Betrothal (Time Enough To Love) Read online

  Thomas turned pain-filled eyes to Geoffrey. “Remind me never to say another word about your betrothed, Geoffrey. Or if I do, kill me outright and have done with it.”

  Geoffrey gave a sharp laugh. As if conjured, Alyse appeared on the field.

  “Speak of the devil,” Thomas muttered.

  “Sweet Savior! Lord Braeton!”

  Alyse tore across the turf and hurled herself onto the ground beside the injured knight. She acknowledged no one save his friend, her gaze fixed on his wounded face. Her horrified stare melted into a rain of tears. Sobs echoed down the list.

  ’Tis true then. Thomas warned me days ago. Her favor still lies with him.

  Anger punched his gut harder than any lance. He struggled to remove his armor, calling wildly for his squires.

  Finally, John Gaddesden, royal surgeon to King Edward, strode up, gruff and blustering. He apparently saw little actual damage to Thomas, for a quick look had him all but dismissing the injured man. “Come, my lord.” He indicated for the squires to raise the knight. “Bring him to the surgeon’s tent that I may tend these wounds.”

  Gaddesden glanced around then frowned at Alyse. “Can she stop that caterwauling? ’Tis but a scratch, a mere prick of the skin. Lord Braeton is in no danger, save from being deafened by her wretched wailing.”

  Thomas chuckled then winced. “Have a care, sir,” he warned as he got to his feet. “Precious little more than those sentiments landed me in my present condition. You must not offend my friend’s betrothed, lest you find yourself on the wrong end of his lance.” He grinned as he turned to follow the surgeon. “I will see you and Lady Alyse at the banquet this evening, Geoffrey.” Then to Alyse, with a shadow of a bow, “I look forward to paying my forfeit, lady.” She took one more look at his bloody face and renewed her sobbing. Thomas laughed and moved off toward the surgeon’s tent.

  Geoffrey glanced around the group of spectators, several of whom cast dubious glances at his betrothed. Such a display would surely cause talk amongst the courtiers. And if his suspicions were correct, the rumors that might arise from Alyse’s outburst would haunt him for years. Time to take the reins from his soon-to-be wife.

  “Lady Alyse! You will cease this ill-mannered behavior.” He grasped her elbow and hauled her to her feet. She stared up at him, eyes round in shock. “You will comport yourself as becomes a gentlewoman in the service of the princess, and as my betrothed.” His heart filled with anguish at her woebegone face, but he firmed his resolve. She could not be allowed to humiliate him by making a spectacle of herself over Thomas. “Princess Joanna comes apace to take you to the ceremony. See that you conduct yourself henceforth as befits your status.”

  As if his gruff tone had stung her, she wrested her arm from his grip and straightened her shoulders. She dashed the remaining tears from her eyes and narrowed them at him. “Sir Geoffrey, I will do your bidding as I must, by my father’s decree. But take care that you conduct yourself accordingly as well. There are those who would censure you, if you are found wanting in the ways of your comportment toward a lady.”

  Princess Joanna arrived on the field at that moment, and they both made obeisance to her, though Geoffrey cut his eyes toward Alyse, puzzled by her last remark. Who did she think would condemn him for reprimanding her? Thomas? The bold wench would try his patience one too many times this day.

  “Come, Lady Alyse. We must make haste to the ceremony, though it must wait until Lord Braeton is fit to accept his prize. I congratulate you on your victories today, Sir Geoffrey.” Joanna smiled at him then glanced from his countenance to that of her waiting woman. Her smile did not falter, but her tone firmed. “Your prize will seem all the sweeter because it comes from the hands of your betrothed, will it not?”

  Tamping down his anger and substituting his courtier’s face, he nodded and smiled cheerfully. “Indeed, Your Highness, ’twill be the pinnacle of my career, to accept my reward from fair Alyse.” He looked deliberately at his betrothed. “I can scarce wait for her to render unto me what is rightfully mine.”

  Alyse paled, but followed the princess toward the front of the berfrois without a word or backward glance. He tracked her with his gaze and cursed. His plans for a sweet marriage lay in shambles. He would spend the remainder of his life in a foreign land. And he had almost killed his best friend. All for a woman who cared nothing for him.

