Betrothal (Time Enough To Love) Read online

  “He does?” Alyse cocked her head. She had no idea Geoffrey’s family had the ear of the king.

  “Why do you think Sir Geoffrey was given such a prestigious position in Princess Joanna’s retinue?”

  She had not thought of that. Her betrothed would be second in command during the journey to Spain. Only Sir Robert de Bouchier held a higher position.

  “And do you not know to whom Lady Mary is now betrothed?”

  Alyse shook her head, a coldness stealing through her.

  “Sir Roland of Longford. Sir Geoffrey’s elder brother.”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Thank the Lord she had eaten nothing yet. There seemed little left to hope for. Only the king could put the contract aside, and she certainly had no influence over him; neither did—

  Alyse’s breathing sped up, as though she could not drag air into her lungs quickly enough. Lord Braeton had spoken ill of her. Had tried to paint her as an unworthy wife. If Geoffrey came to believe this, might he and his father not petition the king to put the betrothal aside?

  Would Lord Braeton be that cunning to betray his best friend? Such an action did not speak well for his character, even if he did it for love of her. She frowned, confused by the tangle of her emotions.

  Because she had to admit, she had discovered many excellent qualities in Sir Geoffrey in the short time of their acquaintance. His kindness and compassion, his willingness to appease her demands to know him better. A strong and handsome man as well, though very different from his friend.

  Yes, she knew more of him and liked what she had found. His lapse this afternoon might indeed be simply part of his friend’s plan to gain her hand. A flattering thought, to have two such men vying for her.

  But such sweet dreams did little to stem the humiliation she had suffered in the princess’s chamber. She had had to endure Anne’s snide remarks and the princess’s pitying looks after she told them she was no longer choosing their knight and lady for the procession. Her face grew hot at the memory, and she stifled her charitable thoughts toward Geoffrey. Had he truly trusted her, nothing his friend had said would have swayed him from his belief in her.

  She sighed and deliberately turned to her most immediate problem. Her instincts told her Geoffrey would try to approach her this evening, to which end she had enlisted Maurya’s help. A glance at his accustomed spot across the Great Hall reaffirmed that neither him nor Lord Braeton had appeared. Still, that meant nothing. They could enter at any time during the meal.

  Geoffrey was the last person on earth she wanted to see this night, or any other, but her situation was impossible. They were both courtiers in the service of the royal household. And, of course, they were betrothed. She might as well hope to avoid the sun as Geoffrey Longford.

  Her impending marriage loomed ever larger in her mind. The event that had held so much hopeful promise this morning once again dragged her into despair. She forced herself to acknowledge the reality of the situation. She was marrying a man with little regard for her feelings, one who gave and withdrew his favor as carelessly as he would order about his hounds.

  If Lord Braeton cannot gain my freedom from this betrothal, Sir Geoffrey will learn I am not as submissive as his favorite bitch. If I must be his wife, he will accord me the honor and trust of that position or find me nipping at his heels.

  She straightened her shoulders and shook her head, gazing around once more for sight of Geoffrey.

  Seated next to Maurya and her husband, with Patrick on her left and beyond him Anne, Alyse deemed herself well-fortified against any foray led by her betrothed. She silently thanked Maurya for inviting her brother to the table. Patrick’s quick wit had always been able to lift her spirits. She exchanged pleasantries with him, though only gave half an ear to his banter as she searched the Hall in vain for her betrothed. Unsure if his absence annoyed or comforted her, she found that when the servant brought the next course, she ate more than she had expected. Perhaps her ire had indeed dimmed a smidgeon.

  Patrick, meanwhile, continued to beguile her with tales of the king’s afternoon ride. “’Twas a pleasant ride out to the lists, for the king wanted to look over the lay of the land for the coming tournament. ’Twill be most exciting for you, I am sure, with Geoffrey competing.”

  Alyse wrinkled her nose. “Such excitement I would cheerfully forego, Patrick.”

  “Ah, lady, but you have never been to a tournament here, have you?”

  “I attended one at Merwyck. A small affair of but two days. Even that was enough for me.” A memory she would happily forget.

