The Falcon and the Flower (48 page)

“Do you remember teasing me because you thought I was too slim to be with child?” she asked, touching her enlarged stomach.

He teased her now. “No, I don’t remember you ever
being slim. Haven’t you always been fat as a little piglet?” She giggled happily for love really was blind. He told her over and over how lusciously beautiful she looked when in reality she felt grossly swollen and ungainly.

“We have to settle the names. If it’s a boy I can’t decide between Rickard and Michael. Let’s see … Rickard de Burgh … Michael de Burgh.”

“I like Rickard,” he said definitely.

“I like Michael,” she announced.

“Naturally, and if I’d said Michael, you would have said Rickard!” he pointed out.

“I think it will be a girl. What was that name you said you liked?”

He kissed her ear. “If it’s a girl it will serve you right. I hope you have a willful little witch just like yourself.”

It was over twelve long hours before Jasmine went into hard labor. Falcon was all but forgotten as she went down to the gates of pain in woman’s usual way.

Estelle pointed imperiously to the door and he was glad to leave. He couldn’t bear to watch Jasmine suffer any longer. Like many a man before him, he swore he would never do this to her again. He played hazard with his men who stayed up all night with him, but he lost at every throw of the dice. He paced the hall, alternately booting stools across the room or kicking the logs in the fireplace impatiently.

Upstairs on the big bed Jasmine bit down on a rolled linen towel to muffle her screams as the dark head of her son forced its way into the world. She was wringing wet with perspiration and was at the limit of her strength. Estelle was visibly relieved that it was almost over. So long as there was no trouble getting the afterbirth and providing no hemorrhaging began, all should be well. She carefully passed the male child to a waiting Meg and his lusty cry echoed to the rafters.

“Holy Mother of Heaven,” exclaimed Estelle, “there’s another child!”

“I know,” Jasmine whispered faintly.

“How long have you known?” Estelle demanded, her nerves stretching to their limit.

“Weeks,” Jasmine replied, closing her eyes, then opening them wide as a scream was torn from her pale lips.

De Burgh took the stairs three at a time the moment he heard the child cry out. He threw open the door and filled the chamber with his presence.

“Out!” commanded Estelle.

“To hell with that,” he shouted, “I won’t be ordered about in my own castle. Is she all right?”

“Get out. I haven’t time for male tantrums. If you don’t get out I’ll have Big Meg throw you out!”

He backed off quickly. Something must be wrong. The child was born, but Jasmine was still screaming. He went out into the tower staircase feeling useless and impotent, and guilt was almost crushing his heart. He ran up to her tower room, tenderly touching items of clothing that belonged to her, each evoking memories so poignant he couldn’t breathe. He clenched his fists and shook them at the heavens. “If she dies … if you play me such a bastardly trick … I’ll …” He listened intently, but her screaming had stopped. He could hear the baby crying lustily, but he could not hear Jasmine.

He ran down the stairs and went into the chamber again. None dared to stop him this time as he fell on his knees beside the bed. “She’s unconscious!” he accused.

Estelle said, “She’s asleep, Falcon.”

“How do you know?” he demanded.

“Because she is exhausted. It took every last ounce of her strength and mine to bring those into the world.”

Big Meg held a naked male child in each arm. Falcon was stunned. “Twins? I have two sons? Jasmine gave me two sons at one time?” He felt dizzy.

“Don’t go fainting on me, I have enough de Burgh men to look after,” said Estelle, laughing.

“My god, it’s a wonder I didn’t kill her. Is she really all right?”

“You go and do the bragging and let her do the sleeping. I’m just as amazed as you. She came through this magnificently.”

Mountain Ash had never been subjected to such unrestrained rejoicing and celebrating in its history. At the end of twenty-four hours the castle could have been overtaken by its weakest enemy, for there was only one man in residence who was still sober. Falcon was stretched out on the floor beside their bed waiting for Jasmine to waken. When she did finally open her eyes for a few minutes, their hands and eyes met and held. Neither of them needed words to convey their feelings to the other. Finally Jasmine whispered, “Michael and Rickard de Burgh.”

He tried unsuccessfully to hide a grin. “You do realize they will inevitably be known as Mick and Rick?” She smiled contentedly and closed her eyes.

The arrival of June brought more than twin sons, it also brought messengers to Mountain Ash. Estelle had known visitors would come and one stranger would change all their lives. Strangely, each and every one was associated with Ireland. She told de Burgh and was gratified that he neither lost his temper with her extrasensory perception nor ridiculed it. She mentioned it to Jasmine, but her granddaughter’s days were filled with her babies, searching
out a wet nurse to help supplement their feedings, and her nights were filled with a husband who was madly in love with her. Their time alone together was all too brief to suit either of them.

If he encountered her in a hallway he would sweep her into his arms for an impassioned embrace until they were interrupted by the intrusion of a servant. Even in the company of others he found he could not keep his hands from her. They touched and burned and exchanged tender, promising looks. Occasionally he had been lucky enough to encounter her in an outbuilding such as the stillroom, and he had barely allowed her time to bar the door before he had undressed her and lifted her onto his demanding manroot. They always made love as if it were for the first time—and the last. The dark splendor of his body contrasted so sharply against her pale silken beauty.

The first people to arrive were William and Mathilda de Braose. They were fleeing from Hay, their magnificent castle on the Welsh border. King John had ordered his mercenaries to arrest them, and they had gotten away only by the skin of their teeth. They had heard rumors that de Burgh had broken with King John and hoped his strong forces would help them against the king.

