by Beleaguered
“Wife? I think not.” Guy appeared to search the ceiling for an answer then withdrew a piece of parchment from his tunic and extended it to Geoffrey. “Had I not already been on my way to Beaulieu to endure the snow with some pleasant company, this paper would have brought me in all haste. It contains an acceptance of my suit for the hand of Lady Alyse. I met Louis with it at the turning of the lane.” He spun around and grabbed Alyse’s hand, bringing it quickly to his lips. His eyes met hers. “This has been far too long in coming, chérie.”
A red rage covered Geoffrey’s vision. The next thing he knew, he had his clenched fist around Guy’s throat, pressing him against the plaster wall of the study so that his feet dangled several inches from the floor. “I will thank you to keep your hands and any other part of your person away from her, Sir Guy. Lest you find it missing.”
Guy’s eyes protruded as he struggled for breath. His lips became tinged with blue.
“Geoffrey, you will kill him.” Alyse tugged on his arm.
“I do not mind, my sweet.”
“Geoffrey.”
“You prefer that he live?” Geoffrey cocked his head.
“For the moment, aye. Release him.”
Geoffrey shrugged and removed his hand from Guy’s throat. The smaller man sank to the floor, where he lay gasping.
Etienne rushed to assist him and glared up at Geoffrey. “You will leave my house, Seigneur Longford, immédiatement! You are no longer welcome here.” De Courcy helped Guy to stand and the knight leaned on the desk, his breathing slowing as his color returned to normal.
“If he leaves then I leave as well, Papa.” Alyse raised her chin and with quiet conviction turned to Geoffrey and took his hand. “He spoke the truth when he said we are ready to take our nuptial vows.” The look she gave him was filled with so much love it made him catch his breath. “I will marry no other man than Geoffrey Longford.”
Her father snorted. “You will marry whomever I decree, Alyse.’
“On what authority, sire?” She strode toward him, eyes flashing. “I am a widow. You no longer have legal power over me or my decisions.”
“Your marriage to Seigneur Braeton was not valid.”
“Not valid?” Her face flushed red, and she trembled. “How was it not valid? Our vows were spoken before the cathedral in London. Princess Joanna herself was a witness to it. And it was solemnized within the church immediately afterward by the Bishop of London. We were married in the sight of God and in the sight of man.”
“I did not give consent to the marriage, which was my right. Seigneur Braeton’s offer reached me in early August, but I rejected it.” Here Etienne glowered at Geoffrey. “After the affront Seigneur Longford père dealt my house, I was determined you would never wed an Englishman.”
Geoffrey held his ground and stared down the older man. “Just because you did not sanction the marriage, Seigneur de Courcy, does not make it invalid. King Edward himself acted in loco parentis in giving permission for Lady Alyse to wed Lord Braeton. Vows were spoken, and the marriage was consummated.” Alyse ducked her head and looked away. “Their marriage was legally binding. She is a free woman.”
“Then I refuse to release her dowry unless she marries as I say.” De Courcy drew himself up tall with all the dignity he could muster. “If this odious man will take you to wife, he will take you as you are, with no land, no money, and in the clothes in which you stand.”
“Done.” Geoffrey spared not a glance for Alyse’s father. He couldn’t take his eyes off Alyse, now his forever. “I will take her to wife as she stands. She need bring nothing more than all that she is here and now. I have lands and estates in England and will inherit the earldom at my father’s death. Mayhap I already have.” He glanced at Etienne. “I have no need of anything else save Alyse.”
“You must then live in want all the rest of your days, Longford.” Guy spoke softly, but it reverberated in the silence of the small room. “For we are now in France, and English law may not hold here as well as it does on English soil. I claim Alyse de Courcy as my betrothed, by right of contract with her father.”
Geoffrey’s broadsword made a soft zing as it kissed the scabbard it was leaving. ’Twould feel good to have an enemy to fight once more. And no one deserved to die more than this snake. Sword en garde, Geoffrey urged Alyse behind him. “If you seek to enforce French law, Sir Guy, you will do so by going through an English blade. And I promise you, in order to wed her, you will have to kill me first.”
Guy drew his sword. “Seigneur, it is my most earnest desire.”
