Read The Falcon and the Flower for Free Online

some of the men-at-arms who are from these parts. They say we are camping too close to Stonehenge for comfort.”
    “Rubbish! We’re miles from the place. This is an excellent spot to make camp—flat ground, close to the River Avon. Tell them to stop their idle chatter and put them towork gathering wood for cooking fires.” He grinned. “The fires will ward off the evil spirits.”
    Though the hour was late and most of the camp slept, the horses were decidedly unsettled. De Burgh heard their nervous whickering hour after hour and heard them milling about long after they should have quieted to rest. Perhaps there were wolves about or a wildcat come down onto Salisbury Plain from the mountains. He had been lying wrapped in a thick fur rug pleasantly conjuring up pictures of William’s two daughters when a disturbing thought came to him. Perhaps the animals could pick up a strange unsettling atmosphere from Stonehenge. He shook his head to dispel such a ridiculous notion, threw back the furs, and stepped to the tent’s opening. Was it his imagination, or could he hear chanting on the air? He stepped out into the darkness and listened. Faint cries and music were coming from a distance and the horses, with their keener hearing, were strangely disturbed by it.
    He untethered Lightning and rubbed him behind his ears. Stonehenge was beckoning and his curiosity got the better of him. He mounted the destrier without a saddle and guided him in the direction of the singing.
    The scene laid out before him angered him. Excess had always disgusted him. In any raid on castle or town his men were forbidden to rape on penalty of death. Self-discipline was a virtue he valued highly in himself and others. These people had no discipline and in fact were out of control. The veneer of civilization was so thin they reverted to savage, feral beasts at any opportunity.
    He was appalled to see some hooded figures flee an altar, leaving behind a blood sacrifice of some sort. His sensibilities were affronted to see such an ancient and hallowed place as Stonehenge defiled.
    As Jasmine flew to the altar like an avenging angel, her eyes fastened upon the tiny bundle swaddled in the blanket, the hooded figures melted into the darkness. Herhands trembled uncontrollably as she lifted the blanket. Her eyes filled with tears as she saw that it was a newborn lamb that had been sacrificed. Her sadness was mingled with relief that it had not been a baby. Suddenly fear gripped her. They were Devil worshippers. The sacrificial lamb had been used to conjure the Prince of Darkness himself.
    De Burgh, towering above, his face dark with fury, saw the mutilated lamb and reached out a punishing hand to grasp her. She glanced up and shrank back in terror. It was the Devil! She had seen him before in the crystal!
    Jasmine trembled from head to toe. Fear gripped her heart. Why had she so willfully disobeyed and come to this wicked place? Satan had caught her in a face-to-face confrontation. Quickly she covered her eyes so that he would not be able to look into her soul.
    He took hold of her shoulder and shook her roughly. “Wicked wench, have you no shame? Look at me when I speak to you!”
    “No, no,” she cried, “if I look into your eyes you will be able to steal my soul!”
    “What gibberish is this? You ignorant little peasant.” He took hold of her hands and forced them down from her face.
    She saw the Prince of Darkness in all his splendor. He was richly garbed in black velvet, the hilt of his dagger encrusted with blood-red rubies. He was a head taller than a mortal man and broader too. His face was darkly, wickedly handsome, and his eyes gleamed with green fire. They narrowed suspiciously as he felt her silken, soft hands.
    “These are not the hands of a peasant girl.” He pulled off the shabby cloak and looked at her closely. Though she wore the dress and rough linen coif of a servant, he knew she was no such thing. “You are a spoiled, boredlady come