Betrothal (Time Enough To Love) Page 2

  As Sir Geoffrey knelt before the king, dark chestnut hair, cropped close to his head, suddenly came into view. It framed a face rugged and handsome, with intelligent eyes, long aquiline nose and a strong, square jaw. His mouth—generous with firm red lips—curled upward in an easy smile. Attired in a rich, deep blue damask cotehardie, Geoffrey Longford might have been any woman’s ideal.

  Not hers.

  Assuming Lord Braeton would be attending his friend’s progress, Alyse lifted bold eyes to the courtier who was her ideal to find him still gazing at her with a speculative look that made her heart race.

  He must have heard about my blunder this morning. God knows everyone else has.

  Alyse lowered her gaze, frantically searching the table as though she had lost something.

  That is why he keeps smiling at me.

  Desperate to keep her hands occupied, she seized her cup.

  But what can his attention mean? Is he pleased that I favor him?

  Her hands trembled, shaking so hard they threatened to spill ale on her gown. She closed her eyes to gain composure then opened them and raised her chin, turning her attention back to the business of the court. Sir Geoffrey now stood before the king, respectful, waiting.

  King Edward spoke again. “Lords and ladies, I present Sir Geoffrey of Longford, who has rejoined our court after attending to his home and lands in Derbyshire for some months. He returns to us to complete my daughter Joanna’s retinue.” The king smiled and gestured toward Princess Joanna at the end of the dais.

  “Sir Geoffrey will act as undersecretary to Sir Robert Bouchier, head of the princess’s household. He will accompany my daughter when she leaves and remain with her as she goes to her new home in Castile.” King Edward paused, as if considering something, then continued. “He and his wife will serve as witnesses to Princess Joanna’s marriage, and Sir Geoffrey will become a permanent part of her household staff as Counselor and Advisor to the future queen of Spain.”

  So he was married—God help the girl!—and would be accompanying them to Spain. Alyse frowned.

  If I were to marry Lord Braeton, then we would likely be much in company with his friend. She sighed. I suppose I will grow used to him.

  The prospect did not delight her.

  “Lady Alyse de Courcy!” King Edward called out again, bringing Alyse’s head up like a startled deer. “Present yourself before the court.”

  Chapter 2

  Alyse shot off her seat. Oh, Lord! She had kept King Edward waiting.

  “I beg pardon, sire.” She hurried from behind the table, too aware of all the eyes now on her. As she moved to stand before the king, the low drone of many voices rose around the room.

  “Impudent girl.”

  “I’d not want to be in her place.”

  “Do you think the king will…”

  Each snatch of conversation made her heart beat faster.

  What will he do to me?

  Her normal embarrassment at being the center of attention tripled at the thought of this blatant lapse of protocol. She stopped several feet from the dais and the room hushed as though everyone held their breath.

  “What do you require of me, Majesty?” Her mouth so dry she could taste sand, Alyse fought to speak in a normal tone. With a sigh of relief, she dropped into a deep curtsy, hiding her face in the folds of her skirt. If only she could remain bowed thus before His Majesty for the remainder of the evening.

  King Edward laughed. “Obedience, Lady Alyse, as I require of all my subjects. As your father requires of his daughter.”

  Her heart thumped wildly in her breast. That could mean but one thing.

  “Rise, my lady.”

  She did so on unsteady feet. “I am ready, as always, Your Majesty, to obey my father as I would you.”

  Holy Mary, let it be Lord Braeton.

  King Edward lifted an eyebrow toward Alyse. “A very pretty answer, my lady. And are you ready to accept your father’s decree for your betrothal? His messenger has today reached me with the contract, as I am to stand in his stead in this matter.”

  Alyse took a deep breath and hoped her voice did not tremble. “Yea, Majesty, I will obey my father.”

  King Edward nodded and leaned over to whisper something to Queen Phillipa, who sat beside him, heavy with their twelfth child.

  Mere seconds before she learned her fate. She could scarce affect an indifferent pose before the court when inside every inch of her quivered with anticipation of the name. His name, pray God, on the king’s lips.

  Thomas.

  In her mind, she heard the word.

