bride than Jasmine de Burgh.

Her father came forward to take her in his arms. “My little darling, you’ve had quite an ordeal, I hear.”

She looked up into his kind eyes and marveled that he could possibly be John’s brother.

He patted her head as if she were a little girl. “Never mind, you have Falcon to look after you now. I knew what I was doing when I betrothed you to the young devil, you know.”

Jasmine’s eyes flashed. If they had been alone she would have told him exactly what he could do with the young devil, and would tell him so the first chance she got.

He took her to Falcon and placed her small hand in his. Falcon looked amused. Jasmine looked daggers!

Lady Isabel Marshal was a magnificent chatelaine. Her servants were trained to be unobtrusive as well as efficient. As she had instructed they had set up a twelve-foot refectory table to seat six. It was laid with cream linen and Venetian crystal. Dark russet chrysanthemums decorated the center along with slim tapers of purest scented wax. She sat Jasmine between her husband and her father,
and Isabel sat between her own husband and Hubert de Burgh.

William shook his head in wonder as he gazed across at Jasmine. “So fair, so small. Are you sure this child is old enough to be wed?”

“She is nineteen, William.” Isabel spoke up. “Exactly the age I was when we were wed. Do you remember?”

“Remember? I remember details I can’t recount in company, but I’ll remind you of them later when we are alone.”

Isabel said laughing, “I told you he loves to make me blush.”

They were served clear turtle soup laced with cream, followed by plaice, which the chef had properly calvered for the guests. An abundance of oysters set the men to teasing Falcon as they pressed him to a second helping. Jasmine did not quite understand the innuendos and the men looked on her with approving eyes. Innocence was a desirable quality in a bride.

There was heron in Burgundy sauce, piles of rice colored by saffron accompanied by all the vegetables of late autumn. The pièce de résistance was a crisp saddle of mutton with mint. After the main course came meringues filled with apples, nuts, and whipped cream and a great wheel of cheese decorated with ripe pears. There was the choice of many drinks: old ale, cider, and both red and white wine, brought from the marshal’s vineyards in France two years back.

Each in turn offered a toast to the bride. Falcon thanked them on her behalf and offered a toast to their hospitable host and hostess, but when Jasmine held her goblet up for the servant to refill, Falcon refused the wine for her.

Hubert spoke up. “Maybe the lass wants some more.” Falcon said firmly, “Lady Jasmine wants what I want.”

She clenched her fist under cover of the table and thumped de Burgh’s thigh. She gave a little yelp of pain as her hand felt as if it had struck iron. Her cry drew all eyes and she took advantage of the situation to lie, “My husband pinched me.”

“Can’t keep his hands off her,” said Hubert, laughing.

“Well, I think we can excuse these young people. After all, it is their wedding night,” William said indulgently.

Isabel rose from the table and drew Jasmine with her. She looked at Falcon with sparkling eyes and said, “Just give us a few minutes, milord.”

Isabel fussed over Jasmine’s preparation for bed, as excited as if she were the bride. Finally her pale golden hair was brushed, perfume was applied, and the sheer black nightgown, gathered beneath the breasts with pink ribbons, was donned. Isabel wished her joy of her wedding night and at last departed. Within two minutes Falcon opened the chamber door.

He stood transfixed by the transparent black garment, which was designed to reveal rather than conceal Jasmine’s exquisite form. He had been exhausted, yet suddenly the need for sleep vanished.

She ran to him quickly with her fingers to her lips. “Hush, we will have to whisper. I don’t want Isabel to hear us fight like cat and dog. She has gotten hold of the notion that this is a great love match and we are deep in love with each other.”

He tried to take her by the shoulders. “I don’t mind pretending for once … just to please Isabel,” he whispered.

“Don’t touch me!” she hissed.

He took away his hands so quickly she almost fell. His voice was a savage whisper. “Do you expect me to ask politely each time I touch you? It’s getting to be a wearisome affair having you always deny me!”

“We are just not suited. We are at each other’s throats
the moment we are alone, but I don’t want to spoil it for Isabel. She has been so kind to me and she is so excited about having newlyweds here,” Jasmine said quietly.

“I hope you don’t think you can deny me. If I choose, you know you will have to let me do it,” Falcon whispered savagely.

“If you lay one finger on me, I’ll scream the place down,” she whispered fiercely.

He always took up a challenge. He pushed her down onto the bed and she gave a piercing scream and shouted at the top of her voice, “I sat on Prick!”

