Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03

by Beleaguered

  Alyse closed her eyes to avoid the deepening frown on Thomas’s face.

  “Is this true, madam?” His voice no longer held that silky tone that set her aflame. Instead, it reverberated, terse and caustic. Very unlike Thomas. “You refused Geoffrey because you were fatigued? Why did you not tell me when we were on the floor? I would not have bade my friend ask you had I known he would be so rebuffed.” The displeasure in his tone made her swallow hard. The last thing she wanted was to create a spectacle, but ’twas too late. She glanced around, appalled to find the attention of the court focused on her and her husband. How could she remedy this apparent affront?

  “My lord, I meant no slight toward Sir Geoffrey. I merely wished to fortify myself with the good wine of Bordeaux before attempting another dance. I did not think you would be so displeased, especially as you were occupied with Lady Mary.” She offered Thomas her most charming smile, searching his eyes, trying to coax the dark look from his face. “Indeed, I am now refreshed, and more than willing to oblige you with another dance.” She turned fully toward Thomas, putting her back to Geoffrey, hoping to God he would hold his tongue and not offer again to partner her.

  Thomas nodded and raised her hand to his lips. His lazy smile appeared, and she calmed. “Aye, my lady, I would have you once again grace this hall with your presence on the floor.” He squeezed her hand then placed it on Geoffrey’s arm. “But, I would have you dance with our friend, for in honoring him you honor me as well.”

  Alyse turned stricken eyes to her husband, prompting him to reassure her. “Alyse, be easy, my sweet. ’Tis well that you should dance with Geoffrey.” He lowered his voice. “You should be seen in his company else the court will believe we yet have a quarrel between us. Fear not that I will be displeased in this, for that is past. I have faith in you, my love. So, do my bidding and make merry with my friend, for my sake.”

  ’Twas commanded then that she dance with Geoffrey. Thomas’s reasoning was sound. To put the court’s gossiping tongues to rest, she should seem to hold no animosity toward Geoffrey or his wife. If they witnessed her laughing and jesting or dancing with him, nothing would be thought of them at all. No matter how imprudent she knew those actions to be. And, as much as she wished to obey Thomas, in truth, this dance boded ill for them.

  She feigned a smile and prayed she would get through it as quickly and gracefully as possible. With a sigh, she ran her thumb down his jaw, tipped his face to hers, and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Gentle lord, as always, I am yours, and, as such, will do your bidding gladly. If ’twould please you, I would dance with the devil himself, much less Geoffrey Longford.” Praise God he did not suspect they were very nearly the same in her eyes.

  Thomas chuckled and turned to his friend. “Geoffrey, would you do me the honor of partnering my wife in the next set? Her weariness has ended even as mine has begun, overwhelmed by your good wife’s sprightly dancing.”

  Geoffrey glanced doubtfully at her, but she stared steadily at him and nodded. He shook his head and raised an eyebrow at Thomas in passing, but her husband waved him away and picked up his cup to signal for more wine.

  Longing to have this trial over, Alyse quietly accompanied Geoffrey to the edge of the floor, where they stood side by side, waiting for the music to begin anew. She sifted through safe topics of conversation, but could find not one blessed subject that did not stir dangerous memories. Eying Geoffrey, she shifted from one foot to the other, attempting to smile pleasantly and look as though she did not wish herself miles away from Bordeaux. He seemed ill at ease as well, standing stiffly beside her, hands behind his back, staring at the dancers.

  At last, the strains of the new melody reached Alyse, and she eagerly stepped toward the gathering couples. After another few measures of the piece, however, she frowned and turned to her partner. “I fear I do not know this music, Sir Geoffrey, or the dance it seems designed for.” The couples had formed a circle, but the rhythm of the music was too fast for a carole.

  Geoffrey smiled at her tentatively, apparently still wary of his reception. “The music is new, Lady Alyse. Brought from Italy to the court by musicians just yesterday.”

  “Then how do the other courtiers know the dance, yet I do not?”