Alyse stepped out from behind Geoffrey. “I do not care, Guy, what law you or my father care to claim.”
“Alyse, get back.” He tried to push her behind him and got an elbow in his ribs.
“I tell you both I will marry no man but Geoffrey Longford. And if he dies, I will die with him.” Guy laughed, and Alyse stamped her foot. “I will do it, I swear my oath, I will.”
Geoffrey grinned at his adversary. The fool would make the mistake of underestimating the woman he sought to marry. “She speaks the truth. She has sworn it to me, and I believe her.” He grinned at Alyse. “But you need not worry, my love.” He took in de Valere from head to foot and shrugged. “We will require a marriage bed this night, and he a coffin.”
Guy growled an oath at him and drew his weapon as well. “Shall we take this out into the Great Hall, Seigneur, that the delights of the night to come may be determined?”
“Aye.” Geoffrey backed out of the room, pushing Alyse behind him. “Although I little thought you so eager for your grave.”
“I am eager for Alyse’s warm bed, Seigneur. As you apparently are for a cold one.” Guy entered the Great Hall, his gaze darting over Geoffrey’s sword, stance, and stride as they sparred with words instead of swords.
But swords would come soon enough. Geoffrey relished the thought. He had itched to engage this cocky knave in single combat in June. He smiled broadly, gauging his opponent. An easy stance, but a tendency to lean slightly to the right. His strides were shorter, although that might make him more nimble. The man might put up a good fight, but he would not prevail. “I fear your only bedmates this evening will be the worms that come to dine on you, Sir Guy. Enjoy their caresses if you will.” Inclining his head toward Alyse, he spoke firmly. “My sweet, return to the solar with your father until this matter is finished. I will find you when I am done.”
“But, Geoffrey…”
“No, Alyse, you cannot stay. ’Twould not be good for you to witness this.” She must not watch anything to distress her or harm the baby. To see an old acquaintance slain might do both.
“Aye, my love.” She nodded as though she understood. “I will wait for you.” One piercing glance at him, filled with love, and she sped into the solar, followed closely by Etienne.
Geoffrey’s attention now rested on Guy and his arrogant sneer. ’Twould be wiped off that sallow face ere long. He assessed the Great Hall for its advantages and disadvantages as a place of combat. The room was a good size, with tables and chairs pushed against the walls. No impediment to their swordplay then, save the rushes beneath their feet.
The two men closed distance, and Geoffrey thrust out boldly, pressing the advantage of the first strike. His blade sought an unprotected shoulder.
Guy parried easily. “This is the way you expect to kill me?” He smiled as he struck out at a seemingly vulnerable leg.
“This is the way I begin. I end with you on the floor, bleeding at my feet.” Geoffrey lunged forward with a cut to Guy’s head, a blow that would have split his opponent’s skull in twain had it not been blocked.
Guy thrust Geoffrey’s blade over in an effort to bind it to the ground. He planted a foot on Geoffrey’s chest, and Geoffrey crashed to the floor and rolled away. Guy’s sword whistled down, sinking into the rushes where Geoffrey’s head had just lain.
Geoffrey rolled into a kneeling position and struck at Guy’s exposed legs, his blade nicking the l
eft one as the man danced backward. Geoffrey came to his feet, a smile twisting his lips. “I draw first blood, de Valere. Care to wager who draws last?”
“I have already done so, Longford, and will have sweet Alyse to soothe my wound.” Guy circled to Geoffrey’s left, forcing him toward a poorly lighted section of the hall. A trap, to be sure.
Geoffrey sprang forward, his sword a blur as he attacked and parried, driving the smaller man down the hall almost to the front portal. He had a glimpse of Alyse pressed against the doorjamb of the solar, eyes wide.
She should not be there.
Geoffrey lunged, trying to pin Guy to the door.
The small, wiry man nimbly sidestepped the attack, and the pommel of the Frenchman’s sword landed a crushing blow to Geoffrey’s back. His knees buckled.
“Noooo!”
He shot a look to the solar where Alyse’s father had grabbed her skirt and hauled her back inside.
The pain and Alyse’s scream cleared his head. He rose to face Guy again.