  The king straightened, glanced at her then at the man by her side.

  “What say you then, Sir Geoffrey? Does the lady not speak fair? I vow she will make you a proper wife and a dutiful one as well.”

  Alyse turned, until that moment unaware that Geoffrey Longford stood beside her. Chills coursed down her body as the king’s words echoed in her mind. The sensation of falling backward assailed her, as though she rushed away from the tall man at her side even as his figure loomed larger and larger in her sight.

  Not Lord Braeton.

  Her numbed brain repeated the phrase, trying to comprehend that instead he would be her husband. Geoffrey Longford.

  God have mercy on me, for by the look of him, this man will not.

  Fearful, she cringed as her gaze climbed higher, over his chest, over his chin, finally resting on the dark blue eyes turned toward her.

  Geoffrey returned her appraisal, his gaze sweeping her figure as a smile crept over his face. “Your Majesty.” He spoke to the king but his attention remained fixed on Alyse. “When my father told me of the betrothal contract before I left his home, I resolved to play the dutiful son. Now, however, I find I do not wish to act that role after all.” His eyes held hers as he paused.

  Dear God, does he mean to renounce me here before the entire court?

  Alyse stared at the man beside her, willing herself to remain upright, despite the waves of ice and fire alternating through her body.

  “Now I find I would rather play the ardent lover.”

  An amused murmur ran through the Hall at his words. Sir Geoffrey grinned, his eyes sparkling with humor and something more. Despite the uneven light, Alyse saw an unfathomable promise in their dark depths. She took a shaky breath and looked away.

  “I affirm Lady Alyse to be all that could be hoped for in a wife. Please you and God, we shall make the match and with all good haste.”

  His self-satisfied tone and the thought of his outrageous teasing touched a contrary nerve in Alyse. She pulled her wits together and beamed brilliantly at her newly-betrothed lord. “Take care, my lord, for the wise women say, ‘Marry in haste, repent at leisure.’”

  Sir Geoffrey raised a dark eyebrow while those around the banquet hall laughed. Heart pounding at her audacity, Alyse watched helplessly as he reached over and lifted her hand. “Such repentance could never be suffered too slowly, my lady, if ’twere your gentle hand that held mine through it.”

  Laughter and applause washed over Alyse, who was struck absolutely dumb at the touch of his lips to her skin. Her heart pounded, and a strange roaring sounded in her ears; she wondered vaguely if she were about to faint.

  Spellbound, she watched him, head bent over her now-smoldering hand, kissing it with an unhurried thoroughness that seemed to stop time. His lips scorched where they lingered, spreading a fire that consumed her body and mind. Had she the strength, she would have snatched her hand from his grasp to save herself from immolation. Other men had danced with her, held her hand, kissed it. They had never made her feel thus.

  In a daze, she watched Geoffrey wrench his lips from her hand and stand, eyes widened as if amazed. His brows furrowed a moment then he spoke to the king. “May I ask, Your Majesty, when the banns will be read? I am sorely pressed to begin my repentance.”

  The king chuckled. “You are impatient, Sir Geoffrey, but with such beauty before you, I well understand you
r desire for haste. The first banns will be read this Sunday, and a fortnight hence you shall be husband and wife. Now take the maid back to her table lest you devour her with your eyes.”

  Alyse wanted to fan her hot face, but accompanied him obediently. Indeed, he gave her no choice, for he placed her arm atop his and started toward her table.

  At least the humiliation is over.

  As if reading her thoughts, Geoffrey shot her a mischievous glance that made her heart leap into her throat then coolly reversed his direction. Instead of taking the direct route to her table, a mere half dozen steps away, his course now included the entire Great Hall. King Edward laughed in approval at his courtier’s boldness as Geoffrey proceeded to stop at every table to present her as his betrothed.

  At each one, she silently cursed him anew. Could this great hulking oaf not see her discomfiture? Did he not care about her feelings at all? And she must be married to this man?

  Oh, Father, what have you done to me?

  As they continued down the long side of the Hall, Geoffrey leaned over to ask, “Why so quiet, my lady? Are you in awe of me or merely stunned by the good fortune of our betrothal?”

