Chapter III
“I WAS Sir Dumas, a knight in the service of King Richard. A warrant was put on my head when King John took the throne. Richard had named another as his successor and I fought to see my sovereign’s dying wish honoured. In doing so, I forfeited my life and assumed the jester’s disguise to escape arrest and the executioner’s blade.”
“Oh my God, Dumas! It is a miracle ... you are a soldier...! Why do you stay in England if it is dangerous? We could go any number of places and be together!”
“You would have me give up my country for a bit of tit? That is all we have between us, Fallon—a romp, a peep show. I am still a lecherous, twisted man. Only my body is straight.”
Fallon drew up to her knees. “You are a poor liar, my love. Now it is your turn to show me. Turn around.”
He did, revealing a broad strong back, straight spine and curved buttocks. “You are perfect, Dumas.”
He turned and a rare smile worked his lips. “You have very little to compare with, my love. I take it you do not object to living with me now that I am not deformed?”
“I did not object to living with you in any case.” She gazed at him with wide green eyes and rose to her feet. “I have loved you from the second week of living with you when the caravan became stuck in the mud and you would not whip Gladiator to pull harder.”
Dumas’s horse had suffered enough indignity without being whipped. Trained to carry a knight into battle, only a horse of great merit would consent to be harnessed to that same knight’s caravan and travel the countryside dressed as a fool.
Fallon unstrapped the hunchback from Dumas’s body and cast it aside. She slipped her hand into his and led the knight to their bed. When Fallon had come to live with him, she had been given a pile of sacks in the corner to sleep on and was glad to have it. Dumas slept a bed of clean rushes and a down mattress. A thick animal hide offered warmth against the winter night.
The caravan was warm and the light mellow. The snow continued to fall. They listened to the sound of the church bells and held each other close.
“They’ll find us out,” Dumas said. His handsome face was worried. “We will not be able to keep this a secret, Fallon. It has already happened—one lapse in self-control and you found out my disguise. I am wanted for treason. If I am arrested, they’ll sell you to the soldiers’ encampment.”
Fallon stretched her narrow slim body on top of his, her breasts squashed against his chest. She kissed his lips gently at first and then with greater urgency.
“We will keep it a secret. You will teach me how to be as quiet as a mouse. Silently now, make love to me, Dumas. Oh, make love to me,” she sighed as he took her tongue in his mouth.
The hours passed in an orgy of sex—he was insatiable, kissing her perfect naked body from her lips to her toes and then suckling her sweet young sex until she came in his mouth with a shout of pleasure. Dumas took Fallon over and over again; she was sore from being ridden so often and so thoroughly by her master.
But he was no longer her master. Dumas knew that he was her lover now and Fallon would not behave with him as a boy squire ought again. She could not pull off the deception now that she knew the truth. Fallon was passionate and she wore her feelings in plain sight. That was what Dumas loved best about her. She had never held anything back from him in the four months they had together. Not her revulsion or her fear—or her budding sexuality.
His beloved curled against his chest, her warm, lithe body wafting the milky scent of her sex to him. He wrapped her in his arms. Dumas had fallen deeply in love with her and that would be their undoing. He was already losing the edge of hate he’d had that had kept him alive this long. Loving Fallon made him want to come out of the shadows and be a man worthy of her love. How could he put on the jester’s crown now and play the fool? How could he protect her without giving himself away?
And most importantly, what would become of Fallon if he was arrested?
“I love you, Dumas. You must never leave me. Promise you won’t,” Fallon said sleepily. “I love you....”
“I will not leave you. I promise.”
But she must have sensed his torment and doubt for she clung to him and kissed his neck. Though she was half-asleep, Dumas bent over her smooth young flesh and buried his prick inside her again and again until the cock’s crow was heard.
The first day of Christmas.
Loving Fallon had made him a man again but it could not last. Dumas looked around him, knowing what he must do.
He had no gift to give his love but one.
Her freedom.
Fallon knew how to manage Gladiator; the caravan was her home. It would keep her safe. Dumas would ask a theatre troubadour he knew to take her in and join their company travelling from town to town. She would earn enough to keep herself fed.
He rose from the bed and strapped on the hunchback, dressing quickly before he could change his mind.
With a last look back at the sleeping girl, Dumas pulled on the jester’s crown.
“I love you, darling Fallon. I love you. Forgive me.”
And then he slipped noiselessly into the sparkling Christmas morning.
Fallon would understand how much he loved her by leaving her, Dumas told himself. He had to work hard to keep the tears out of his eyes. She would know the truth.
I love you, Dumas.
His heart lifted, remembering her words. Love endures. Nothing can destroy it.
Warmed by happiness, the jester hobbled across the snow-dusted field and out of Fallon’s life.
♠
SHE WOKE to a cold and empty bed.
Frightened, she leapt to her feet and flung the door open with a bang that startled Gladiator and caused him to turn.
“Dumas!”
No answer. No sign of the jester.
Her heart was pounding with fear and panic. The air was sparkling with frost, bright, cold, and the sky was blue. Fallon stared into the distance across the wide, white and empty field.
Dumas had left her. He would not come back.
Fallon took a breath. Exhaled slowly. And then took another. She thought of Lady Tess waking beside her husband and her two baby sons this morning. She thought of Tess returning proudly to Castlemuir with her shorn hair, boy’s clothes and an unwavering determination to wed a soldier in these dangerous times.
Fallon knew why Dumas had left her and her heart swelled to overflowing with love for him. For his sacrifice. He would never leave Gladiator behind unless he loved her very much.
She bolted back inside, dug up the clothes of the boy squire and donned them quickly. How far could he have gotten? Not far. Not on foot.
Fallon jammed her hat on her head and leaped out of the caravan, slamming the door behind her. She whistled for Gladiator who trotted over as if he expected this all along. Wrestling with the harness, she felt time melting like snow and Dumas slipping farther and farther away.
She would find him. “Never fear, Glad, he will not escape us that easily.”
They would begin with the field and if they did not find him here, they would go to the cathedral. It was Christmas after all. Fallon had experienced the miracle of finding love; she would not let it slip away without a good, honest fight.
The only fight worth having was the one for love.
The End