Page 20 of Betrothal

He did not want to hurt her feelings, but could not let her make a blunder that would cause more harm were it allowed to stand. He peered into a face that was losing some of its joy at his long silence. Desperate, he tried to read her mood and failed miserably.

“My lord?” Alyse finally spoke. “You would speak with me?”

“Aye, my lady.” Still he could find no words.

Her brows rose in alarm at his continued silence. “My…my lord? I must attend the princess presently. Is something amiss?”

Geoffrey closed his eyes briefly, looking for strength or inspiration, he cared not which. When he opened them, he saw the devastating effect that gesture had had on Alyse, for her face had paled and her lips quivered, though she remained otherwise composed.

“The king has taken it back then, my lord?” Her voice trembled, and he could see what effort it cost her to remain calm. Her body tensed, as if in anticipation of a blow.

Geoffrey blinked, utterly confused by her words. “Taken what back, my lady?”

“The invitation for me to ride with you in the procession.” The words were spoken calmly, with dignity and resignation.

Geoffrey laughed, and the tension drained out of him at her words. He gathered her hands into his and looked into her troubled face. “Nay, my love. The king would not renege on such a promise. You are still to be my lady as we ride to the tournament.” Her rigid body relaxed, and a smile played around her lips. “But that is what I came to ask you,” he continued, encouraged by her response. “Have you as yet chosen the knight and lady we will portray?”

Her smile turned downward as her brows furrowed. “Aye, my lord, I have chosen. But you were to give me until the evening to decide. Why such haste to know my choice now? Has the king asked for it?”

The lie would have been so easy, and she would never have known. But his honor would not condone it. He sighed and charged onward, determined to have her know his doubts. He only prayed the price for honesty did not run higher than he was willing to pay.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I wished to know your mind in case the choice might…not be the most advantageous to us. Lord Braeton mentioned that if you have chosen one of the more important…or colorful knights it might…draw undue…attention. To us.” Geoffrey ground to a foundering halt. He inwardly cursed as her face registered shock and anger and grew grim.

She pulled her hands from his and stepped back. “Lord Braeton doubted my ability to choose wisely in this matter? Or you did, my lord? Why not accept the credit that is so justly yours?”

Her bitter accusation jolted Geoffrey. “Nay, madam,” he retorted, stung by her undeserved censure, “’twas not I who raised the initial doubt. I, in fact, championed your wisdom to Thomas.”

“But you are here all the same, Sir Geoffrey.” She straightened her back and clasped her hands before her. “Obviously mistrusting me as much as your friend.”

Geoffrey shook his head. “He knows you but little, Alyse.”

“And you know me somewhat better, my lord, though indeed it is apparently not enough. You have asked time and again for me to trust you and I…I had begun to do so. Yet how am I to give unto you that which you withhold from me?”

“Alyse, ’tis not about trusting you. ’Twas your inexperience I feared would lead you into mishap.” A poor excuse, but the only one he could summon. Why had he listened to Thomas, God curse him?

“I may not have been at court very long, my lord, yet I have lived my entire life amongst noble households. I have been taught what is seemly and what ostentation, perhaps better than you.” She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, his heart sank, for they glittered with the mistrust of two days ago.

Alyse drew herself up in indignation, and he stood helpless before her, waiting for her scorn to engulf him. He deserved no less.

“If you had doubts as to the appropriateness of my choice, my lord, you should not have asked me to attend to this task. I had no mind to do it until you bade me, so there would have been no offense. But to ask and then doubt me because of the words of another does not auger well for our marriage.” She paused and squared her shoulders. “In light of your misgivings, Sir Geoffrey, I believe it will be best if you make this decision for us. I would not be the one to bring shame to you through some carelessness. I therefore relinquish my choice to you.”

If he could have sunk through the stones of the castle floor, he would have done so gratefully. He could feel the tremendous hurt he had caused her, even though she tried to keep it tightly wound within her. But her face! She did not scowl or frown, but the set of her mouth—lips drawn into a tight, straight line—spoke eloquently of the pain he had inflicted. He could scarce meet the wounded look in her eyes.

And there was no way to make it right. He knew nothing he could say now to reassure her of his trust or to induce her to tell him her choice. Silently, he cursed Thomas, though the fault lay not solely with him. His friend had only planted the seed; Geoffrey had reaped what he had sown.

“May I go now, my lord? The princess awaits me.”

The clipped words stabbed like a knife in his heart, and he knew all the patient, clever work he had done to win her trust these last days lay in ruins. He nodded, too miserable to speak, and watched as she turned on her small, slippered heel and stalked down the corridor. The door slammed with a hollow boom as she left the castle.

He clenched his fist and with a muttered curse strode away in the opposite direction, back to the king’s chamber.

* * * *

By the time Geoffrey returned to the reception room, Thomas had moved closer to the door in anticipation of the king’s customary afternoon ride. His entrance drew no one’s attention as the courtiers were milling about, waiting for the king to rise. He took the opportunity of the unguarded moment to seize his friend’s tunic and shove him out the chamber door.

“Geoffrey! Have you lost your senses? What are you doing?” Thomas grasped his arms, tried to break his hold, but to no avail.

Geoffrey bore him into the corridor and threw him unceremoniously into the far wall. Thomas whirled, and reached for his knife. Geoffrey darted forward, struck the blade from his hand and grabbed his clothing again.