The Falcon and the Flower

by Virginia Henley

  The next stop he made was at the residence of the Bishop of Gloucester. He was informed by a servant that the bishop had retired for the night and could not be disturbed. By this time de Burgh had little patience left. One strong arm forced back the door. “Stand aside, man, if you know what’s good for you. He’ll be disturbed by what I have to tell him, I’ll warrant.”

  The servant was reduced to a handwringing subservient as he followed the three men down the hall to the bishop’s private study. De Burgh offered the token of a brief knock before he entered.

  The Bishop of Gloucester, a beefy man with a round, ruddy face, quickly set his drink aside and was on his feet to challenge the intruders.

  “Did you perform a wedding tonight between Ranulf of Chester and Jasmine of Salisbury?” demanded de Burgh.

  “I did. Who are you and by what right are you here?” the bishop demanded fearlessly.

  De Burgh’s hand swept his question aside with an impatient gesture. “Did the king attend the wedding ceremony?” he rapped out.

  “I’ll answer no more questions until you identify yourself, sir, and I learn if your business is legitimate!”

  De Burgh clenched his fists in fury, then schooled himself with a great effort to patience. “I am Falcon de Burgh. The Lady Jasmine is my betrothed. I have a valid contract with her father, Salisbury. If the king attended the wedding ceremony tonight the marriage is illegal— null and void.”

  “Illegal?” echoed the bishop, thinking his authority was being challenged.

  “Pope Innocent has excommunicated the king,” de Burgh said simply.

  The words took the wind from the bishop’s sails. “By all that’s holy, is this true?” he asked, overawed. The news was devastating, but if he was honest with himself he knew that John had asked for it, deserved it.

  “Who will tell him?” he asked quietly.

  “Have you the courage?” de Burgh asked sarcastically. “Or is it more expedient for you to ignore Rome and take the side of the king?”

  The bishop sat down as if his legs had collapsed. “I cannot do that. My duty is clear-cut; I must uphold the excommunication or Rome will issue an edict against the whole realm.”

  “Just so,” said de Burgh, satisfied the bishop was not weak-livered. “If King John took the time to read his dispatches from Rome, he would know of this. He would have known his attendance at the religious ceremony of a wedding would invalidate it. Get dressed, my lord bishop, you have a wedding ceremony to perform.”

  The bishop paled visibly.

  “Courage, man. John will have drunk himself into a stupor by now. His brother Salisbury, William Marshal, and the justiciar will deal with the king in a few days.” De Burgh was finished with explanations. “Hurry, man, if Chester has consummated this marriage, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

  Ranulf was busy inspecting his merchandise. He was savoring his acquisition, running his hands over every inch of Jasmine’s creamy satin skin, letting his fingers play with her pale silken mass of hair that fell about her shoulders like a silvery waterfall. His palms cupped and weighed each perfect breast, then he let his mouth suck and taste each taut, pink nipple.

  Jasmine stood before him like a cold statue of marble. She had withdrawn to a place apart, a place of the mind, not of the body. A place where Ranulf’s avid fingers could not touch.

  He removed the last of his clothing and Jasmine’s eyes looked at his body impassively. He was not an attractive man. Though he was tall, it was his body that was long rather than his legs, and though he had no belly, his torso was the same width from shoulder to hip and his muscles had a knotty appearance. His body was devoid of hair except his groin, and this was covered by the same lank, black hair that covered his head.

  He reached for Jasmine’s hand and brought it to his swollen member, which had been in a semiaroused state since he had seen her in the pristine white wedding gown.

  Jasmine’s small hand lay unresisting in his own. When her fingers did not eagerly close over him, he bent to cover her mouth with his. He forced her lips apart and thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth. She went limp as if she would swoon, and he gave her face a small, sharp slap. “Respond to me!” he ordered.

  Suddenly there was a heavy crash upon the door. The bar splintered with a loud crack and Jasmine’s eyes flew open. Were the Powers of the Universe she had begged for help coming to her rescue?

  Three heavy shoulders applying their power in unison had battered down the door. De Burgh murmured, “I’ll do this alone,” and the two men who flanked him backed off and took the Bishop of Gloucester a discreet distance down the hall.