  He spun around and headed to his tent to ready himself for the ceremony.

  Perchance her regard made no great difference. Most marriages were born of bids for power or position, with no thought for any feeling between the couple. Why should his be different? He need not entangle his emotions with Alyse. As long as he could get sons on her, she would have fulfilled her duty to the marriage. It might only take a time or two. Then he could remain aloof from her. He’d make sure, however, that she remained faithful to him despite his neglect—even if he had to lock her up. If he had to live in misery, by Christ, then so should she.

  The image of such a perfunctory marriage only increased his anger, and he sped his pace. He had foolishly hoped for more, but that mattered not. He would surely not find that “more” with the de Courcy.

  Might then his father be persuaded to break the marriage contract? The image of Lord Longford’s severe visage rose in his mind. Not a man to change his mind simply at his second son’s request. And for a personal reason—a ludicrous thought.

  A bark of laughter escaped him as he pulled back the tent flap and strode inside. He stood to allow his attendants to strip the armor from him. Soothed by the ritual of their familiar task, he let his mind resume its contemplation of his father’s reaction to his appeal.

  Might a more advantageous match persuade him, if it could be arranged? Considering his father’s ambitious nature, he’d wager on it. But did he, in fact, wish to pursue that avenue? Or remain with Alyse, keeping her irresistibly near yet sorely out of reach?

  Temptation would be a heavy burden to bear.

  He hardened his heart as he adjusted his chausses. ‘Twould do no harm to ask his father to end the espousal. At this point, he had nothing to lose but a faithless jade.

  Chapter 13

  Geoffrey stood near the entrance to the Great Hall, arms crossed over his chest, sullenly watching the court assemble for the tournament banquet. If honor did not require him to take part in the evening’s festivities, he would have remained in his quarters. His victories tasted of ash.

  He leaned his head over to speak a word in Thomas’s ear when movement caught his eye. Princess Joanna swept into the Hall, her retinue following closely. He stopped, mouth open, eyes widening. The dazzling woman striding behind the princess set his heart to thumping loudly in his chest. Other courtiers likewise hushed and followed her progress as she strode fearlessly down the middle of the Hall in the wake of the princess. It took him a moment to recognize Alyse in all her splendor.

  For the banquet, she had donned a costly gown of fiery scarlet silk, embroidered along the sleeves and hem with gold thread in a pattern of fleur de lys. Her hair was pulled back beneath a matching silk crepine, embellished with rubies and pearls. At her throat, he noted a wealth of gems: a ruby and pearl pendant on a fine gold chain dipped enticingly toward her breasts. Ruby teardrop pendants swung in her ears. What such a bold look foretold he could not fathom, but given her earlier display toward Thomas, he steeled himself for an evening of torture.

  He sucked in his breath and stared in admiration as the ruby clad figure continued up the Great Hall. Laughing, Thomas reached over and closed Geoffrey’s mouth with a click. “You looked like a waterspout, Geoffrey. The gargoyles will become jealous.”

  “Did you see…?”

  “Aye, I did. Will you retrieve the fair Alyse so I may pay my forfeit before the festivities begin? ’Twill be easier, I think, with fewer people about.”

  Reality crashed back into Geoffrey. The man who had stolen the affections of the woman he loved was about to beg her pardon. Likely go down on his kne
es, as he had instructed Geoffrey to do several nights ago. Further win her regard with his flowery courtier’s speech. He had a mind to protest—in fact, readied himself to stop his friend—then halted. He would not give Thomas, or the others, more fodder for gossip. He had made enough of a fool of himself over Alyse already.

  With a curt nod, he strode after his betrothed. He caught up with her as the procession neared the dais. “Your Highness?”

  Princess Joanna whirled around, a smile playing along her lips when she saw him. “Congratulations on your well-deserved victories today, Sir Geoffrey.”

  “You are too kind, Highness.” He bowed deeply. “But if my poor skills entertained you then I am a content man.” Geoffrey darted a glance at Alyse, hesitated then plunged ahead. “Your Highness, I would ask a few moments with Lady Alyse regarding the challenge match. Lord Braeton wishes to pay his forfeit. If you would be so kind as to release the lady?”

