It was three o’clock in the morning before he detected movement high on the wall. His quarry had arrived and was scaling the sheer stone wall of Nottingham Castle with the stealth of a cat. Falcon grunted his satisfaction as he slowly straightened from a cramped squatting position. He need not hurry, he would have plenty of time. Let the lovers compromise themselves. That way it would be a most interesting coitus interruptus.
Soundlessly he made his way up the four flights of stone steps to the chamber he had paid for in gold. What a fool he had been! De Burgh fingered the knife at his belt with grim satisfaction. He would try to hold onto his temper so that he didn’t kill the bastard. He would take him prisoner, prove to the crown that Robin Hood was no myth, and collect the reward. He would have to forgo the pleasure of gutting him in front of Jasmine. Pausing outside the chamber door, he noted the light streaming from beneath it. He unsheathed his knife, feeling a satisfaction at the weight of its haft, and burst through the door.
“De Burgh!” cried Jasmine, quickly putting herself between him and the couple behind her. He swept her aside with his free hand and advanced upon the man before him who was far too good-looking for his own health. He saw that Mary-Ann FitzWalter was present; he had forgotten he had ordered the two women to share the chamber.
The outlaw had kicked de Burgh’s knife from his hand in a movement as lithe as a dancer and had drawn his own knife to attack. The two men grappled with each other. De Burgh held his assailant’s wrists in a vicelike grip in a grim struggle to keep from being stabbed. They rolled to the floor of the chamber oblivious to the cries of the women who were begging them to stop.
With superhuman strength, de Burgh pinned his opponent, just long enough to put unbearable pressure on the other’s wrist and force his fingers to release the deadly weapon. Now they were both unarmed, and the struggle grew in intensity. Fists smashed into jaws and cheekbones with sickening frequency. Neither man ducked the blows, preferring to take the punishment then give it back. They were almost enjoying it! De Burgh felt a grudging admiration for the other man and knew they were equal in strength and fighting ability. There was one big difference, however. De Burgh had sworn an oath to avenge himself for Jasmine and Gervase.
A scarlet blur of anger blotted out everything in the room until Falcon had his enemy under his control. Then he took the rope the intruder had used to climb in the window and trussed him like a haunch of venison. Falcon’s eyes gleamed their victory. “Robin Hood, I arrest you in the name of the crown!”
Mary-Ann fell to her knees before him, beseeching, pleading, begging. “Lord de Burgh, I beg you to listen to me.” The tears streamed down her face and fell onto her hands, which were clasped before her as if in prayer.
De Burgh blinked and glanced at Jasmine who stood by horrified with a look of total condemnation in her eyes. Mary-Ann was almost incoherent. “If he dies, I don’t want to live. I love him, please, de Burgh, help us for pity’s sake.”
In a blinding flash it dawned on Falcon that the outlaw of Sherwood was Mary-Ann’s lover, not Jasmine’s. A wild elation ran up his spine, filling his head and making him dizzy with relief.
Jasmine knew that Mary-Ann’s pleas would avail her nothing. If anyone on earth could sway de Burgh, it would have to be her. She went to him, placed her hands upon his broad chest, and looked up into his battered face. “Milord,” she said softly, all woman, a supplicant to his strength, “I would ask your permission to speak.”
“I will listen,” he said evenly, his heart doing crazy things inside his chest.
“This is Lord Robert of Huntingdon. He and Mary-Ann were pledged. Then exactly the same thing happened to her as happened to me. She was abducted by a man called Roger de Longchamp while riding in Barnisdale Forest. Before he could force marriage upon her, Robert rescued her and killed de Longchamp, as you killed de Belamé.”
He glanced at the man he had trussed and said with disgust, “The king has made it fashionable to abduct young women.”
Jasmine touched Falcon’s bruised jaw with a tender finger. “Our stories are very different from this point on. Milord, you gained the Castle of Hagthorn by ridding the world of such scum, but Robert was stripped of everything—his home, his lands even his title—because de Longchamp was friend to the king. He was declared outlaw and put to the horn, but men will not turn him in for the reward. Rather they flock to join him by the hundreds. He has total rule in the forests.”
