The Blue Falcon Read online

Udele looked at them blandly, not interested in the lace at all. She let her eyes rise to meet Giselle’s and saw that the woman had not changed her mind. Udele would have no help in changing the course of Conan’s life. With a furious hiss she snatched up a length of lace and stuffed it into her basket. She whirled and was gone.

  Giselle stared for a moment at the door left ajar by the most powerful woman in Anselm. She suddenly felt very tired. Her energy was drained, and it took great effort to walk to the door and close it. She leaned against it and mused aloud, “I could not have known that to entwine my life with yours would create havoc.”

  In the beginning, Giselle understood the difficulty of Udele’s situation. While Alaric was a good and generous man, always fair and just, he was settled into a role of master. He worshiped Udele’s beauty and youth, but he also com­manded her. She did not easily see the good fortune in having been given to a man such as Alaric. Giselle had expected Udele to mature and in time come to appreciate her incred­ible good fortune, but that did not come to pass. While Udele served her husband dutifully and played the devoted wife skillfully, it was plain she had never come to love him.

  All the years of visits had meshed their minds so completely that when Udele was troubled, Giselle woke from a sound sleep. When Udele was gay, Giselle would feel the energy. And when Udele was enraged, Giselle could not work the intricate patterns of her laces because her hands would shake so severely. Now, without the need of the precious crystal, Giselle could feel the disaster Udele would weave into her son’s life.

  Giselle moved slowly to the one-room addition to the shop that served as her home. Behind a curtain on a shelf she found the earthen bowls she sought. She reached into one and pulled out some black, brittle twigs. From another she withdrew a pungent-smelling orange powder and from yet another bowl she took a silver, flaky substance. In the palm of one hand she combined the things and moved to the fire. She sprinkled some of the mixture over the embers and the flame sparked. A purple smoke seemed to fill the room. Her eyes closed and she was entranced. She sprinkled more of the mixture over the flame. More smoke filled the room, though the opening in the roof of her small cottage should have allowed the purple cloud easy escape.

  “Bring the woman to Sir Conan’s eyes with haste,” she muttered. Again her fixings were sprinkled into the fire. “Let his eyes fall on her this very day. Move his spirit before his head this once. Put the maid of his choice before his eyes before it is too late.”

  Within a few moments the room cleared of the colorful smoke, and the lacemaker’s eyes opened. She had beseeched some power greater than her own without much confidence. Though her ability to see things to come was clearly recognized in her youth, her ability to alter or hasten the events was never proved to her satisfaction.

  Giselle brushed the powder off her hands and moved to a humble pallet. She let her head rest on the fresh straw and fell into a deep and badly needed sleep.

  At the tower stairs, the lady of Anselm turned as if by some outside force and looked in the direction of the lacemaker’s cottage. In the predawn light, she could see a strange cloud moving through the mists.

  “If she has betrayed me,” she mumbled, “I will kill her.”

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  The banners flew high over Anselm Keep, as high as the expectations surrounding the tournament. Streamers decorated the lists and pavilions housing knight’s armor. Within the great manor all was quiet, for the hour was early.

  Chandra Ellard sat upright on her pallet and looked around the dim room. Her sisters slept on, but would be rising soon to the call for the first mass. With great care to be quiet, she stood on the cold stone floor and moved to the window. A slight pull did not open the crude covering, but she fought the stubborn wood, for she was so eager to know the sun had finally risen on this day. She won the battle, and the wooden slats creaked and flew open.

  Chandra looked guiltily over her shoulder to see if she had disturbed anyone’s sleep. Edwina, her oldest sister, rolled over and pulled the covers more tightly about her. Laine did not stir, but lay flat on her back the way she imagined a nun would sleep. Chandra made a face at her sisters and turned back to the window.

  The banners and streamers upon the wall made her heart leap. The soft glow of the sun just creeping over the land was the sight she had longed for. At last! She stretched her arms out the small window, and a smile to make the land shine brighter broke over her face. Her first tournament!