  Patrick leaned his head to the side, regarding her quizzically. “You did not fancy the tournament, Lady Alyse?”

  “Nay, Patrick. ’Twas painful to watch.” She paused, swallowing her bitterness. “Knights I knew were injured. I lost much that day.” She closed her eyes, willing the horrible images away.

  “You are too tenderhearted, Alyse. I hope you will enjoy this tournament. It should prove most entertaining. Many are drawn here for the prizes, and for the chance to receive riches from hands such as yours, my lady.” Patrick took her hand and placed a chaste kiss on the top of it. Alyse sighed and smiled at him. He had a way about him that always put her at ease. Would that that were the case with others she could name.

  Patrick continued, with a studied lack of concern that did not quite fool Alyse. “I did hear today, as we were walking the lists, that one of the jousting matches is to be a challenge match. Sir Geoffrey challenged Lord Braeton to a joust.”

  Alyse’s eyes widened. “Was there reason for the challenge? Or is it just a match between friends to test their skills?”

  “I know not, lady.” Patrick’s voice dropped. “But there seems to have been a rift between them. They barely spoke and black looks passed between them, where usually they are the best of companions. If some offense was taken, I know not.”

  Alyse’s appetite fled, and she pushed her trencher away. Had Geoffrey blamed his friend for their quarrel and challenged Lord Braeton to a joust for her honor? She shuddered at the thought. She hoped this was not his way of making amends to her, though she feared it likely.

  Though thought of Geoffrey in combat unsettled her, the idea of him trouncing Lord Braeton in a feat of arms held even less appeal. What if one of them was injured? They were seasoned knights, true, and the weapons were blunted, but accidents did happen. If anyone knew that, she did.

  She rubbed her hand over her eyes as a real headache sprang forth. “My head has gotten worse, Maurya. Would you make my excuse to the princess? May I trouble Sir John to escort me to my chamber?”

  Before Maurya could reply, Patrick spoke up. “I would be most honored to escort you, Lady Alyse.”

  After a brief, curious glance at her brother, Maurya shrugged and said, “He may talk you to distraction before you arrive, Alyse, but you shall arrive safe indeed. ’Twill be all right for Patrick to take you.” She fixed him with a cool stare. “See that you come back in good time, Patrick. I will brook no foolishness.”

  “Your servant, dear sister, as always. My lady.” He rose and bowed to them then assisted Alyse to rise. She scanned the room one last time but still saw no evidence of Sir Geoffrey or his friend. Patrick presented his arm and led her quietly from the Great Hall.

  They walked leisurely toward the stairs that lead to the upper levels and her room, but instead of mounting the stairs, Patrick continued past the staircase and outside to a small courtyard abloom with roses in the waning sunlight.

  “Where are we going, Patrick?” More mystified than alarmed, Alyse leaned on the young courtier’s arm. Now she desired only her bed.

  “I thought the fresh air, especially with the sweet smell of the roses, would help your headache before you retire.”

  What a lovely gesture.

  Patrick Sullivan certainly knew how to act the chivalrous knight. He led her toward a small bower, concealing a bench under a canopy of pink and red roses. The fragrant, heady scent into
xicated her.

  “They do smell heavenly, Patrick.” Alyse touched the silky petals of a fragile, sunset-pink rose. “So beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you, my lady.” The deep familiar voice made her heart stop.

  Alyse froze then spun around to face Geoffrey Longford as he came forward from the lengthening shadows of the courtyard.

  “Patrick Sullivan, how could you?” She turned her head to glare at him.

  He had the temerity to grin at her as he turned to go, his part in the treachery now apparently over. “Oh, I would have done much worse to help my friends resolve their differences.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Forgive the man, Alyse. He meant no harm and has been a terrible bore all afternoon. Throw him a sop, lest we have to endure his grumps another day.”

  With a swift bow, Patrick withdrew, leaving her to Geoffrey and the cloying smell of roses.