“By the legs of God, Jasmine, they will think I am killing you.” Then he began to laugh at the humor of the situation. “I thought he was called Quill?”

“He was,” she hissed, “but you call him Prick so often, I’ve changed his name.” She covered her face and groaned. “Oh, my lord, what will they all be thinking?”

“They will think you most passionate to cry out so that the whole castle can hear,” he replied, chuckling.

“They have misconceptions about you too. They think you performed some great heroic feat by swimming a raging river to get to me. They think we have this great psychic bond that told you I needed you. I’m cast in the role of damsel in distress and you are the noble, heroic knight.” She stopped and looked at him. “You really did swim that river, didn’t you?” she said, amazed. “My God, you must be dead on your feet. I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He sighed with the pleasure he always felt when her words to him were sweet as honey. She was apologizing to him and suddenly he remembered how roughly, though deliciously, he had forced himself upon her two nights before. She was so fragile. Perhaps he was being selfish not to let her rest tonight. He knew that he could control himself with her only up to a point. After that the demands of his powerful body ruled supreme and took
what it wanted. Jasmine took him to a place where nothing else mattered but burying his body deep inside hers. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offered hoarsely. “You need your rest, we still have far to go.”

“You need your rest as much as I. You will sleep in the bed on your wedding night or I am ashamed. Do not touch me but rest more at ease than on the floor.”

He looked down at her. Only a child would believe that a man, any normal whole man, would rest more at ease in a bed with a near-naked woman than on the floor alone. “Very well,” he agreed shortly.

He put out the candles, undressed quickly, and climbed into the bed beside her, naked. He lay silent, stiff, desperately aware of the silken body. He could feel her warmth and smell her tempting fragrance. He had never felt less like sleep. Every breath she took, every least stir she made, he was aware of.

The longer he lay the harder he became. His masculinity was an aching urgency.
He
willed her to touch him, to reach out to him so that he could leave her in no doubt of his readiness. He was making an endless night of it. He would be aware of each hour, but she did not move.

Slowly the realization came to him that he was a fool. Jasmine was his and he would have the joy of her, willing or no. His broad shoulders took up most of the bed, so he did not have to reach far to lay hands on her. He simply placed his hands on her waist, easily spanning it, and lifted her over him.

Jasmine stiffened, then struggled frantically, but he held her firmly to the hard, naked length of his body. “Let me go or I’ll scream,” she threatened tensely.

“You can scream all you want to,” he said low, “but somehow I don’t think you will.”

She renewed her struggles until the nightgown was in shreds, but she was still pinioned against the hard length of him. He relaxed his fierce hold upon her, and she
raised her head from his chest and gazed into the searing green flame of his smoldering eyes.

“We are husband and wife, Jasmine. There is no shame in this, darling.” One hand moved up from her waist to cup a heavy, round breast whose taut pink tip had been burning his chest. “Yield to me now, love,” he murmured thickly against her throat.

“Falcon, wait!” she cried desperately. Her body well remembered the pain his great shaft had caused her, and she knew she would do anything to keep him from entering her body again. She could feel his rigid erection pressing into the place where her thigh joined her belly only scant inches away from its desired goal. She knew she must distance herself from his great weapon. “May I lie beside you?” she pleaded prettily.

Reluctantly his hand uncupped her luscious breast and returned to her waist, then without effort he lifted her to his side and propped himself on his elbow to gaze down at her. “Don’t tremble, love, I’ll be gentle, I won’t hurt you,” he breathed raggedly.

“You hurt me before,” she accused, then changed her tone and began to beg. “Don’t hurt me again, please don’t hurt me.”

“Lie still, darling. I don’t want to hurt you, I want to love you,” he soothed. “Before that door opens again I intend to make you my wife in every way.” She lay still, stiff, rigid. “Jasmine … you are so unearthly fair.” His hand caressed her moonlit hair and his lips came down on hers gently, tentatively, savoring the soft pink mouth for which he’d hungered long, but the moment his lips released hers, she turned from him so that her lips and breasts were out of reach of his hungry mouth. His arms slid around her waist immediately and she realized with dismay that her breasts, indeed all her most intimate parts were open to his exploring hands. Then a new realization dawned. Her bare buttocks rested full against his
loins. His manroot was hard and bold against her soft flesh. He drew in a swift breath each time she squirmed and her bottom caressed the tip of his inflamed shaft. His thumbs caressed her nipples until they were hard as tiny jewels, and she tried to shrink from his touch. “Honey love, I only want to hold you, touch you,” he cajoled.