William was a practical man who did not really expect de Burgh to wage war against his King, but he felt reasonably sure that Mountain Ash would harbor them.

Jasmine made Mathilda rest and provided her with all the things she had been forced to leave behind. They appealed to Estelle to see what she could predict for Mathilda’s future, but for some reason Estelle reminded them that de Burgh had forbidden her to practice her witchcraft or dabble in the occult, and under no circumstances would she flaunt the lord’s wishes. Mathilda quite understood her position, but Jasmine rolled her eyes ceilingward wondering what maggot had gotten into her grandmother’s brain.

Falcon was frank with William de Braose. Mountain Ash would give them sanctuary, but now that the good weather was upon them, he fully expected Chester’s men or the king’s men—which were virtually the same thing —to ride in any day. Falcon recalled Estelle’s mention of Ireland. The de Braoses had a daughter who was married to Walter de Lacey, who held the lordship of Meath in Ireland. Falcon urged William to seek refuge with them.

The next visitor to arrive brought an urgent message from William de Burgh in Ireland. Murphy would have stood out in any crowd. He was de Burgh’s top captain, probably well past his prime in years, although no one would have dared suggest such a thing. He stood six-foot-four with flaming red hair, now streaked with silver. He had a craggy face and a thick accent. Falcon and Jasmine could make out what he said if they listened closely, but the Welsh were totally baffled each time he opened his mouth. He had sailed from Wexford in one of many de Burgh vessels that were now anchored in Swansea Bay about twenty miles away.

Jasmine was totally bemused by Murphy. She had never seen anyone who fit the description of an ogre quite so well, bringing to life for her the mythical figure of tales told her in childhood, yet he was so gentle it was comical. Her heart was in her throat when he picked up her babies and cooed and sang to them, for he held them both in one gigantic arm.

Falcon closeted himself with Murphy to read the messages his uncle had sent him, but also to pick his brains. He plied him with Welsh liquor, the strongest brew Falcon had ever tasted, yet it went down Murphy’s throat as if it were water.

Falcon broke the seal on the thick, white parchment and read:

Falcon measured Murphy another drink and joined him. “Tell me of William. What manner of man is he?”

Murphy scratched his head. “What is there to tell? He’s a fierce warrior who has fought all his life. In years past all that mattered to him was loyalty to the crown. You were his heir when he had no sons of his own, but many years after the first Lady de Burgh died, he married Moira and she gave him his two sons. She’s no more than a young girl still. Now I believe the most important thing to William is his sons’ inheritance. Richard, the eldest, is barely seven years old. William knows if anything happens the boys will never be able to hold what is rightfully theirs.”

Falcon fixed Murphy with his green crystal eyes. “If anything happens?” he repeated.

The red-haired giant looked uncomfortable as if he had been trapped. He got to his feet and did a turn about the room. Then he came back and faced de Burgh. “Look, I’m tellin’ secrets, an’ William would flay the skin offa me if he knew, but the wound he took was a bad one. He coughs blood an’ I think he sees the writin’ on the wall.”

Falcon contemplated the great baronies of Ireland. They covered much more land than those in England and were indeed palatinates. William Marshal held the lordship of Leinster, Walter de Lacey held Meath, and his brother Hugh de Lacey held Ulster. Connaught was greater than any. Never let it be said that Falcon de Burgh was not an ambitious man. He now had sons of his own to think of. “My wife’s grandmother, Dame Estelle Winwood, is more clever in treating ailments than any
physician. It is possible she could do something for William.”

“You’ll come then?” asked Murphy. “I will consider it,” Falcon said bluntly.

Jasmine had a chamber plenished for Murphy and introduced him to Estelle. “I hear your mother is a genius in treatin’ a man’s aches an’ pains. Perhaps she could do somethin’ with the misery in me shoulder,” he said, rubbing his upper arm.

Estelle’s eyes narrowed. “I am her grandmother, not her mother,” but she was not displeased with the compliment. “I will bring you a liniment after dinner that dispels rheumatism in the joints.”

As Estelle walked away he said with appreciation to Jasmine, “She’s a foin figure of a woman!”

Jasmine tried to hide a smile; Murphy must have more guts than a slaughterhouse to tackle Estelle.

After dinner Falcon was amazed that Murphy was still on his feet after all he had imbibed that day. When Estelle took him a pot of her special liniment made from the ground-up root of cuckoopint boiled in oil of roses and mixed into bean flour, Murphy took off his doublet so she could apply it. “That smells too fancy for the loikes of me,” he said, winking.

“Well, if you insist, I could mix in some hot ox dung,” she threatened. “Sit down, man, I can’t reach you.”

He did as he was bidden, but he slipped his arm about her waist and pulled her down into his lap.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Estelle. “You don’t have a rheumatic complaint at all, do you?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.

He grinned at her and lowered his voice. “I have an ache elsewhere I bet you could ease.”

“Oh, you’re a betting man, are you? Well, I wager
you’ve had so much liquor you can’t even get it up!” Estelle said bluntly.

Murphy’s grin widened, “’T is a bet, my little dearling. If I put it up, will you put it in?”

“You’re a cheeky old bugger, Murphy,” she said, laughing. “It’s so long since it was used, I’m not sure it’s really there.”

He kissed her ear. “Shall we find out?” he invited.

The next day brought yet another visitor bringing a message. With only a handful of men Salisbury came riding in before sunset. He had news and a request from King John. It could have easily been brought by messenger, but Salisbury himself came because he was anxious to know how his little Jasmine fared. When they last parted she had seemed so unhappy over her marriage to de Burgh.