Page 15 of Betrothal

Her wits had returned now that he no longer possessed her hands, and Alyse mulled his request over.

Perhaps I can indeed devise a pastime that will lead you a merry chase this evening, Sir Geoffrey.

“You would have me call you by your name, my lord?” She frowned and tilted her head from side to side, as if his request were strange or scandalous.

“Aye, madam, I have said as much. Were you again not attending me?” Geoffrey’s amused tone suggested he had expected as much.

“Oh no, my lord. I attended closely.” Alyse focused on his mouth, pretending to hang on every word. “I wanted to make quite sure I heard you correctly. You want me to call you by your first name?”

Geoffrey stared at her as though she were addled, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to still her laughter. “Aye, lady, by my first name.”

“Your Christian name?”

“Lady Alyse!” His face settled into a scowl until she allowed her eyes to widen a touch as she gave him a slight smile. He fought to retain his stern visage but finally chuckled at her play and joined the game. “You have forgotten my name over soon, my lady. Has my witty conversation so diverted you that you cannot remember it?”

“Nay, my lord, I remember it well but need to make sure you mean for me to address you with such familiarity on so short an acquaintance. Do remember, my lord, we have only just met.” She straightened on her bench and leaned forward, as if admonishing him.

“Aye, lady, you speak true. ’Tis scarce a day since first we became acquainted.” Geoffrey gave a scant nod of his head. “But we met at the announcement of our betrothal and two weeks hence you will share both my name and my bed.” His blue eyes darkened in that fearful and exciting way that set her heart to racing. “I therefore maintain that it is your duty now, in all obedience to your intended husband, to address me as I command.”

The reminder that soon they would be husband and wife brought Alyse’s high spirits back to earth with a jolt. Now those eyes said he played no game, and her wit deserted her once more.

Noting her silence, Geoffrey cheerfully pressed his attack. “Have you suddenly been struck dumb, madam? Is that the reason you cannot say a good, simple English name?”

Roused from her reverie, Alyse narrowed her eyes but spoke in honeyed tones. “My lord, I am unaccustomed to addressing men of short acquaintance so familiarly. I feared, my lord, that I might not give you the proper respect due you. But I see, my lord, your request is but another great compliment to me, to trust me with that which you hold so dear. Fear not, for you have taught me well, my lord. I acknowledge your great confidence in me, my lord, and in my judgment to use your name well, in its proper time and place.”

Geoffrey’s mouth gaped at this speech. She flashed him a look of triumph as she rose from her bench. Princess Joanna had just risen to retire, releasing Alyse from her duties, and she aimed to make good her escape. “I beg your leave to go now.” She nodded toward the princess and made as if to follow her.

In order to carry the field with flags flying, she had to execute a well-considered retreat. Something to impress upon him that his betrothed understood the rules of the game very well. And would play to win.

She glanced down at him, considering, then bent close, her cheek grazing the stubble on his. A slight turn of her head and her lips brushed his ear.

He ceased to breathe, sat so still he might have been a piece of carved statuary.

Then her soft whisper caressed the folds of his ear in a breath that stirred his hair: “Geoffrey.”

At which point she turned her back, though not before seeing his stunned face reveal himself the one struck dumb tonight.

Chapter 7

Sunday morning Mass found Alyse dressed in her best gown, trying to make herself as small as possible while suffering the scrutiny of the entire assembled court. Today marked the first reading of the banns for her marriage to Sir Geoffrey Longford—an ordeal that bordered on torture.

Court custom decreed that the prospective bride and groom stand before the altar, at the bottom of the raised bema, while the priest read the banns to discern if any impediment to the marriage existed. A simple enough ritual but one that horrified Alyse. Every eye in the tightly packed congregation of courtiers seemed to stare straight at her. For too many agonizing minutes they perused her, judged her, stripped her bare. Her face had to be as red as a pomegranate, but she could do nothing except stare stolidly ahead and pray for the trial to be over soon. After an eternity, the priest intoned the last words of the notice and they were allowed to return to their respective places. She slid in next to Anne and cursed the day she had met Geoffrey.

He had irked her even more than the gawking courtiers. If she had to bear this humiliation, her betrothed should have at least shared in her discomfiture. But when she had risked a look at him during the proceedings, she had been incensed to discover him grinning unashamedly. The wretch seemed to like the attention. Fuming, Alyse had fixed her gaze on the priest and tried to forget that she would have to endure the same martyrdom twice more.

After the benediction, as Alyse retreated from the chapel, someone grasped her arm. She turned, narrowing her eyes when she beheld her betrothed.

“Good morrow, Lady Alyse.” Geoffrey stopped short. “What is amiss, my lady? You look very unkindly for such a lovely morning.”

“What is amiss?” Alyse bristled, even more outraged that he did not immediately understand her fears. “You even need to ask what is amiss? Were you asleep when you stood before the altar that you did not see all the courtiers’ eyes on us? On me!” Her stomach clenched at the thought.

“You mean when the banns were read?”

Alyse gave him a withering look and stalked silently from the chapel.

“You did not wish to have the banns for our marriage read? Have you still no regard or trust for me then, Lady Alyse?” There was an undertone of pique in his voice.

They had reached the corridor outside the chapel, carried forward by the momentum of Alyse’s indignation. She turned to him, her mouth open, a stinging retort on her lips. Would he ever think only of himself? “’Tis not about—”