by Beleaguered
“Who told you to rise from your bed, my lady?” His tone was gruff, with none of his usual teasing concern.
“I was not leaving the bed, my…lord.” She refrained from the affectionate words she would have used. He would likely just rebuke her for it. “I was simply trying to see who was entering the chamber.”
“Well, you have seen who it is, so kindly return to the mattress. I intend for your breakfast to remain in your stomach this morning.” He continued his brusque manner, the mask of aloofness still in place.
Alyse sighed loudly, but eased back onto the bed. ’Twould be folly to provoke him. He put the tray on the table and helped her into a sitting position. The nausea did not reappear, and she was able to eat a hearty breakfast. However, the joy she might have taken from the snug walls and warm fire was lost due to Geoffrey’s remote manner.
He sat across the room from her, watching as she ate. How long would he punish her thus? And for what? For hoping that his best friend might yet have left a child in the world?
As he rose and took away the remnants of breakfast, Alyse closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. He had said they would talk today, and by God she would let him know her mind about the babe, him, and their circumstances. In spite of his current mood, she would show him she still had spirit enough to match him.
When she opened her eyes again, he stood at the hearth, staring into the fire. Gathering her courage for this first confrontation, Alyse quietly moved back the covers and sat up in bed. She managed to slip her legs over the side before Geoffrey’s huge frame appeared before her.
“What are doing, madam?” His voice maintained a distant edge, with more than a hint of displeasure.
“I am going to use the chamberpot, sir. Unless you are willing to spend your morning changing soiled bed linen.” She did not look at him, and her voice mimicked his disagreeable tone. He may have withdrawn his affection, but he would respect her if she showed him her strength.
Not waiting for his reply, she continued to slide off the bed. He shot his arm out to steady her as her feet touched the floor, and she glared up at him. “I did not ask for your assistance, Sir Geoffrey.”
“You did not need to ask. I am ever ready to aid a lady in distress.”
“My only distress at present is in finding the chamberpot. Can you assist with that, my lord?” She would win this skirmish and go into their main conversation having shown him her mettle.
“This way, my lady.” He accompanied her behind a screen, to a small close-stool with a carved wooden seat. “Your convenience, my lady.”
She raised her head and gave him a small nod. “My thanks, my lord. You may leave now.”
His brows drew down and his lips puckered, sending a thrill of victory through her. “Leave, my lady? In your weakened condition, you will obviously need me to assist you.”
“It may be obvious to you, but not to me, my lord.” She clipped her words, pronouncing each one exactly lest he misunderstand. “I am quite capable of tending to my personal needs as the last weeks on the road have proved. And I will brook no more of this argument.” She waved him away. “I asked you to leave, sir.”
Geoffrey swore softly under his breath, but headed for the door. He paused in the doorway. “I will be just outside, my lady, an you have need of me.”
The door closed, leaving Alyse alone behind the screen. Best be quick so she could prepare for the coming fray.
* * * *
Geoffrey closed the door firmly then pressed his ear to the smooth wooden panel, fearing the soft thud of a body hitting the floor. Instead, the unmistakable sounds of another sort reached his ear, and he pushed himself away from the door. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the far wall. And grinned. She must be feeling better. That stubborn exchange had lifted his spirits, for the fighting Alyse had emerged once more. A monumental improvement from the exhausted, frightened woman of yesterday. The return of this spirited Alyse, however, would make this morning’s confrontation even more difficult.
He cocked his head. No sound had come from the chamber for several minutes. He had expected her to call to him to return when she had finished. Had she swooned after relieving herself? Best take no chances. Geoffrey thrust open the door, his gaze going to the screen where he had left her. No sign of disturbance. He turned to the bed, but that too was empty. He continued his scrutiny of the room and found her sitting quietly in a chair before the fire, staring serenely into the flames.
“By God, madam! What are you doing there?” He strode to the chair and stood towering over her.
