Page 31 of Betrothal

Sharp fragments of the broken lance peppered Thomas’s face. Geoffrey cringed at the sight of the needle-like shards then a wave of relief washed over him as Thomas blinked. The splinters had lodged in his cheeks and brow, mercifully sparing his eyes. The overall effect, however, was gruesome: he appeared to be crying tears of blood.

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.