  Outraged by the conceited fool, Alyse opened her mouth to explain exactly how unimpressed she was, both with him and her so-called good fortune, but instead met eyes of darkest sapphire flickering with merriment at her indignation.

  So the oaf has wits.

  Alyse fought to keep her countenance firm at that thought. Observing his infectious grin helped none at all. “Nay, my lord, I do not think I would quite call it ‘awe’ that you inspire in me.”

  “Then what would you call it, Lady Alyse?”

  “Wariness, my lord.” She cut her eyes at him then returned her gaze to the front.

  “You are wary of me, lady? Do I inspire suspicion in you?”

  “Aye, my lord. That you do.”

  Geoffrey slowed his pace. Another swift glance caught his frown. “Why? I am an honorable man, of good family. I served King Edward well in the recent wars. So well that I was given lands and raised in station to serve in Princess Joanna’s household. If the king himself places so much confidence in me, my lady, I think you must as well.”

  Alyse’s mouth twitched with suppressed amusement at Sir Geoffrey’s impatient tone. One did not bait an unchained bear, unless one was prepared to run swiftly.

  Please, Lord, let me be fleet of foot.

  “I am sure His Majesty trusts you completely, Sir Geoffrey, for he has known you for some time, I believe?” After his curt nod, she continued. “The question, then, is why should I? I know you not, my lord, for I met you but moments ago. And in the few minutes since, you have managed to insult me, by making me think you would reject the marriage, then fixed me as the center of attention before the company by displaying me throughout the Hall when we were but six steps from my seat!” That irked her most of all, but she swallowed her anger and resumed the conversation with scathing civility. “Considering all these things, my lord, I do not see how even you can trust you!”

  To her consternation Geoffrey relaxed and chuckled. “Aye, lady, when I behold you I do distrust myself.” Alyse saw again in his eyes that unknown flicker. “Yet I still believe you do me wrong, lady, to have so little faith in me. Be assured I would do naught to dishonor you. Even on short acquaintance, I vow to speak you fair in all things, as you are my betrothed and therefore as dear to me as my own life.”

  “Very pretty words, my lord,” she answered then muttered under her breath, “would that they could be matched in pretty deeds!”

  Geoffrey leaned closer. “What deed may I do, gentle lady, to prove myself worthy of your regard?”

  Flustered that he had overheard her, Alyse found herself at a loss. What task could she set him? Preferably something that would get her back to her table and out of sight. Or better yet…

  “I fear I would set you an impossible labor, my lord. One worthy of mighty Hercules.” That ought to flatter his ego a mite. “For I would beg you to stop time itself and delay the wedding a little.” Or a lot. “With time I would come to know you better, be better resigned to our marriage ere we speak the nuptial vows.” She looked at him, a spark of defiance edging her chin up. “As I have said, in my estimation, so far you have treated me ill.”

  He faced her and gave her a captivating smile, which she had to admit was as charming as Lord Braeton’s. “I will truly have to be a Hercules to accomplish the feat you have set me, my lady. You ask merely that I defy the laws of God and man and halt the sun in its journey ‘round the earth.” His eyes took on a devilish sparkle. “Though if it will win your good opinion of me, I will fain attempt the feat.”

  Alyse winced at that look, and spoke with as much good grace as she could muster. “I thank you, kind sir, for attempting to ease my mind. Should you prove yourself as successful as Hercules in this matter, you might indeed win my regard.”

  Let us see if your deeds can surpass your stature, my lord.

  But if he could persuade the king to defer their marriage even a little, she would be more than grateful. Because of Phillip, she had not needed to contemplate marriage to a stranger in many years. Though few women she knew managed to marry as they would choose, she had been an exception. Now thought of her betrothal to Sir Geoffrey shook her. If only they had more time.

  She roused from her reverie to find they had almost reached the table and her seat with Anne and Maurya.

  Thank the Lord!

  A few more steps and she would be free of his company. Her head buzzed with weariness from the trials of the evening.

  A second glance showed another person at their table: Lord Braeton sat speaking to Sir John Wakeland.