  Falcon, like an avenging bird of prey, swept into the room. Naked, without a weapon, Chester knew he was trapped. De Burgh stood with one hand on his sword hilt, the other held his dagger. He was dressed from head to toe in black. His black leather boots reached up to his thighs and he had casually tucked his black leather gauntlets into the cuff of his boot. He wore a flared hat to shield his eyes, and only the slant of his scarred cheek and jaw were visible.

  Chester threw back his head and bellowed, “Guard! Guard!”

  One of de Burgh’s men came to the door. Chester cried, “A hundred crowns if you seize him!”

  Montgomery laughed. “I wouldn’t piss for a hundred crowns,” then retreated down the hallway.

  De Burgh spoke for the first time. His voice was quietly menacing. “Don’t move unless you want to lose a-testicle.” He was trying to control a terrible bloodlust, and he found it the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

  Chester argued, “You’re too late to do anything about it … we are wed.”

  “In that case I’ll have to make a widow of her,” he threatened with relish. The vein on Chester’s forehead began to pulsate with fear. De Burgh towered over him, an unforgiving mountain of hatred. Chester took an involuntary step backward.

  Jasmine stood rooted to the spot. De Burgh hadn’t spared her a glance. It was obvious he was more interested in taking his revenge on Chester than rescuing her, and in that moment she hated him. She darted to the bed and snatched up the ermine mantle to cover her nakedness. Chester looked quickly over to her.

  “Keep your eyes to yourself, man,” ordered de Burgh, the fury inside him still threatening to spill blood.

  Jasmine’s eyes were wide with horror. She knew de Burgh’s temper, knew his reckless daring. Any second now he would murder the man who had dared take what was his. The naked steel would plunge in and come out covered with bloody entrails. She saw her two tormentors through blurred, tear-filled eyes. “Devils!” she sobbed, “savages!”

  De Burgh looked at her directly for the first time. “Me? I abhor violence,” he said.

  Jasmine had an uncontrollable desire to laugh and cry and scream and curse. It all came out on a sob.

  De Burgh advanced upon Chester. He saw clearly that he had gone pasty gray and was convinced he’d drawn his last breath. “Take her,” Chester offered desperately. “I renounce all claim.”

  De Burgh was amused. A great bark of laughter rang out. “I intend to take her. You never had a claim. Your dear friend King John is under excommunication. His attending the ceremony made it illegal and invalid.”

  A great relief rushed over Chester. His strength was sapped; his knees buckled.

  Jasmine looked upon him with contempt. “Where are you holding Estelle?” she demanded.

  “I am not holding her,” he denied quickly, fearfully. “I never harmed her. She left Gloucester—ran off somewhere.”

  Now it was Jasmine’s turn to be weak with relief.

  De Burgh gagged Chester, then trussed him up so tightly he looked like a boar ready for the spit. Then he looked at Jasmine. “You’ve had the mock wedding, now we’ll have the real one.” He was a frighteningly potent image, one of real flesh and of real blood. Falcon de Burgh wasn’t used to the passive role. From the moment he had set eyes on the enchanting girl, all his keenest instincts as a hunter had b
een aroused. Her heart started its wild war dance as he reached for her, but he simply ushered her through the door with a possessive hand at the small of her back.

  In the hallway he beckoned his men. “Put this door back on its hinges and make sure it will take a great effort to reopen it.” He looked down at Jasmine. “Where is your chamber?”

  She was trembling and could not find her voice, so she pointed to a door farther down the hall.

  “Here is the good bishop risen from his bed just to perform the ceremony,” he said silkily.

  “Falcon, no, I’ve been through so much,” she cried.

  He said ominously, “You’ve been through nothing yet.” He led the way to Jasmine’s chamber. The Bishop of Gloucester followed on his heels thinking irreverently that the bride was already conveniently naked beneath her fur.

  De Burgh’s strong hand kept her at his side. “I’m sorry to press you, my lord bishop, but I’m afraid our time is running out. Say the necessary words, then you can get back to your safe bed.”