His opponent sneered gleefully. “Fear not, ma chère,” Guy called to her. “When this is done, I promise I will make you forget Seigneur Longford ever lived.”
Geoffrey laughed. “When this is done, de Valere, you will be dead, and it will be as though you never lived. At least to my wife.” He spun about, and his blade flashed. Blood flew from Guy’s arm.
“Pautonier.” Guy strangled a curse and launched his own attack, raining punishing blows to flank, shoulder, and head.
Geoffrey’s blade sang as it shielded him from blow after blow, a smooth rhythm flowing through him as it always did in battle. He returned cut for cut, and his superior reach and stamina began to take a toll on Guy.
De Valere retreated up the hall, sword flailing as he tried to find a hole in Geoffrey’s defenses.
Let me end this. Geoffrey let his guard slip, leaving his right flank exposed.
“Ha!” Guy charged with a thrust to his side.
Geoffrey neatly sidestepped the lunge, and as Guy swept past him, Geoffrey reached out and snared the Frenchman about the chest. He kicked Guy’s legs out from under him and laid his blade against Guy’s throat.
Geoffrey chuckled. “What an interesting turn of events. You asked how I intended to kill you. This appears to be it.” He pricked the defenseless skin, and a drop of blood welled forth. “Do you yield to me, de Valere?”
Guy swallowed, but otherwise remained still. “I thought we had agreed this combat would be to the death, Seigneur. Can you not stomach the thought?”
“Oh, I can cut your throat and ne’er think twice about it, Seigneur. But in the face of so many recent deaths, and in deference to my wife who was, I admit, your childhood friend, I will spare your life if you yield to me.”
“Yield, Guy.”
Geoffrey looked up, startled to find Alyse before him, her father hurrying after her, holding his wrist.
“Enough is enough.” The deep frown on her face said she would brook no more fighting.
Guy slid his gaze toward her. “Had it been I who held the sword to Longford’s throat, would you have said the same, chérie?”
She shook her head. “Had your places been reversed, I would have even now been down on my knees begging for his life, for I know he could not yield. I am his wife, Guy. Nothing can change that.”
“Ce n’est pas possible!” He struggled against Geoffrey’s hold, and another drop of blood appeared.
Geoffrey had no intention of releasing the man until he surrendered to him.
Guy turned accusing eyes to de Courcy. “You said she was mine!”
Etienne came forward, shaking his head. “Longford said they had not wed, that they were merely willing to wed.”
Alyse sent a look of appeal to Geoffrey.
Aye, the truth should have been spoken ere now, but de Valere had appeared, and his anger and jealousy had gotten the best of him. Again. He raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
Alyse continued. “After Thomas died, and Geoffrey’s wife, Mary, we went to the princess’s chapel, and before the altar we spoke our wedding vows. Geoffrey gave me a ring.” She waved her hand at the men. “And we swore an oath that I was his wife before God.” She sighed and wrung her hands. “According to law, we are married. But the words were spoken in the sight of God, not of man, for everyone else had died or run away. In our hearts, we are married and…” She faltered.
“And she carries my child,” Geoffrey finished for her, thrilling to the sound of the words for the first time.
Guy’s body stiffened.
“Mon Dieu!” De Courcy moaned and shook his head.
“So what say you, Guy?” Alyse stared at her longtime friend, still held captive by Geoffrey’s keen blade.
Guy shook his head. “I have long held hopes we would wed, chérie. I offered for you three times, but your father never accepted my suit until now. I have waited and have gained nothing.”
Alyse knelt and put her hand to his face. “You will retain your life and my friendship, Guy. ’Tis all I could ever have given you. An you persist and force Geoffrey to take your life, your death will lie on my conscience. You say you have regard for me. Then take pity on me, for I already have sins enough in the taking of life.” She dropped her hand and stepped back.
“Do you yield, Guy de Valere?”
Guy took one more long look at Alyse. “Oui. C’est finis.”
Geoffrey released him at once and sheathed his sword.
Alyse hurled herself into his arms. Geoffrey pressed himself to her lips, her breasts, her hips. Let the world wait. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and greedily tasted all that was now completely his.
“Humph.” Etienne cleared his throat quite forcefully, and Geoffrey broke the kiss.