  Chapter 10

  Not meeting Geoffrey’s eyes, Alyse made as if to follow Patrick back into the castle. She halted, however, unable to move as her betrothed fell to his knees before her, head bowed in subjugation. She stared at him, shocked that the huge, proud knight would humble himself thus.

  “Lady Alyse, I beg you, hear my entreaty. I know not how to approach you other than as a humble knight who would crave an audience with you.”

  Alyse waited patiently, but he did not speak, did not rise. What did he play at? Why did he not speak? Bewildered at his silence, her annoyance grew.

  Why would he ask to speak to me and then not… Oh.

  He had asked permission to speak and therefore awaited her answer.

  Her breathing faltered. He was making a formal petition, not a simple apology. Suddenly, she did want him to speak, to explain himself. Though her anger with him had not abated, it had tempered. Despite her earlier thoughts of Lord Braeton’s suit, she was loath to lose the regard she had come to feel for the man kneeling before her.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I will hear you, Sir Geoffrey.”

  He released the breath he had been holding and looked up at her. Sincere remorse etched lines on his face. Her heart thumped strangely, as though deciding whether to beat.

  Why does he affect me so, even when I am angry with him?

  “My lady, I cannot tell you how grieved I am to have caused you pain. That I doubted your judgment, when you have given me no cause to do so, is appalling to my senses. I have no justification to give for my words or actions unless you will believe that a temporary madness assailed me, robbing me of my reason. I can find no other explanation for it. I know you are well-learned in the tales of the Round Table and that you understand the protocol of the court. Neither do I believe you would do anything to bring censure upon either of us.”

  He searched her face with worried eyes. For compassion? Forgiveness? She tried to set her mouth into stern lines, not yet ready to let him make amends. Whatever he beheld, though, must have given him some hope, for his eyes widened and the strained lines around his mouth softened.

  He hastened to continue. “Lady Alyse, I would that I could recall my words and deeds of this morning, but as I could not stop time for you, neither can I reverse the journey of the sun in the sky. I must live with the deep regret for the pain I caused you and with the remorse that the tender trust you had extended to me these last days has now been withdrawn. Lady, allow me but to hope I may prove myself worthy again, so that you will grow to trust me as before. Grant me this hope and I will be as a condemned man given his pardon.”

  Alyse listened to his explanation with growing amazement at his abject condemnation of his actions of the morning. She had never heard a man declare himself in the wrong with regards to his treatment of a woman. Certainly, her father had never found cause to say as much to her mother. Neither had such events occurred, to her knowledge, at Merwyck.

  Even more astonishing was Geoffrey’s obvious sincerity. His words were spoken not merely to placate her—his manner and tone convinced her he truly regretted hurting her. He made her feel like a princess in a legend, with a knight-errant at her feet, ready to do battle to redeem his honor.

  Her resolve melted like butter kissed by the sun.

  A giddy rush of affection for her knight overwhelmed her. Before she could think, she cupped his face in her hand and bent to brush a kiss over his lips.

  Shock streaked through her, palpable as a lightning bolt flashing between them. A thousand rapturous feelings shattered her body. Stunned, Alyse stumbled back. Geoffrey’s head snapped up and he staggered to his feet to catch her before she could fall. He slid his arm firmly around her waist, and swept her to the bench in the bower.

  When they were seated, an embarrassed silence ensued. Unsure what to do, Alyse gazed about the bower. The sweet rose scent seemed to intensify her tumultuous feelings. Should she speak first? Suggest they leave? The longer they remained in the secluded spot, the weaker she might prove against his devastating charms.

  Keeping hold of her hand, Geoffrey finally pressed his advantage. “Does this mean I may hope, my lady?”

  “What would you hope for, my lord?” She spoke low and kept her eyes downcast. If she even glanced at him, she feared she would be undone. Why did the man make her feel thus?

  “That I may be forgiven when I have proved myself worthy.”

  She squeezed his hand then let go, still avoiding his eyes. “I would forgive the transgression now, my lord, for you have proven yourself able to admit a fault. An act of which many are incapable. ’Tis itself a worthy deed to declare you were wrong to doubt me.” Alyse ducked her head, suddenly shy to be speaking so directly.