  Jasmine glanced up at de Burgh. His face was as hard as granite. The dark arrogance lay on his face as if his very soul was fierce and wild. It was his arrogance that always unnerved her. The thin white scar from brow to cheek gave him such a slanting, devilish look.

  It was as if he read her mind. “You put it there,” he pointed out.

  The Bishop of Gloucester aided them in exchanging their vows. Jasmine felt she had as little choice now as she had had earlier in the evening.

  “We’ll need witnesses,” reminded the bishop.

  De Burgh opened the door and called to his men who had just finished securing Chester’s great studded door.

  “Do you want witnesses for what comes next?” Montgomery asked with a good-natured leer.

  De Burgh flashed his wolf’s grin. “I don’t want you watching, but you can listen if you’ve a mind to. I’ll need you to stand guard at the door.”

  All the necessary signatures were obtained, including the Bishop of Gloucester’s, then at last Falcon was alone with his bride. She clutched the ermine wrap about her desperately as he began to divest himself of black cloak and doublet. He removed the heavy chain-link vest and finally his lawn shirt. Stripped to the waist, he advanced toward her.

  “Jasmine …” He put his finger under her chin. “Look at me while I explain things. There is no time for pretty speeches. You deserve to be wooed with a flower, a poem, a sigh …” His thumb caressed her cheek. “A stolen kiss … a soft embrace … but you will have none of these. Jassy, forgive me for what I am about to do to you. It seems like all my life I’ve had to do the expedient thing, and tonight I’m again forced to be strong, decisive, practical, and unfortunately for you, quick!”

  “Falcon, please.” Her hands came up to his chest in supplication.

  “This marriage must be consummated, and consummated now. It must be made legal so that none can take you from me, do you understand?” he demanded harshly.

  She looked into his eyes and saw only green fire and knew that he would not relent. She nodded mutely and her lashes swept down to her cheeks.

  “Your eyelashes are thick as feathers,” he murmured as he reached out a firm hand to take her wrap. It fell to the carpet and he kicked it aside. For a second or two he feasted upon her, his devouring eyes sliding all over her flowing body. Then he swept her up in powerful arms and took her to the bed.

  She turned her face from him as he stripped off the rest of his clothes and towered above the bed. He closed his eyes momentarily and offered thanks that the flower he so desired had not been plucked by another, then he opened his eyes, expecting to fill them up with the lover’s vision of a lifetime. The bed was empty. Jasmine was kneeling on the floor on the opposite side of the bed, her hands pressed together, her eyes closed as she begged her god to deliver her from men’s evil. His blood ran hot in his veins. His emotions swung wildly with unrequited desire. He had wanted, nay, craved her for so long, banking the fires that had threatened to consume him for months. He had snatched her from the arms of another man and now instead of sweetly yielding up her prize to him, she was invoking the power of God against him.

  He bit back an oath and vaulted across the bed to stand before her. She opened her eyes, saw his bare muscled legs inches from her face, and closed them again, sobbing “No, no!” He reached down strong hands to clasp her sweetness to him, but the moment he touched her she screamed and he realized this deflowering would be no easy task.

  Still on her knees, she turned from him and rolled herself into a ball with her arms crossed tightly about her body. She was so tightly coiled he feared there was no time to coax her into a loving response, but he knew he must try. He desperately wanted to make her first time good for her, but he knew the precious minutes were ticking away. He deeply regretted that he did not have all night to make love to her, to arouse her, to play with her. This was no game. This consummation was an absolute necessity for her own good, her own safety. He knelt down behind her and lifted the silken mass of her hair to his face. His rigid, throbbing shaft pulsed against her back, and she bit down on her lips to stop herself from screaming. He swept aside her mass of hair to kiss the exposed nape of her neck. She knew the closeness of their naked bodies and the warmth of her smooth perfumed flesh was driving him to such a pitch that he would soon be out of control.

  “Jasmine, I want you to like it when I caress you, I want you to like it when I kiss your lovely breasts, I want you to like it when I make love to you.”

  She raised her head from her knees. “I don’t like it, I hate it!”