  Chandra, the youngest of Sir Medwin’s three daughters, had looked forward to such a day for years. King Henry’s ban on tournaments had lessened the likelihood that she would ever see one, but Lord Alaric was not so easily discouraged. He said that the fees the knights were paying to participate in this contest would surely cover any fine the king could levy, but it was not likely Henry would bother: his problems in France kept him too busy. And if not for the fact that her father was a close friend to Lord Alaric, they might not be here even now.

  The tournament would be grand! Invitations were sent far and near to bring knights and their families, landholders and vassals, barons great and small, priests both pious and unscrupulous, Jewish usurers looking for nobles in dire need of credit, and every interested spectator for miles.

  And Sir Conan!

  Chandra leaned on her forearms and peered dreamily out the window. It had been a few years at least since she had seen him, but it had not been very long since she had thought about him. Since as early as she could remember, she had looked to him as the one special boy in her life--but he was a boy no more. Now he was a man, and a recently dubbed knight. She sighed deeply, as she hoped he would find her more woman than child.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she noticed something over the wall in the direction of the lists. The falcon split his wings and soared into the clear morning air. Down he tumbled, through the mists of early day and then up again, up into the sky, straining his wings and pushing himself farther and farther into the soft satin of blue. With precision he circled, watching the ground below. A whistle, sharp and shrill, caused the bird to break his pattern and disappear behind the wall.

  He is there, she thought wildly. There, near the lists, working with his bird.

  Chandra turned and scurried toward her pallet, pulling off her shift as she went. She shivered in the crispness of the morning air as it invaded the room through the open window. She thought to shut it before the others were awakened, but too late. Laine was stirring and looking in confusion at Chandra’s nakedness.

  “Chandra? What are you doing?”

  Chandra shrugged and knelt on her pallet to grasp her fresh new shift to pull it on. “It is nearly time for the first mass,” she said as casually as she could.

  “I have never known you to hurry to mass,” Laine grumbled, beginning to rise herself.

  Chandra kept her face turned from her older sister so that her sly smile would not show. She moved to a stool in the corner of the small room where her favorite gown had been so carefully laid the night before. Trying not to appear rushed, she pulled the precious gown over her head and smoothed it over her middle and thighs. It was the softest cream, topsewn with green. On the breast a fish had been carefully embroidered. The sleeves were full and flowing, and she pulled the green ribbon tightly under her breasts.

  She reached within the deep pocket to be certain the article she treasured was there, and feeling the soft fabric strip within, she patted it confidently. She sat on the stool to fit the small slippers onto her feet and then grabbed up the wimple she would wear on her head.

  When her hand touched the door to the small bedchamber, Edwina was just coming awake.

  “The window,” she moaned. “Who opened the window?”

  “Good morningtide, Edwina,” Chandra sang cheerily.

  “Where are you going? The sun is barely up.”

  “It is almost time for mass,” Chandra said brightly, moving out the door as quickly as she could.

 
The air was cool and the ground moist. Chandra lifted her skirts and walked briskly, smiling and nodding good morning to those men-at-arms she passed. The smile was quickly returned and with a slight bow, for her manner was gay and her face as bright as a morning star. She saw the falcon again as she neared the lists, and then finally she saw him and her pace slowed abruptly.

  She stopped and looked at his back as he stroked his bird. His robes of red and blue accentuated his broadness, and her heart jumped again. The bird suddenly spread his wings and Conan’s gauntleted hand responded by moving with the bird. “That will do,” he said. The bird moved again and seemed to communicate something to him, for he threw back his head and laughed. With that action she could see the bright smile break the darkness of his beard. “Not now, Mars,” he said. “Other things command my attention this morn.”

  Sir Conan fitted a hood over his bird’s head, and Chandra felt sharp disappointment, for she had longed to see him perform. When travelers would pass through her father’s hall, they often had heard of or seen Sir Conan. They painted a picture for her with their words, a vision of a man taller than his peers and dark as the night, with bright, sparkling blue eyes and a trained falcon that seemed to respond to his very thoughts.