She twisted her neck upward to look at him then calmly returned her gaze to the fire. “I am contemplating life before this good fire, Sir Geoffrey. Will you join me?” She indicated the chair on the other side of the fireplace.
Geoffrey scowled. Aye, the feisty Alyse had returned. Still, he refused to tolerate such nonsense where her health was concerned. “That I will not. And you are going to return to bed, my lady.” He reached down to pluck her from the chair. Instead, his head rocked back with a stinging slap. He withdrew a step, his skin tingling, and stared into angry, dark blue pools under frowning black brows.
“Touch me again without my permission, Sir Geoffrey, and you will find a woman of my experience can defend herself with more than a blow to the cheek.” She pointed again to the waiting chair. “Now sit down, my lord. I have a mind to begin the conversation you promised last night.”
Mayhap a different strategy would regain him the upper hand. He knelt beside her chair, being careful not to lean too close, and softened his voice. “Alyse, you need to rest in the bed. You are far from well and must think of the babe. You do not want to lose it, do you?”
“Nay, my lord,” she answered sweetly, with cold eyes. “But I am sure ’twould be your desire.”
He shot to his feet. “You wrong me, madam.” She might as well have slapped him again. He would not brook such an accusation. “Never would I wish you or your child ill.”
“But it would make things so very much easier, would it not, Sir Geoffrey?” she continued in that deceptively sweet voice.
Where had that evil tone come from? He wished never to hear it from her lips again.
“Were I to lose this child there would be no question about the father of the next. If there were a next.”
God’s death. “Do you dare impugn my ability to father a child, madam? Are you then so certain this child is of Thomas’s seed and not mine?” He stalked back and forth before the fireplace, unable to stand still.
“I impugn nothing, my lord.”
He shot her a look and found her smiling. Wench.
“Six months from now we will see in the flesh if ’twas your seed, or Thomas’s. If the child happens to favor one of you and not me.” She straightened in her chair, leaning her head back against the uppermost slat. “When I questioned if there would be another child, I wondered not of your ability, but of your desire.” She gestured again to the chair. “Please sit down, my lord. ’Twas you, remember, who promised this talk. I would have you comfortable, for I fear ’twill be a lengthy one.”
Oh, he need not have worried she would languish with the strain of carrying the child. More like a horse with the bit in its teeth. Geoffrey took a deep breath, crossed his arms, and settled into the offered chair. Damnation. Why had he promised to talk with her about this? He would rather face a horde of charging Turks.
That he loved her still was a certainty. The question of the child’s sire and her feelings for Thomas, however, had him on the defensive. His only recourse, then, was to fall back on the emotionless front he had always assumed with women before he had met Alyse. That dispassionate nature had come back easily when he had been married to Mary. It hurt him keenly to hold Alyse from him, yet ’twas necessary until he could come to terms with Thomas and the child.
“So, if I understand your words and actions of the past two days correctly, you believe I have only ever loved our friend,
Thomas Knowlton, Lord Braeton. That I spoke falsely when I said I loved you, and that is why I hope and pray this child is his and not yours.”
His heart tumbled to the pit of his stomach. ’Twas bad enough to think such things; to speak them aloud gave them the ring of truth. He opened his mouth, not sure what might come out, but she held up a hand to halt him.
“Under this belief, you now refuse to honor our marriage vows and instead treat me as the widow of Lord Braeton, who you will dutifully accompany to her father’s home and leave there to bear this child. Is this a fair recounting of our present circumstances? You may correct me if I am in error.” Alyse fixed her gaze on him, daring him to either refute or affirm her charge.
Oh, Christ, but he was doomed. He would lose Alyse no matter what. If he affirmed her words, he would brand himself a jealous fool who believed her capable of lying most egregiously. If he denied her words… But he could not deny them. For they were the words he had spoken, the actions he had taken ever since he learned of the child she carried.
He had to try.
“Alyse, I only want what is best for you and the child.”