He looked around the Great Hall, but Guy had disappeared. His gaze next landed on Alyse’s father, who regarded them with a deep scowl.
“So, Seigneur Longford, ma fille is with child, yet there is at best only a clandestine marriage between you? Why have you not married in all the time you have traveled from Bordeaux?”
“Do not be angry, Papa.” Alyse clutched his hand. “We tried to find a priest and witnesses, but we rode through many villages where the priests had either left or died. We feared to venture into the larger cities where the plague still rages. Is there still a priest in Belcour? If we brave the snow, we could be married tomorrow.” Her face lit up with a glowing smile at the prospect.
’Twas hard to breathe when he beheld such beauty.
Her father’s mouth puckered into a half smile. “If you wish, ma chère, you can be married tonight. Even now.”
“Do not tease about such things, Papa.” She hugged Geoffrey close again. “Where do you propose to find a priest this hour of the night in a blinding snowstorm?”
De Courcy’s laugh rang out. “On the second floor of Beaulieu, Alyse. Uncle Antoine has been living with us since the pestilence struck. He has been Belcour’s priest for almost three months. I will send Gaston to fetch him, if you wish.”
With a cry of joy, Alyse launched herself into her father’s arms. “And you will bless this match you made, Papa? It truly was not either Geoffrey’s or my wish for the betrothal to be broken.” She hugged him close. “You chose the best, the only man who will make me happy for all of my life, Papa. So, you see, you must trust your first instinct, as I trusted you.”
De Courcy nodded and kissed her cheek. “Yes, I will countenance this match again, but with one stipulation—I will see the marriage concluded this evening.” He wound her hand firmly in the crook of his arm. “Just to be sure.”
* * * *
They were married that night by the light of torches in the Great Hall at Beaulieu. Uncle Antoine performed the simple ceremony, having them repeat vows almost identical to the ones they had pledged to each other three months before. Geoffrey again produced her ring and slid it onto her finger, raising her hand to seal it with a kiss. He whispered, “Forever,” and her heart swelled
so with love she could not speak. Tears of joy flowed down her cheeks.
Later, upstairs in her childhood chamber, as Alyse sat and brushed her hair, she fixed her gaze on the delightful sight of Geoffrey as he removed his clothing.
Mine. Finally mine until death do us part.
This happiness had been too long in coming. She drank in the glory of her husband’s big, muscular body as he came to loom over her. She put her brush on the table, eager to be in his arms once more.
Geoffrey raised her up from her chair and slid the shoulders of her shift over her arms until the garment pinned them to her sides. He lifted her face to his and pressed his lips to hers in a sweet kiss. A married kiss. They were married. Finally.
He slipped his lips from her mouth, to her neck, to her shoulders. Wonderful shivers raced down her arms. When he encountered the nightgown, miraculously it fell neatly to the floor. He reached her breast, engulfed her nipple.
“Oh, Geoffrey.” She twined her arms around his neck. He picked her up and carried her to their bed. Lying cuddled in his arms, she sighed. He felt so good against her. “I can scarce believe I am here in your arms. That I am in truth your wife and we are bound together forever, my lord.” She clambered up on top of him. “And this is our wedding night.”
Geoffrey’s smile widened wickedly. “We may be the only couple ever to have a second wedding night.”
“Hmmm.” She well remembered the night of passion that had followed their first vows. “But there are no honeyed pears. Whatever will we do?”
He groaned. “Aye, madam, there are not, but I vow between the two of us we will think of some other way to pass the night.” Then he rolled her beneath him and sank his mouth onto hers in a slow, sensual, toe-curling kiss that made her ache for him anew.
And, in the end, she decided, they scarcely missed the pears at all.
Chapter 19
They remained at Beaulieu through the winter holiday season and into the spring. Although Alyse seemed to enjoy the time spent with her family, Geoffrey yearned to be at their journey’s end—Longford Manor—for he wanted their child born on the estate he would inherit. So he chaffed through the dreary months until the weather improved from cool misty rains into days of brilliant sunshine in late March. To his surprise, de Courcy insisted his daughter travel in his carriage, sending Louis along to drive her. A very great boon considering her now advanced condition.