De Burgh accused, “I knew you were there watching everything. I could feel your presence. You shot my squire by mistake when I was the one you intended to kill.”
“Nay,” said Robert, shaking his head in denial. “The arrow was not mine. Examine these in my quiver. I make all my own arrows from larchwood. The tips are weighted with lead. The feathers from wild birds.”
De Burgh examined the arrows and knew the man spoke the truth. “Did you see who shot the arrow?” he demanded.
“It was a man belonging to the Earl of Chester. I know not which.”
Jasmine stood on her toes in an attempt to look into de Burgh’s eyes. He looked down at her. “Falcon, please, for me, let him go?”
The whispered request hung in the air for long minutes. It was the first time she had ever said his given name with tenderness. Implicit in the request had been a half promise. He made his decision swiftly and acted upon it immediately. He picked up his knife from the corner where it lay and severed the ropes that bound his prisoner.
The legendary outlaw said, “Someday soon perhaps I may be in the position to do you an equal service.” He rubbed his wrists, then drew the tearful Mary-Ann close against him. “Come with me,” he urged. “Let us be wed.”
“I will! I will come!” she cried without hesitation. Happiness shone from her face, turning an ordinary girl into a radiant beauty. Robert put his finger to his lips to silence her, then opened the chamber door a crack to make sure no danger lurked outside. It would be easier if they crept down the four flights of stone steps, but de Burgh was sure in that moment that if there had been no other way out, the man would have taken his beloved down the walls on the end of a rope.
“My God, what a foolish girl,” cried Jasmine.
Falcon took her by the shoulders and pulled her hard against him. “Why? Because she went with a man who had nothing to give her but his love and his strength?” he demanded. “She’s not foolish, she’s courageous. A man would give all for a woman like that,” he said with admiration. His arms tightened and she felt all the strength of his body, the heavy shoulders, the powerful legs. He lifted her in his embrace so that her feet swung clear of the floor. Then he kissed her. Slowly he let her slide down his body until her feet touched the carpet and his hands drew aside her bedgown to take possession of her delicate breasts.
“Don’t !” she cried, shocked.
“Sweet, sweet, there’s only an hour left till dawn. Let me love you. Don’t turn me away again.” He felt her resisting him. “You don’t have to give me everything until we are wed, but damn it, give me something.” His lips touched her throat and traveled lower toward where her heart fluttered erratically.
“No, no, de Burgh, don’t do this to me,” she cried.
“Jasmine, you asked me for something and I gave it, now I am asking you for something.”
“You are not asking!” she hissed. “You never ask. You order, you command, you take, but you never ask.”
“I ask, Jasmine, I asked just now, but I won’t beg, I won’t grovel. I’m a man!” He spread his arms wide. “What is it you want from me?”
“You ask that as if you would give me anything I desired.”
“I will,” he promised. “What do you want?”
“Nothing!” She laughed, deeply satisfied. He had offered her anything and she had refused.
He almost struck her. She goaded him to the edge of violence, daring his manhood. He took hold of her roughly and crushed his mouth down on hers. He relished the pain it brought to his swollen jaw, and
he needed to give her a little pain. With hurting hands he felt all the private places of her soft body. His mouth effectively silenced her cries. The kiss was ruthlessly lustful. Abruptly he let go of her and said with deadly intent, “You accuse me of taking … so I shall!” Deliberately he fastened one scarred hand into the neckline of her bedgown and tore it assunder.
“My God, my beautiful clothes! You destroy everything I own, you must be mad!” she cried, kicking the tatters from her ankles and crossing her arms protectively across her bared breasts.
He ground out, “I owe you one bedgown and one damned good beating with your riding crop.” He snatched it up from the stool where it lay and Jasmine turned and fled. His anger was immediately replaced by lust as he saw her long, pretty legs and the opulent swell of her bare bottom. She ran into the far corner of the room then turned with fear-wide eyes, expecting him to bear down upon her with the cruel weapon in his grasp, but his only intent was to introduce her to the ways of love.