“You may call me Lady Braeton, Sir Geoffrey, as you attest that is who I am.”
Geoffrey swore. “Lady Braeton…” He could not call her that, nor even think of her so. She was Alyse. His Alyse. He looked at her across the hearth, ready to tell her this was nonsense, to stop playing at words with him and go to bed and rest. The words, however, died on his lips. The beautiful face he loved to look upon had frozen into harsh lines. No warmth in her usually welcoming eyes. Instead they bored into him, as if seeking to read his soul. She was determined that he make the choice. He must declare her words true or false.
He would go mad. No military campaign he had ever fought had forced him into such a heart-wrenching decision.
Battlefield. Tactics. What action can I use to my advantage here? Offense.
He withdrew his gaze from the fire, whence he had sought council, and met Alyse’s searing stare. His heart beat uncomfortably fast, yet he ventured a small smile. “Aye, Lady Braeton, I affirm that your words do describe my thoughts these past days.” Now it was his turn to stay her response as he lifted a hand to stop her words. “You have not, however, addressed the concerns I have voiced regarding your feelings toward me and Thomas. I would ask, what are your feelings? Am I indeed correct in my judgment of your affections?”
The depth of the fury that marred her face stunned him, as if a lance had landed squarely in his chest. Her brows deepened into a sharp V, her nostrils flared, her eyes darkened to midnight sapphire and seemed ready to pop out of her head. She clutched the arms of the chair so tightly he feared the wood would snap. Had she snakes for hair she would be the image of Medusa from Greek mythology. Under the stare she was giving him, he might indeed turn to stone.
“How dare you even ask such a question of me, Geoffrey Longford? Simpleton!” she hissed.
He shrank back in the chair, the Gorgon imagery filling his mind.
“How can you question my love and devotion to you? I, who gave you my heart and my virtue ere we were wed.” Her face crumpled, the harsh lines melting into soft sadness. Her pain-filled eyes met his straight on. “Do you not understand, my lord, that had I not done so I would never have been forced to marry Thomas? You were so concerned there might have been a child conceived that night that you asked your best friend to cover your sins by marrying me. And he did it.” She shook her head and shrugged. “I can scarce believe it still, that you would ask, and that he would comply.”
“You complied also, madam.”
“Aye, but not for love of Thomas!” She beat her hand upon the arm of the chair. “Do you truly think I would have given myself to you that night had I not loved you with all my heart and soul? Had I been in love with Thomas, you would not have had me in your bed until after the marriage vows were spoken. And even then I would have been reluctant.” She threw up her hands, fingers splayed wide. “If I was so in love with Thomas, why did I not let him in my bed until nigh forced to?”
He had forgotten that. Indeed, she had been wed a full two weeks before the confrontation on the Phillipa had brought about the consummation. Not the actions of a woman smitten or in love.
“Thomas was never more than a friend after I met you. He grew to be dearer to me than any other save you, after we married. But ours was a marriage arranged for convenience—your convenience, Geoffrey.”
He bristled at that. She had no idea of the depths of hell he had gone through, arranging to have her married to his friend. “I did what I thought right for you to be safe, madam. Had you proven to be with child, and unwed, you would have been dismissed from the princess’s service and sent back to your father in disgrace.”
“Better such a disgrace than this hell on earth we have now made for ourselves,” she retorted bitterly. “And it was for naught, Geoffrey.” Her voice broke into a sob. “It was all for naught. I was not with child, so I would have been safe. Thomas would not have married me, would have remained in London. He would still be alive. Oh, God, Geoffrey. He would still be alive!” She dropped her head into her lap and sobbed.
Stunned at this outpouring of grief, Geoffrey shifted uneasily in his chair. Her actions seemed to support his argument that she had loved Thomas passionately and regretted his death heartily. Of course, he too mourned his friend, but his grief had been tempered by the sensibilities of a soldier who accepts the idea of death in the field.