  The princess smiled and nodded. “You may go, Alyse, but be aware of the time. You must return quickly for the opening dance.”

  “Aye, Your Highness,” Alyse murmured, dipping her curtsy.

  He took her hand and led her back toward the waiting Thomas.

  “Sir Geoffrey,” she began as they moved away from the princess. “In light of his injuries, I believe Lord Braeton’s forfeit is well paid. I have no need of his apology.”

  He stared at her in disbelief. Though he little desired for his friend to gain the opportunity to woo his betrothed further, that victory—and the apology—had been hard won. For her to so lightly fling his effort aside only indicated the depth of her disdain for him. “You mean because of those tiny wounds, you want to forgo an apology I risked my life to obtain?”

  Alyse cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. “You said you were going to joust with Lord Braeton anyway.”

  “Aye, the match had been arranged, but—”

  “And you jousted before that match for a prize, did you not? Risked your life for a prize?” She slowed her pace, brows furrowing.

  “Aye, that is the way of a tournament, but I think—”

  “And I had to sit through the whole day, terrified and completely helpless, and watch you risk your life for that prize again and again.” Her lips pressed into a thin, displeased line.

  “Aye, lady, however—”

  Alyse stopped, stared at him. “I think you should apologize to me, Sir Geoffrey.”

  He gaped at her. “I should apologize to you?” Indignation at her outrageous claim made his voice boom for all to hear. “For what, my lady? For doing my duty to my liege as part of his retinue? For trying to defend your honor, and mine? Thomas not only besmirched your character with his insinuations but wounded mine as well.”

  Alyse’s tone dripped ice. “How did he do that, my lord, when ’twas you yourself who believed his words? You were not forced at a knife’s point to change your mind about my ability to make a proper decision.” She coolly eyed him up and down. “You did that of your own volition.”

  Stung, Geoffrey retaliated. “For which I have already apologized and had that apology accepted, if you care to remember, demoiselle.”

  She blushed furiously, evidently remembering that encounter, as he had intended. As she struggled to speak, Thomas appeared and, grasping each of them by an arm, compelled them to walk out of the Great Hall and into the rose-filled courtyard.

  “Sir Geoffrey, Lady Alyse. If you will quarrel, please have the good sense to do it away from the eyes and ears of the court. If you feel need of an audience, I believe I shall suffice.”

  Geoffrey wheeled on his friend. “’Tis again your fault, Thomas. Because you were wounded, nay, scratched, at the joust this afternoon, Lady Alyse wishes to forgo your apology to her in favor of one from me for even attempting the joust!”

  “’Tis not his fault, Geoffrey. You wounded him.” Anger underscored Alyse’s voice.

  “Aye, but ’tis no reason to forgo his apology to you!”

  “Lady Alyse,” Thomas broke in, his tone even but insistent. “Geoffrey is in the right here. I am ready and willing to pay my forfeit to you. That he wounded me during the match matters not. Had I been wounded but won the joust,” he paused to smile wickedly at Alyse, “I vow my wounds would not have impeded me from taking my forfeit.”

  Geoffrey glowered, powerless, as Thomas took her arm and led her several feet away to the same rose bower where he had asked for forgiveness on Sunday. Thomas seated her on the bench then went down on one knee and bowed his head before her.

  If looks could kill, my friend, you would even now be greeting Saint Peter at the gates.

  He shifted his weight and prayed for this agonizing ordeal to be over.

  * * * *

  Alyse squirmed in her seat. Not long ago she would have been awestruck to find Lord Braeton on his knees to her. Now his obeisance discomfited her. She glanced at Geoffrey’s scowling face then hastily back to the knight at her feet. “Lord Braeton. You need not do this. I accept your apology.”

  His head remained bowed. “My Lady Alyse,” he began in velvety soft tones, “there is nothing to accept, for I have not yet given it to you.” He lifted his head slightly, staring piercingly into her eyes. “Will you hear it, lady?”