  Still on the floor, he lifted her into his lap, his back resting against the great bed. “My little flower,” he murmured huskily, “unfurl your petals for me.” He knew that the nipples of her breasts could be made erect for he had done it before. He dipped his head and caught the tip of her left breast between his lips. His tongue caressed it and circled it slowly, then he sucked hard, hoping this would stir the tiny bud between her legs to awaken and ache to be stroked.

  Her sobs had subsided to little mewling cries, so he lifted her buttocks to allow his erection to slide along the cleft between her legs. She was so sensitive she could feel his heartbeat through his hot maleness with each and every pulse of his blood. She reached down frantically to dislodge his weapon before it sheathed itself inside of her, and she gasped with renewed terror as she realized its size. Falcon gasped also as her tiny hand closed over him. The intensity of his pleasure almost tumbled him into the sensual abyss.

  She stood up and tried to climb upon the bed to escape him, but as she did so the golden curls of her mons brushed across his cheek. In a flash he had her soft thighs imprisoned in his hands as his hungry mouth covered the secret place for which it had hungered and thirsted for what seemed like a lifetime.

  Jasmine was appalled by his animal maleness. Everything about him was hard as iron. His arms, his chest, his legs, even his thighs were corded with rigid saddle muscles. She experienced none of the first delicate moments of the journey to intimacy when everything is new, veiled in mystery and promise of the passion that was sure to come. Desperately she struggled to free herself from his hot, possessive mouth. Finally she knelt upon his shoulders and climbed onto the bed. He was upon her instantly.

  “Falcon, stop now … please stop now, or I will hate you forever.”

  He said regretfully, “’T is a pity, darling, I must force you, but I cannot stop now. I know what is best for you. Please, love, try to understand you won’t be safe unless I make you my wife completely.” The words he spoke were the truth, but he couldn’t have stopped himself from making love to her in that moment if his life itself was the price he’d have to pay.

  She sobbed her fear. “Don’t … don’t … oh, please don’t,” but he didn’t even hear her. One powerful hand held both her arms above her head and he kissed the intimate hollows under her arms. His lips covered her breasts roughly, wantonly, then became more gentle as they nibbled the
silken flesh beneath each breast, sending wave after wave of pleasure surging through him as his mouth took possession of places it had never traveled before. The taste of her, the fragrance of her heightened the sensations until his very blood sang with the joy of her.

  “Jasmine, open to me,” he urged.

  “No, no … I cannot … I cannot.” She honestly believed that if he impaled her, he would kill her. She was crying hard now, her face buried against his chest, her tears bathing his heart.

  Falcon felt he was being patient in the extreme. If they had had all night, he would have given her more time, but he did not. He went up on his knees to straddle her. After forcing apart her soft thighs, he placed one of his knees between them to keep them apart. With firm fingers he separated her pink center covered by the tight golden curls and plunged down. He felt the hymen of her maidenhead give way and heard her terrible scream.

  He quickly covered her mouth with his and thrust himself up as hard as he could as he pulled her down. At last he was buried to the hilt, and no force on this earth could have prevented him from carving out his place inside of her.

  He was acutely aware of the tremendous contrast between their bodies. His great size emphasized her delicate smallness. His hardness made her all the softer. His powerful strength showed her fragility. But the greatest contrast was in their coloring. He was so dark, his tanned body half-covered by crisp black hair, while she was so pale and fair, her silvery gold tresses spread out in a tangle across the pillows. From above it must have looked like the Devil was ravishing an angel.

  For him, magic danced in the air. His powerful hands held her imprisoned and immobile beneath him as he stroked in and out ruthlessly. She was the smallest woman he had ever made love to. She was unbelievably tight, and each time he thrust inside her, he had to stretch her anew. He knew that his first assault was hurting her, but he also knew that would change perhaps the next time he made love to her. He watched her face through half-closed eyes as he moved himself back and forth upon her. He was a skilled lover and knew just how far he could drive her. Each time she tried to cry out he covered her mouth with his. Finally in desperation she bit down savagely on his bottom lip with her sharp little teeth and he lost control. His erection erupted into climax, spurting his burning seed deep inside her.