  Geoffrey pulled her face to his, and she gasped as she stared into the dark blue depths of his eyes. “Aye, Alyse. I was wrong and shall not make that mistake again, upon my honor. If you are sure you can forgive me, may we go on as before? Can you begin to trust me again?”

  “Aye, Geoffrey. I do forgive and…mayhap will trust.” The last came out grudgingly, though more from her confusion than any real doubt of his sincerity.

  He sighed and released her face. His big body slumped, as with resignation. Perhaps he had hoped for full pardon. She would reserve that, however, until she became clearer about her position in Lord Braeton’s affections.

  They sat together in companionable silence, until Geoffrey spoke again. “I would ask one thing, my lady, if you would tell me.”

  A moment’s hesitation then she nodded.

  “What knight and lady did you choose? I have yet to tell the king.”

  Her smile must have reached from ear to ear, so delighted was she that he had indeed left the choice to her. “Sir Erec and Lady Enid, my lord. An it please you.”

  Geoffrey kissed the hair near her brow. “It does please me, love. ’Tis perfect for us. I could not have chosen better. Likely would not have. I would have selected the Lady of the Fountain for you, or the Lady of the Lake, perhaps. Lady of my heart, for certain.”

  He gazed deeply into her eyes then sank his mouth onto hers in a true, deep kiss. Her head fell back, his lips so insistent she could not have found the strength to protest had she desired to. He set his hands to roam down to the small of her back, pressing her closer to him. Persistent, he slid his tongue over the contours of her lips, now burning with a delicious fire.

  Held against him, unable to move, almost unable to breathe, Alyse reveled in his caresses as wave after wave of glorious sensation flooded her body. Kindling passion wrested all thought from her mind, and she wantonly returned his kiss, pressing her mouth to his. His lips awoke the flame she had only vaguely sensed before. Transformed it into an inferno that began at her mouth then blossomed unexpectedly in her breast and between her thighs.

  But when his tongue sought to part her lips, a shock bolted through her. His intent overwhelmed her, and she feared the passion she had unleashed in this man. She tried to push away from the iron arms that held her, turned her head to deny his insistent mouth.

  At th
e loss of her lips, Geoffrey pulled his head up, breathing as if coming up out of a cold pond. He shuddered and she glimpsed the hot desire in his eyes. Fear surged through her at that look, urged her to redouble her efforts to flee him. She pulled against him, and suddenly she was free, stumbling away, hand over her mouth.

  “Alyse, my love, stay! I…beg pardon,” he called after her, his voice ragged with passion.

  Still gasping for breath, she stopped several steps away from him. She panted as fear and desire fought for control. Desire whispered to return to Geoffrey, throw herself into his arms, circle his neck and renew the kisses that had so enthralled her.

  But those kisses would surely be followed by other, more intimate caresses. Once she allowed those pleasures, they would be bound irrevocably together, as surely as if their marriage vows had been spoken. After his hurtful display this morning, did she want to reward him? Did she desire Geoffrey enough to relinquish all hope of Lord Braeton?

  His step sounded behind her and she turned, unsure whether to run or stay.

  The plea in his eyes stopped her flight, even before he spoke. “Alyse! I beg you! Stay, love.” Then more slowly, “Did I hurt you?”

  At his contrite tone, some of her composure returned. “Nay, my lord. You have given me no hurt.” Heat crept into her face at the memory of what he had done.

  “You make me forget you are an innocent.”

  His low tone sent a new shiver through her. She could not reply for her racing heart. He stood so close she imagined she could feel his arms around her still.

  He reached out to capture a tendril of her hair. Rubbing his face against it, he inhaled deeply. “You smell so sweetly. ’Tis like flowers in summertime all about you. Even your hair smells like the meadows near my home.”

  Alyse smiled at that, her breath coming more normally. “’Tis lavender, my lord. My mother has it cut in our fields, and dries it to make sachets to keep the clothes and linens fresh. She says it gives us good health.” With a shy glance at him she continued, “I do bathe in it too, for it calms and soothes the soul.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “I fear I will require such a bath when I return to my room.”