  “Princess Joanna had this dance from her musician, Gracias de Gyvill, ere we sailed,” he was quick to inform her. “I believe she thought the dance too scandalous to teach to her courtiers, until the...incident on the Phillipa. After you and Thomas were confined to your cabin, she had it taught to us. As a distraction, I suppose.”

  Thank goodness there had been something to take the attention of the court away from her scandal. Although, it seemed there had still been gossip. Thomas must have heard something if he deemed it necessary for her to make a public show of her indifference to Geoffrey.

  He hurried on with a suggestion. “’Twould be the work of a few moments for me to teach it you, my lady.”

  It would have to serve. She shot a look over her shoulder at her husband, who nodded and laughed with the princess though his eyes were trained on her. Best get on with it then. The sooner ’twas done, the better.

  “Your skill at dancing is such that you would certainly learn the steps with but slight instruction from me.” Geoffrey leaned so close his voice against her ear made her jump and recall herself. She stepped back and looked at him.

  He flashed his practiced courtier’s smile at her, and she caught something deeper shining in his eyes that she fought not to see. Her heart stuttered a beat. Her body flushed with the anticipation of dancing with him again even as misgivings swirled in her mind. No good would come of this dance, but Thomas watched closely to see that she acted cordially to Geoffrey. Would that it were an act.

  With a sense of heavy foreboding, she extended her hand to him. “Very well, Sir Geoffrey. What must I do first?”

  He laid her hand atop his arm and led her to their place in the circle of dancers. There, he grasped her hand and pulled her around to face him.

  The moment his hand touched her skin, a streak of fire shot through her. Her mouth went dry. Did he feel that spark as well? She prayed not. If he did not respond to her, ’twould make it easier to ignore her feelings for him. Inch by inch, she forced herself to raise her gaze to his face.

  He stared back, his eyes mirroring all too clearly the blaze that coursed up her arm.

  Damn Geoffrey Longford.

  In a daze, she looked around at the other dancers, expecting them to stare accusingly at her. Afraid they would see the longing on her face. At a loss for how to act, she raised her gaze to beseech Geoffrey. “What do we do now?”

  ’Twas an apt question for, God forgive her, at the touch of Geoffrey’s hand, all thought of her husband had fled. She was back on the deck of the Phillipa, facing him once more. Loving him once more.

  Geoffrey cleared his throat, his face flushed, and said simply, “Follow me.”

  Then they were circling one another, hands clasped, arms rubbing intimately. Oh, yes, the fire between them burned hot as ever, searing her where they touched. The figure reversed, scorching her other side. Her gaze locked onto Geoffrey’s, and the music, the dancers, the Great Hall and all its inhabitants melted away until all that was left was the whisper of his breath in her ear and the heat of his body pressed close against her.

  He leaned in closer to murmur, “I must lift you now.”

  Before she could grasp that staggering news, his arm went around her waist and he lifted her, twirling them around and around. She panted, blood pounding in her temples and roaring in her ears.

  They continued to dance, but she moved as a doll made of rags, her legs barely able to bear her weight. Her world narrowed to the single source of light and life that was the man who held her in his arms again. The man whose love she could no longer deny. Despite the agony of the betrayal, in the core of her being she knew neither the vows she had spoken to Thomas nor the passion they had found in his bed would ever match the intensity of th
e love and belonging she shared with Geoffrey. As soon compare a candle’s flame to the sun.

  When the music ended, she stood facing Geoffrey, his hands still on her waist, his eyes locked on hers. They had turned deepest sapphire blue and filled with a powerful longing. One akin to the ache that filled her heart. His impassioned gaze lingered on her face, drinking it in as if he would commit each feature to memory. A slight, sweet smile graced his lips. God, how she longed even now to feel them on hers. He squeezed her waist and began to pull her toward him.

  No, no, no.

  She flinched, breaking away from him.

  Holding her hand before her mouth, she turned and fled. As swiftly as she could make her feet fly, she ran down the corridor. Oh, but she was damned. Damned. All the way to her rooms the word echoed in her mind.

  There, she threw the door open then slammed it and leaned her back against it, weeping wretchedly for Thomas.

  I have betrayed him. In my heart, I have indeed.