He lifted her up so that he could kiss her, but his mail crushed into her upthrusting breasts and she cried out. He lifted it off, dropping it to the floor with an ominous clang of metal which rang in her ears. Before he seized her up again he undid his breeches so that his great weapon sprang free. She dared not look at it and lifted beseeching eyes to his face. She saw only lust written there as his dark brows slanted above his deep-set, sea-green eyes.
Pressing her up against the wall, he bent his knees so that he would be able to support her when he thrust upward and entered her. Poised on the brink, he felt the thrill to the tip of his toes.
She needed a weapon to defend herself but had only a cutting tongue, sharp nails and teeth, and her wits. She tried out the first. “You sicken me! You are an uncivilized, brutal savage. You are driven to madness by your lust! You don’t give a damn for anyone but yourself! Your squire lies near death, but all you can think of is fucking!”
He was shocked back to reality by the filthy word his beautiful Jasmine had just uttered and also by the truth she threw at him. Falcon de Burgh in that moment experienced shame for the first time since his early youth. Abruptly he set her feet to the floor, picked up his chain mail, and quit the chamber.
Jasmine fell back against the wall, bruising her thigh. She clenched her fists and swore an oath. “By God, de Burgh, before I’m done with you, I’ll make you beg, I’ll make you apologize for every insult you’ve flung at me!”
As Falcon approached his tent, he heard Gervase babbling nonsense and knew he was delirious with fever. He lifted the flap and entered just as Estelle was giving him another drink of bitter borage. Her shrewd eyes took in his bruises and his anger as he entered, then watched it disappear, replaced by anxiety for his squire. “I’m glad you are back,” she said. “Very shortly his fever should break and he will be soaked with sweat. You can help me change him and change the linen.”
He nodded. “I appreciate what you are doing, Dame Winwood.”
“Have you been fighting over Jasmine?” she asked him bluntly.
“I thought I was, but I was mistaken.” He shrugged. “I’ve fought all my life … it’s fight and survive or fight and die.”
“De Burgh, you have royal blood, do you not?”
“Aye,” he acknowledged. “We de Burghs are descended from William the Conqueror’s brother, Robert of Mortain.”
“Too bad. It is too, too bad that the royal throne of kings did not come to a man like you. Instead through an accident of birth we have scum, that piece of offal to rule us.” She sighed. “Ah, well, the only thing in life we can be sure of is change.”
He said evenly, “Let’s hope when it comes it is change for the better.”
She looked up at him in surprise, then realized he didn’t have the gift of second sight as she did. “No, de Burgh, things are going to get worse, much worse, before they get better.”
They worked over Gervase for two hours, bathing him and changing the linen, then finally, mercifully the sweating ceased and he fell into a more peaceful sleep. Estelle began to gather her paraphernalia and said, “I’ll go and get some rest now. In the afternoon I will return and dress the wound with rue.”
“Estelle,” Falcon said quietly.
“Yes?” she asked, pausing at the entrance.
“When I return from Scotland, I will marry Jasmine and take her from court.”
Poor devil, she thought, he hasn’t the vaguest idea that he’s far gone in love with her. He still thinks he’s in control. “Good night,” she bid him.
Chapter 20
The next morning King John decided to continue his journey to the border to sign the treaty with King Alexander. Isabella and the court would stay on enjoying Nottingham’s hospitality until John returned. Since Chester did not accompany the king, John had a word with him before he left. “Ranulf, about the secret matter we discussed … I believe Isabella has some fine ideas about the whole thing. She loves secrets. She’ll plan everything down to the last detail. Put your heads together and we’ll all come out of this with something we consummately desire,” he said, winking.
“Remove the old woman for me, she is a bloody impediment,” said Chester.
John chose to take offense. “Have a care, Ranulf. Dame Winwood is indispensable to me. I wouldn’t consider such a lengthy trek without taking her with me. Her apothecary skills are unmatched. My physician is a butcher compared with her.”
Estelle, however, was furious when she learned she must accompany John. She disliked riding and actually protested to the king on the grounds that her old bones would not take kindly to a trek that would take them over three hundred miles there and back.