  Dear God, can you rub more salt into my wounds?

  Her heart fluttered at the sight of him and she cast her gaze to the floor. This was too cruel. Tears threatened, but she bit them back and managed a small, tight smile for Lord Braeton. She prayed they would hurry past the man on whose arm she longed to be and have their encounter done.

  But Geoffrey stopped in front of his friend and, to her horror, began a formal presentation with a courtly flourish. “My Lady Alyse de Courcy, I present to you my good friend, Thomas Knowlton, the Earl of Braeton.”

  Alyse hoped the expression on her face approached pleasant. “I know Lord Braeton a little from court, my lord, but look forward to a better acquaintance with him after we are wed.”

  If only ’twere the other way around.

  Lord Braeton’s eyes flashed with an impish gleam. “Indeed, Lady Alyse, I scarce think we need wait for your marriage to become better acquainted. I would know you better now.”

  Alyse gasped as she grasped the double meaning and prayed no one else at the table took heed of his words. Did she have wits enough left to put the man in his place? No. All courtly banter fled her mind; she just stood there, wondering how life had managed to deal her so many blows in such a short space of time. Would Sir Geoffrey now accuse her of a particular regard for his friend? Had he heard of her unfortunate words this morning? She glanced fearfully up at the huge man beside her, awaiting the signal of his displeasure.

  “Thomas!” The censure in Geoffrey’s voice aimed squarely at his friend, not his bride-to-be, and Alyse could breathe again. “Would you seduce my lady before my very face?” His disapproval was mocking, but she detected a subtle undertone of truth to it.

  “Only if it could not be accomplished behind your back, Geoffrey!” Thomas laughed, moving his words into the realm of fashionable banter.

  Geoffrey continued in this vein with his friend, though Alyse prayed he would take her back to her place before she collapsed. Her mind fixed on thoughts of respite, she started when Lord Braeton rose, plucked her hand from its place atop Geoffrey’s and raised it to his lips. “Fair lady, I wish you great joy in your coming marriage. May Sir Geoffrey prove himself worthy of so lovely a maid.”

  Her breath caught in anticipation of the fire of his lips, but
her eagerness changed to bewilderment when his kiss did not arouse her in the least. Disappointed and puzzled, Alyse paid no attention as he returned her hand to Geoffrey’s arm. The unexpected shock as her bare skin met his made her tense. A fiery sensation coursed through her body, turned her blood molten.

  She jerked her head up to stare at Geoffrey, amazed he did not feel it too. But perhaps he did. A slight widening of his eyes and the deepening of their color to darkest sapphire revealed that something had stirred him as well. The unknown look she had observed twice before had returned. Shocked, she finally recognized it: desire.

  Alyse’s world reeled. Was that the scorching sensation? Did she look at Sir Geoffrey that way when they touched? Her breath quickened.

  Dear Lord, do I desire him?

  And had everyone in the room seen it? She longed to sink behind the table, safely away from the court’s attention. But she could not escape. On Geoffrey’s arm, she was helpless to save herself. For once, however, he seemed to understand her need. He nodded at Lord Braeton’s compliment then escorted her to her seat next to Anne. She flashed him a grateful smile, the first real one she had given him.

  Geoffrey returned it but kept his distance. “Remember, my lady, I am to be your Hercules and attempt the task you set me. I pray I can give you the boon you seek.” With a flourish of his hand, he bowed low and retreated to his place across the Hall, managing to draw Lord Braeton back with him.

  Alyse released a long sigh, unaware she had been holding her breath until Geoffrey quit her company. Sorely drained by the evening’s events, she seized her cup and drank thirstily.

  Anne glanced at Geoffrey’s retreating figure then regarded her with bright, mocking eyes. “So, Alyse, at last you have your answer. What say you to your father’s choice?”

  Alyse opened her mouth but words failed her. She lowered her face to her hands, uncertain whether to laugh or cry at the question to which she had no reply at all.

  Chapter 3

  “So you finally got your wish, Alyse?” Anne’s caustic voice oozed sarcasm, and betrayed more than a touch of envy. Seated on the bed they shared, she brushed her hair with hard, determined strokes.