Page 29 of Betrothal

Chapter 12

The knights met mid-field, the clash sounding like the deep crack of thunder, making Alyse wince. Geoffrey’s aim for the upper left part of his adversary’s chest was true—until Guy unexpectedly rose in the stirrups. He leaned forward, extending his reach, and landed his lance on Geoffrey’s torso first. The extra seconds it took for Geoffrey to reach his mark cost him, for by that time he had been thrust backward by the force of Guy’s blow. His own hit, while shattering the weapon, no longer had the power to unhorse his foe.

Alyse breathed again, taking in great gulps of air. She sent a heartfelt prayer of thanks heavenward that the ordeal had ended, though she regretted Geoffrey had not won the match. It would have raised his esteem with all the court. Nevertheless, her elation that he had received no major wounds this day took precedence.

She tried to calm her breathing and the tremors that shook her as though with an ague.

I must stop this unseemly display.

With an effort, she stilled her trembling hands, lacing them together in her lap.

People will think I have no confidence in Geoffrey’s skills.

Certainly not the case, but she couldn’t put her worry aside either.

I must put my fears behind me and comport myself as becomes a dutiful wife.

Alyse managed a small smile of satisfaction at that thought then turned as someone tugged at her shoulder. She looked up, startled to find Princess Joanna standing beside her.

She rose quickly. “You have need of me, Your Highness?”

The princess smiled cheerily at her. “I congratulate you, Lady Alyse, on Sir Geoffrey’s prowess at the joust.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. I am proud of his accomplishments, though sorely worried for his safety. I am happy now ’tis over.”

The princess continued to smile but shook her head. “’Tis not over yet, Alyse. You must come with me now. We will be awarding the prizes shortly.”

Alyse stared at the younger woman, dumbfounded. “Why me, Your Highness?”

Joanna smiled at her dismay. “Because the winners will be awarded their prizes each by his appointed lady. As Sir Guy had no lady, my father asked that I present the first prize. Sir Geoffrey is to receive the second from your hands and Lord Braeton the third from Lady Carlyle. We must go to the field to make ready.”

Stunned by the princess’s announcement, she jumped when the herald strode out to announce, “Majesties and gentle ladies, the last match of the day is a challenge match between Sir Geoffrey Longford and Thomas Knowlton, Earl of Braeton.”

A chill swept over her despite the heat. In her relief that Geoffrey had taken no hurt, she had forgotten the challenge. The ordeal continued. She turned to the princess. “Your Highness, I fear I must remain here as witness to this final match, for ’tis done for my honor.”

Princess Joanna raised an eyebrow. “In that case, of course we will stay, Lady Alyse. However, because you have a stake in this contest, I insist you move closer that you may better see the match.” Joanna started toward the first row of benches, moving a lady seated on her left.

Alyse sighed, but had no choice but to follow and sit beside the princess, at the very front, with no obstruction to her view.

Geoffrey and Lord Braeton walked toward the front of the berfrois, helmets under their arms. Side by side, they made their bows before the king and queen. Alyse could not take her eyes off her betrothed, assessing for wounds, drinking in the handsome face, wishing this contest over and done.

Then Geoffrey spoke, his eyes on the royal family. “King Edward, Queen Phillipa, Princesses Isabelle and Joanna, ladies of the court. I have challenged Lord Braeton to a joust, for there is a matter of honor to be satisfied. We have agreed that the loser will owe a forfeit to the winner, the forfeit already having been agreed upon by all parties. With your sanction, Majesties, we will proceed.”

King Edward looked amused, but nodded to the pair. “You have my leave for the match to proceed, nobles.”

They bowed again, and Geoffrey shot a look straight at Alyse, along with a brilliant, confident smile. Despite the rosy flush of heat in his face, he seemed amazingly fresh.

Pray God his confidence not be misplaced.

She glanced at Lord Braeton. His golden hair stuck up wildly and a trickle of sweat dripped down the side of his neck. His eyes, squinted against the brightness of the sun, seemed weary.

Pray God he has tired sufficiently to assure a speedy conclusion to this Godforsaken match.

When she returned her gaze to Geoffrey, an answering smile for him on her lips, his dark scowl froze her heart.

He spun on his heel, shouting for his squire to see to the lacing of his helm, and strode to his horse.

Why is he angry now?