  The bird made no further argument and was put to rest on a perch outside the blue and red pavilion. Conan surveyed the equipment of his profession, stacked neatly against the sides of the tent. Mail, armor, shield and sword shone as they had not shone in years.

  Conan picked up a bag of oats to attach to his horse’s snout, but Orion seemed to refuse the nourishment and pawed at the turf. Conan whirled to look behind him as if he expected an assassin. The quick action caused Chandra to jump in surprise.

  Chandra recovered herself and moved closer, smiling at the frown he wore as he studied her. She dropped into a low curtsy, then rose to meet his suspicious eyes. “Good morningtide, sir knight,” she said softly.

  Conan’s eyes roved over her, devouring the petite form and fresh little face. He looked to her hand and saw her wimple still held there, not covering the long, golden locks that trailed down her back. When his eyes fell upon the fish embroidered on the breast of her gunna, the suspicion vanished from his eyes and he smiled with amusement.

  “Damsel, you took me by surprise.”

  She laughed lightly. “I would have known you anywhere, Conan. I bring you good tidings.”

  “And early tidings,” he chuckled.

  “I saw the falcon and I knew it must be you,” she told him.

  “You have not changed so much after all, my fair Chandra. Still chasing birds in the wood and courting mischief.” He raised one dark brow. “Though your appearance has greatly changed, I vow.”

  Her eyes lit up with happiness that he would even notice the changes in her. “Then, sir knight, am I now a maiden of enough years to give you a token to carry to the contest? I have a small thing.”

  She pulled a sheer strip of cloth the same color as her gown from her pocket. It had been carefully topsewn with the same green, and a small fish to identify the piece adorned one end of the strip. “I would be honored.”

  Conan frowned slightly as he took it from her. “It’s unseemly for a maid to bring her token to a knight. You are uncommonly bold, Chandra.”

  Chandra was not insulted by the remark, for she knew she was an unconventional maid and more determined than most. Still, her brows drew together as if in thought. “In truth, I was prepared to offer my token at the tourney, but I was awakened this morn with a great start and knew I must hasten to you with my colors.” She shrugged off the uneasy feeling and smiled, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “There will be so many maids waiting with tokens in hand, you would likely have passed me by.”

  His blue eyes warmed as he looked at her. “Not likely, fair lady,” he said, reaching for her hand and placing a courtly kiss on its back.

  “You will be too weighted down with gifts to do justice in the lists.”

  “You overstate my importance here,” he said.

  Chandra grimaced and then laughed outright. The cocky devil! “In any event,” she said quite happily, “I will be the first.”

  “Do you wish to name yourself as the first then?” he laughed.

  “For the moment,” she replied. “But never will it be enough.” She curtsied briefly and turned to leave him.

  “Chandra,” he called. When she turned back to him, he simply looked at her. She did not flush or fidget, but stood poised, at ease during his leisurely appraisal. It gave her a feeling of great importance and brought a lightness to her head. The expression on his face went from curiously entranced to pleased and contented. Finally his eyes met hers again, and he held the token up as if presenting it. “I will carry your token and hope to defend it with honor.”

  “I have no doubts, Conan,” she said softly.

  She raised a hand briefly, and he imitated the parting gesture. She turned to leave him.

  Conan had often felt a sudden rush of excitement when a beautiful maiden was near. He had not, however, experienced much disappointment as they walked away from him. He stood rooted to the ground as Chandra walked away, and though no one could see, the blue of his eyes had warmed in appreciation.

  The last time he had seen her, she was a prancing and quite unladylike little girl, a giggling, energetic package of trouble. That glimmer of trouble was still in her eyes, but the rest of her had changed. He could not help noticing the absence of chubby cheeks and the appearance of breasts. And the gentle swing of her skirts as she moved away from him sparked his imagination. He chuckled and shook his head as he noticed that she still carried her headpiece and had a vision of her hastily plopping it upon her head as she entered the hall. Child? he asked himself casually. Nay, he decided. But neither woman.