The king dismissed her protest instantly. “Estelle, cut out the crap, you are as tough as old boots.”
She had no option but to pack her apothecary paraphernalia and hope that Falcon de Burgh would not set a murderous pace. At first de Burgh was annoyed that Gervase was not healed enough for the journey, but upon reflection he felt it might not be a bad idea to leave a pair of “eyes” behind.
“Gervase, I have reason to believe the arrow you took was intended for me,” he told his squire. “I suspect Chester wants me dead. Watch him closely for me. Don’t trust him; he’s far too clever to have only one scheme in his head. Since the king is taking your nurse with him, I’ll have to ask Jasmine to dress your wound for you.”
Gervase actually blushed, and Falcon realized she’d snared another heart. Was there no end to the little witch’s conquests?
Falcon sought her out at the very last moment. Much to his irritation, he found her in the castle garden walking with Will Marshal, the king’s squire who was about her own age.
“I hoped you would be too busy to bid me good-bye,” she said cruelly.
De Burgh said pointedly to the squire, “Attend the king, he is ready to depart.”
“No, Will!” cried Jasmine. “Stay by me lest he brutally attacks me again.”
De Burgh took a step toward Will and winked broadly. Then he said in a deliberately harsh voice, “Begone, Marshal, I want no witnesses to what I am about to do to her.”
Will grinned and sprinted off to find his groom who would be waiting with his horse. Jasmine glanced at de Burgh and noticed his battered face was healing well and was almost back to normal. “I warrant I’ve more bruises than you, you brute.”
“I have little desire to hurt you, Jasmine, but I warn you now, wench, that if I continue to find you with men, I will give you a hard slap or two.”
Her eyes flashed fire and she said regally, “I came to the garden for fresh air. Please be good enough to leave me, sir.”
He couldn’t resist. He set his hands to her waist and lifted her up to him. She had no choice but to cling to his wide shoulders for support. Then he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her. It began with the sweetest tenderness, his lips holding hers captive for long lingering minutes. The sound of her heart leaping about in her chest alarmed Jasmine. Her wicked juices began to stir,
and suddenly her sharp little teeth bit into his bottom lip.
He set her to the ground with a look of surprised disbelief.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Falcon, I was carried away,” she said with the innocence of an asp.
His blood surged with anger and lust, the deadly combination. He pushed her into the deep grass and fell on top of her. One bold hand reached up her skirts to fondle her bare thighs and his fingers sought the tiny jewel nestled deep inside the exquisite flaxen curls.
As she desperately sought to squeeze her thighs together to prevent him from plundering her, she knew she had goaded him beyond control.
Young Will Marshal was astonished to see the couple in the grass. He had had no notion that de Burgh would bid her adieu by making love to her on the ground. He had not been jesting when he had winked and said he wanted no witnesses to what he was about to do to her. Though he was embarrassed to do so, Will had no choice but to interrupt their love play. “M’Lord de Burgh,” he called, “the king commands you attend him, sir.”
Jasmine gasped as he held her pinned long minutes with both his hands and his crystal-green gaze. Finally he said, “When I return, I’ll finish what I started and that’s a promise!” He left without a backward glance.
Later that day it was reported that Mary-Ann FitzWalter had gone missing. Jasmine tried not to laugh when a search party was organized and men were sent along the banks of the River Trent and into the fringes of the forest for sign of foul play. At last Mary-Ann’s father must have guessed where she had gone and tried to downplay her disappearance. When they discovered that her young cousin, the red-haired Matilda, was also missing, they decided the two girls must have gone home to either Malaset or Dunmow.
Estelle was never more relieved in her life to see the high turrets of Pontefract Castle looming in the distance. De Burgh had bidden one of his men ride at her side and assist her to mount and dismount. She was thankful for the strong arm to lean upon as he helped her into the women’s quarters and carried her boxes for her. She ordered a tray for herself, for there was no way she was going to drag herself to the hall to sit through a three-hour bout at table with the king and his host. She put on a warm bedgown, for the autumn nights this far north had a definite nip to them, and fell asleep almost instantly.