  The thought brought fresh wails of grief, for she had convinced herself she was in love with her husband. Perhaps she was. ’Twas not enough, however, to dispel her need for Geoffrey. Leaving her no remedy to ease either guilt or pain. She must learn to live the lie as best she could and try to make Thomas believe she loved only him. Geoffrey’s words from the first days of their betrothal resounded in her ears. “Truthfulness can be a two-edged sword in marriage if wielded with too much vigor.” The days of truth in her marriage were no more. She flung herself across the bed, sobbing in misery.

  Chapter 3

  Geoffrey stood wooden as a statue as Alyse ran from the Great Hall. He looked after her, yet did not see her. His heart beat in fits and starts, though not from the exertion of the dance. He understood now. She had tried to avoid him, been discourteous to him in the vain attempt to foreswear what he had known from the beginning—she loved him still, and with a passion neither of them could disavow.

  The touch had been their downfall. He had never renounced his feelings for her, but even he had been awed by the power the slightest contact with her called forth. The moment he had taken her hand, he had known the love and fervor they had once shared had not died.

  And he had sighed with relief. He had feared that after living as Thomas’s wife, she would feel nothing for him. He squeezed his fist until the nails dug into his palm. Thoughts of them together still sent agonies through him. One question, however, had been answered. Theirs was a mating of the soul that could not be denied any more than one could deny needing water to drink or air to breathe. He would never lose her completely.

  How this travesty would eventually play out, he knew not. He suspected it would end badly for all of them. And the difficulties would only mount now that they were living in such close proximity. He sent yet another curse to be heaped upon his sire’s head for his part in the mockery that was now his life.

  He looked up to see Thomas striding toward him, concern and anger warring on his face.

  “What happened to Alyse?” He stopped short in front of Geoffrey, his brows drawn into a deep frown. “She ran out after the dance. You did not attempt to... Did you do aught ...?” Thomas’s mouth set into harsh lines.

  Christ.

  Geoffrey turned what he hoped were innocent eyes to Thomas. “Nay, Thomas, we merely danced as you instructed. She seemed distressed because she did not know the dance, but she comported herself well. Mayhap the unfamiliar lifting and twirling motions unsettled her.” He shrugged. “All I can say is that she burst into tears at the end and ran from the room.” Geoffrey then turned as if to return to the dais. “Will you go after her? I will make your excuses to Princess Joanna.”

  Thomas cut his eyes toward him, but answered smoothly, “My thanks, Geoffrey. I had better attend her. Perhaps she was truly fatigued earlier.” His lazy smile emerged, one Geoffrey knew well could disguise all manner of emotion. “It may be that she is with child. I should not have pressed her to dance with you, mayhap.”

  Geoffrey fought the urge to snarl and instead nodded. “Perhaps you should not have. I pray she fares well, Thomas.”

  He started for the dais, clenching and unclenching his hands as he went. Drained by the turmoil of the evening, he climbed the steps to the platform, bent on easing his tension with a flagon of ale. Ere he reached the seat next to his wife, however, a steward accosted him, bearing a message. He read the note quickly, nodded to the steward, and turned to Princess Joanna.

  The young woman eyed the note and cocked her head. “What is amiss, Sir Geoffrey? Why have Lord and Lady Braeton left the banquet?”

  “Highness, I regret to inform you that Lady Braeton was taken ill after our dance and has retired to her chamber. Thomas has gone to attend her. And I have this minute been handed a message from Sir Robert Bouchier, who has also been taken ill. He requests that I assume his duties until he recovers.”

  Princess Joanna sighed and nodded. “Then I shall keep my cousin with me lest I have no conversation left.” She patted Mary’s hand. “I will make sure she arrives back in your chamber safely ere long. God give you good night.”

  “And you as well, Princess.” Geoffrey bowed to her then bent to brush a quick kiss on his wife’s cheek. “I know not when I will return, Mary. You need not wait up for me.”

  The slight, pale woman glanced into his eyes and murmured, “I do not mind, my lord. I will await you.”

  Geoffrey nodded and left. It mattered naught what Mary did. Alyse loved him still. And in the end, as callous as it might be, that was all that mattered.

