The Falcon and the Flower by Virginia Henley Read Free Book Online Page B

formally as he could.
    Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Ah, save your complimentsuntil you have met Ela, I beg you, milord; her virtues are outstanding.”
    The delicious play on words came back to him later when he was introduced to Ela, for apart from an attractive face and prettily pouting mouth, her most outstanding feature was a pair of breasts that could only be described as breathtaking. Falcon’s eyes sought out Isobel’s and they shared the humor with relish.
    Ela had spent the afternoon with the head cook, Joan, a formidable woman who held sway in the kitchens with an iron hand and would have long since bullied William Longsword and reduced his authority to that of a small boy if it hadn’t been for his capable daughters. The result of the afternoon’s running battle between Joan and Ela was a culinary delight designed to seduce a man into wishing for such domesticity that turned ordinary food into manna.
    The conversation flowed easily as they dined, showing de Burgh how pleasant a meal could be in the great hall of one’s castle when a well-trained chatelaine was in charge of a man’s comforts. He learned that each daughter had been trained by their late mother to review the accounts and inventory of the castle’s provisions daily. Controlling an enormous staff of strong-willed, capable servants and cooks was no small accomplishment. When necessary Ela and Isobel traveled from demesne to demesne gathering supplies needed for war, bullying the bailiffs and stewards into supplying money, supplies, and arms. They looked after the poor and set the moral standard for all the households on their vast properties.
    “Father, enough!” cried Isobel, laughing. “I’m sure our guest is not interested in how we check the salt meat for maggots or the flour barrels for weevils or see that the drains are running clear.”
    Falcon de Burgh put up his hand in protest. “Nay, Lady Isobel, I am most fascinated to learn the role awoman plays in running a castle. I had never given it a thought before. Pray continue, I beg of you.”
    Ela looked at him with wide eyes. “We don’t do the work ourselves, milord, but rather must see that it is done and done well. Cloth has to be woven and clothes sewn. Leather has to be cured for shoes and tunics. Then there is the laundry, the candles, the rushes.”
    Isobel picked up where Ela left off. “We look after the sick and the wounded, select the seed and plan the gardens.” The mischievous look came into her eyes again as she added, “And tomorrow I was thinking about hunting down a few wolves because so many of the new lambs have been taken.”
    “Cry foul, Isobel,” her father exclaimed, laughing. “You must leave something for us poor males to take care of.”
    “My men and I would relish a hunt tomorrow, milord, if your time permits such indulgence,” de Burgh offered enthusiastically.
    “I have some fine hawks and falcons I’d like you to try out; to hell with the wolves,” said Salisbury, who was inordinately proud of his mews filled with magnificent birds of prey.
    Isobel refilled the men’s goblets and the ladies left them to their cups. Both girls were bursting to discuss their visitor to find out exactly the other’s inner thoughts and share them.
    Inside her chamber Ela hugged herself then pulled off her wimple to let her chestnut hair come tumbling down. “God’s nightgown, I think I’ve died and gone to Heaven!”
    “Blasphemy, Ela?” Isobel chuckled, flinging herself into the center of her sister’s feather bed. “That tells me exactly how deep your feelings are running at this moment.”
    “My feelings are indeed running,” Ela said breathlessly.“I’m all liver and lights! Did you note the breadth of his shoulders?”
    “I never noticed”—Isobel giggled—“nor did I observe the length of his thighs, the thickness of his wrists, the flatness of his belly, the bulge of his—”
    “Isobel!” Ela cried in mock alarm.
    “I was going