  When she was out of sight, he turned and finished the task of feeding his horse. With a brush he began working over the steed’s coat, bringing the lustrous black to a fine sheen. Since early in his youth he had taken responsibility for his horse. This he had learned from Sir Theodoric. His steed was his greatest possession. He would trust this animal to carry him into battle and respond to his command, indeed, his touch, with the utmost precision. Orion was a fine horse, and should he lose him it would take months, possibly years, to train another. For this reason Conan kept all the care of his beast as his own burden.

  Conan looked over his shoulder in the direction Chandra had taken, remembering the sight of her quite well.

  “Another secret he has kept from us.”

  Conan turned and smiled at the speaker. Sir Mallory stood in the opening of the tent, holding back the flap so that Thurwell might also see. Conan laughed and went back to brushing his horse, ignoring the jibe. “I didn’t know you had arrived,” he said.

  “You were occupied. We saw the maid and came around the back of your pavilion so as not to disturb you.”

  “You were spying,” Conan said flatly.

  “That, too,” Thurwell laughed. “You didn’t tell us about the maid.”

  Conan looked at them now. They both wore the tunics he had ordered put out for them, the colors of Sir Conan. How it inflated his pride to have his own livery, and to have knights such as these ride at his sides! “I didn’t know of her, to tell you truly. She is Chandra, daughter to Medwin of Phalen. When last I saw her she was a sprite of Galen’s years. She rode as fast as any lad. And now, it seems, she’s growing up.”

  “Indeed,” Mallory sighed. “Would she meet with Lord Alaric’s approval?”

  “She would, should that meet my fancy. He and Medwin are old friends.” He shrugged. “She is barely a woman. That does not meet my mood at the moment.”

  “A man of moods,” said Thurwell. “How suits your mood for the joust? Does any maid’s hand rest on the outcome?”

  “None,” Conan said.

  “And do any old enemies challenge you?”

  “There are a few,” he returned confidently. “No one of great importance.”


  “There is Tedric,” Mallory said.

  “Tedric?” Conan’s head shot up and he stared at the two, though he shouldn’t have been very surprised. Tedric was the son of Sir Theodoric. They had been together for many years, and the relationship had been a tense one. Conan’s early achievements had galled Tedric.

  “He is a fool,” Conan finally said.

  “He has only lately issued the challenge,” Mallory informed him.

  “What could he hope to gain? He knows he cannot best me.”

  “His hopes are great,” Thurwell said, walking closer to Conan and giving an easy brush to Mars’s dark feathers. The bird did not flinch, for it was a touch he knew. “He spends too much time hoping to best you. Put him down well and finally.”

  Conan turned back to his horse, brushing the mane. “Perhaps if he could beat me once he would forget this foolery.”

  “That is folly, Conan,” Mallory insisted. “His head would swell with thoughts of power and he would seek a higher advantage.”

  “He will lose his horse without much effort from me, but what more can I do? While my beloved Theodoric watches, shall I break his son’s bones?”

  Thurwell shook his head and moved closer. “Nay, Conan. But listen well: Tedric is a weasel, and soon he will see he cannot beat you in fair trials. One day he will learn the way to make you pay for the years you have excelled in Theodoric’s house. Be sure he reckons well that you are the stronger.”

  “‘Tis truth, Conan,” Mallory agreed. “Guard your back from him in the future. He is a weak knight, but his hunger for power is evident even now. He is not slow-witted--and he is restless for your hide.”

  Conan laughed off these warnings. “Why should I fear? Two of the most skilled and well-known knights of this land ride at my sides!” He clapped a hand on Mallory’s arm. “Could the strongest man take me with my advantage?”

  Neither knight laughed at Conan’s lazy assessment. “Your house yields us comfort, true, and we abide with you pleasurably,” Mallory said. “You know where our loyalties lie, but we’re not to be bound, Conan.