Alyse raised a red, tear-stained face. “I suppose you are used to it, my lord, that it does not affect you so now,” she said, wiping her face on the sleeve of her shift.
“The tears of women?” He shrugged. “Aye, I have both heard and caused my share.”
She stared at him as though he had lost his mind. “Killing a man, my lord. I meant you must be used to killing men, having been in the war.” Their eyes met. “I had never been responsible for killing anyone before.”
Oh, God. The air went out of his lungs. “You killed Thomas?” He struggled to comprehend her words. If Alyse was confessing to murdering her husband, perhaps madness loomed for the whole world. “What happened? You gave him the wrong potion? A potion too strong? Was it an accident?” Pray God it had been an accident.
She looked at him again as though he were mad. “I married him, Geoffrey.” She spoke the words deliberately, as for a child to understand. “He then had no choice but to sail with the princess. And caught the pestilence and died. Had he not married me, he would have remained in England and lived. Now tell me I am not responsible for his death!” Her body twitched and shook, her hands shaking in her lap.
Geoffrey leaned back in his chair and let out the breath he scarce knew he had held. This was the thing she had been hiding. Guilt over Thomas’s death. A responsibility that, truth be told, was his as well.
If he had not cajoled Thomas into marrying her, the man might very well be alive in England today. But that was not her fault. None of this was her fault. Slowly, he rose from the chair and knelt before her. Very gently, he picked up one of her hands, brought it to his face, and rubbed it against his cheek. “Is this why you hope you carry Thomas’s child, my love? Because you feel responsible for his death?”
She nodded and sobbed anew.
Swiftly, he stood, scooped her into his arms and sat with her in his lap, his arms around her, to soothe her as of old. She slipped her arms around his neck in a death grip, and he smiled at her ferocity. Placing a kiss on her forehead, he hugged her until her breathing slowed and tears no longer fell.
“Alyse?” Geoffrey ventured when she had quieted.
“Aye, my love?”
“I understand now why you cherish the hope of Thomas’s child. Truly, I do understand. But you should not feel responsible for his death, my love. I am as much to blame on that account as you. More so, perhaps, for ’twas I who begged him to marry you. And he could have refused.”
“He was your friend, Geoffrey. Of cours
e he would not refuse you. Nor would he refuse to help a lady in distress. He was a good and honorable man and…”
“And what, love?”
“And I miss him.”
“I do too, sweetheart. I do too.”
“But I love you, Geoffrey.” Alyse sat up in his lap to face him, her hands on his cheeks. “You must believe that, if you believe nothing else in this world. You should know it deep in your soul without being told.”
He smiled at her earnestness. “I believe you, love. I think, deep down, I always believed it. But jealousy gets in the way sometimes. Even a good man like Thomas felt such a thing, I believe.” He chuckled at the memory of their aborted duel on the Phillipa.
“Aye, that he did.” She nodded and blushed.
“Did you love him, Alyse?” The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it.
She went very still in his lap then asked with eyes downcast, “Would you have the truth, my lord? I will not bear censure again for telling the truth if you do not care to hear it.”
Geoffrey pulled her chin up and looked deeply into her beautiful crystal eyes. “Aye. I can bear the truth if you will tell it me. Be not afraid, love.”
“Then, aye, I did come to love Thomas. He was a good and patient man. He made me laugh and showed me kindness. And he loved me, too.” She paused, playing with the edge of her gown, not looking at him. “Did you know his first wife, Katherine?”
“Nay. I met Thomas after she died. But he told me much of her during our first years together, when he missed her the most.”
“He loved her, Geoffrey, as I love you. Deeply and truly. He wanted to love me as he had her, but he could not. I could not. We shared a friendship and a love of our own, and we tried to ease each other’s pain and loss. But it was never what I feel for you, my love. Not even close.”
“How was it different, then?”
Alyse thought, frowning for a moment. “I suppose the only way I could describe it is the difference between the way you and Thomas were friends and the way you and Patrick Sullivan were friends.”