  His face transfixed Alyse. The swollen, reddened flesh under both eyes and across his forehead looked ugly and painful. But the wounds that pocked his cheeks were indeed minor and would not even leave scars. She could not help but recall, however, his face peppered with splinters, gore oozing down his cheeks as though he cried tears of blood. The thought that he could as easily have been blinded or killed made her shudder. So very much like—

  He took her hand, startling her out of her reverie, and spoke too softly for any ears but hers. “Lady Alyse, Geoffrey is right. My wounds may have appeared worse, but are truly of no concern. I beg you, therefore, hear me on this matter.”

  Alyse straightened her shoulders and nodded. “I will hear you, Lord Braeton.” She fought to keep her voice composed and tried to blink back the tears she would not have fall. He had no idea how the sight of his face on the field had affected her, reminded her of Phillip. But he was right. She had to hear him.

  He lifted his carefully penitent face, opened his mouth to speak then paused. His eyes widened, as some revelation struck him, and his mask of composure crumbled, leaving in its wake a man full of true repentance.

  “Lady Alyse de Courcy, you see before you a man with a contrite heart who would ask your gracious mercy. In my infinite folly, I have spoken words against your gentle character that were false and slanderous and caused you much pain. These words were spoken without true understanding of your intellect or your kind, generous nature and were therefore falsely judgmental.” Thomas peered into her eyes beseechingly. “I sincerely regret the grievous harm I have done you, lady. Had I the power to recall those words, they would have never been spoken but I regret that is not within the realm of God’s mercy. I can only offer what little I have, and therefore lay my hand and my heart before you. If it is within your kind nature to forgive such a wretch, I swear my hand to your service and my heart to your purpose, whate’er it may be, from this day forward.”

  Stunned and touched by the sincere words, Alyse sat silent for several moments. There had been none of the glib courtier in that apology. His words had come not from his head but from his heart. If her heart did not already belong to Geoffrey, this speech would have won it. But that moment had passed. Instead, she looked forward to a life with both these men—one her dearest love, the other a dear friend.

  Disregarding Geoffrey’s presence, Alyse gently cupped Thomas’s face and traced a gentle thumb across the reddened skin of his cheek. “My Lord Braeton, you honor me greatly with your sincere words of atonement. I do forgive your trespass and accept your service of hand and heart. In return, however, I ask of you two boons.” She withdrew her hand but continued to stare frankly into his eyes.

  “Boons, my lady? But name them and they ar
e yours.” He gave her his lazy courtier’s smile, putting the proper distance back into their relationship.

  “As you and my betrothed are good friends, and we will likely be much in each other’s company…if you would grant the privilege, my lord, I would ask to call you by your given name.” She had often called him so in her heart; to do so in actuality seemed truly intimate, though oddly less satisfying than it might once have been.

  He smiled and took her hands. “You need not even ask, my lady. If you accept my service, my name is yours to command. And the other?”

  Here she glanced toward Geoffrey, who had watched the entire interlude, his countenance stoic in its impatience, and smiled mischievously. “As my first dance tonight has been ordained by the result of the joust, I would ask that you partner me for the second, Lord Brae…Thomas.”

  The gleeful imp inside her rejoiced to think she could both annoy Geoffrey and finally dance with Thomas in one smooth stroke. She would repay his earlier churlishness. Never had he acted or spoken to her thus. What offense did he find with her compassion for his best friend? Did he think any public show of emotion unseemly? He knew not how difficult it had been for her to hide her fear all day. Nor how vividly the tournament had dredged up the horrifying memories of Merwyck. So let him cool his heels and watch her dance with Thomas. ’Twould be good for him to be set down a mark.

  Thomas chuckled and kissed her hands. “There is more boon to me than you in that request, my lady, for I will find no greater pleasure tonight than to dance with you.” He grinned wickedly at her, for all the world as though he understood her ploy. “But have you no qualm that your betrothed may seek revenge upon me anew?”

  “I am Alyse now, Thomas,” she reminded him. “As I said, we will be too much in company together to be so formal.” She smiled as she rose, bringing him to his feet. “As for my lord,” she flicked a glance toward Geoffrey, “an he be too full of choler, we will ask Master Gaddesden to bleed him ere he can challenge you again. Thereby may his surly mood be improved.”