  * * * *

  As Thomas reached their chamber, he heard sobbing through the door. He burst into the room, and his gaze flew to the source of the horrible sound: Alyse crumpled on the bed, weeping as though her heart would break. His heart stood still in his chest. He had not heard her cry thus since the day she had discovered Geoffrey married... He swore under his breath and rushed to the bed, grabbing Alyse by the arms and turning her to face him.

  “What did he do to you, Alyse? What did the villain do to you?” he shouted, fear and rage mingling in his gut. “He swore he did nothing, but if he lied... Tell me!”

  Alyse struggled to sit up, shaking her head, her sobs lessening.

  “You knew something would happen if you danced with him. Is that why you refused him at first?” He gave her a little shake then gripped her arms convulsively. “He made advances before this, did he not? That is why you were afraid of him!”

  Alyse gasped and laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Nay, husband, speak not so. ’Tis not true. Give me a moment to compose myself. ’Tis nothing to do with Sir Geoffrey.”

  He let her go and sat back, truly perplexed. Why this hysterical weeping? She had been moody today, and then fatigued. The words he had spoken to Geoffrey rose to mind, and he looked at her anew, a true hope in his heart.

  * * * *

  Alyse hid her face with her hands, trying to think of some excuse for her behavior. Something other than the truth. She wiped her eyes and stared at her lap. What could she say?

  The silence drew out. When she could bear it no longer, she raised her head and blinked as his gaze softened and grew warm. He stole one hand out to cup her chin and with the other brushed the hair back from her face.

  “Alyse, my sweet,” he said gently, “are you with child?”

  At his words, her tears started afresh, for this had been her first disappointment of the day. And now, the perfect excuse... She sadly shook her head. “Nay, my love. ’Tis that which has distressed me so. My courses have come upon me again, so I know now that I do not carry your child.” And the pain of that thought overwhelmed her so that she laid her head on his shoulder, and sobbed aloud. She could not even do him this service as his wife.

  Thomas held her close and stroked her hair, soothing her, then sighed. He pushed her head back, peering into her face, and wiped the tears away with his thumbs. “I know this saddens you, my love, but in a short time we will try again. We are young, an
d when it is God’s will, you will surely grow great with my babe.” He kissed her tearstained face. “Now let us have no more weeping tonight, Alyse. You gave me such a fright! Your cries were so dreadful, I was sure ’twas something else that upset you. Something much worse.”

  She turned sorrowful eyes to him then spoke carefully. “You thought Geoffrey had harmed me.”

  Thomas shook his head regretfully. “I beg your pardon for that, Alyse. Aye, and Geoffrey’s too. I should have no cause for such suspicions, but your earlier reluctance to dance with him then your outburst after the dance led me to think... I am sorry if I seemed to doubt you, my sweet.”

  Alyse forced a smile although her conscience smote her. She did not deserve his trust. But mayhap a gentle admonishment would serve to quash further insistence on a public display of friendship between her and Geoffrey. “’Twas this very reason, my love, that I wished to avoid Sir Geoffrey. Even though you have assured me that you doubt me not, I think you remember the great affection we held for one another, and so will never truly be at ease when we are together. I would spare you that pain by not bearing him much company.”

  Thomas pressed her head to his chest and brushed his lips against her hair. “I fear you are correct, my dear. In truth, I thought my jealousy well contained. I now find myself deceived in that. Perhaps we would all be more comfortable if you attended him but little.”

  Praise God for answered prayers.

  Alyse leaned against his comfortable chest and slid her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, drawing as much comfort from him as she could. She would not betray Thomas with her body, but her soul had already been relinquished into the keeping of Geoffrey Longford, from whence she could not recall it even if she would. A bitter division, yet one she would take care to guard.

  * * * *

  The night had almost turned to day before Geoffrey at last opened the door to his chamber. He stretched wearily as he entered. The new day and its attendant problems would be here soon enough, the most grievous of which was Sir Robert Bouchier’s illness. He had not seen the man, but reports from the sick room sent a wave of foreboding through Geoffrey. ’Twas like no sickness he had ever heard of before.