Page 33 of Betrothal

He shifted his weight and prayed for this agonizing ordeal to be over.

* * * *

Alyse squirmed in her seat. Not long ago she would have been awestruck to find Lord Braeton on his knees to her. Now his obeisance discomfited her. She glanced at Geoffrey’s scowling face then hastily back to the knight at her feet. “Lord Braeton. You need not do this. I accept your apology.”

His head remained bowed. “My Lady Alyse,” he began in velvety soft tones, “there is nothing to accept, for I have not yet given it to you.” He lifted his head slightly, staring piercingly into her eyes. “Will you hear it, lady?”

His face transfixed Alyse. The swollen, reddened flesh under both eyes and across his forehead looked ugly and painful. But the wounds that pocked his cheeks were indeed minor and would not even leave scars. She could not help but recall, however, his face peppered with splinters, gore oozing down his cheeks as though he cried tears of blood. The thought that he could as easily have been blinded or killed made her shudder. So very much like—

He took her hand, startling her out of her reverie, and spoke too softly for any ears but hers. “Lady Alyse, Geoffrey is right. My wounds may have appeared worse, but are truly of no concern. I beg you, therefore, hear me on this matter.”

Alyse straightened her shoulders and nodded. “I will hear you, Lord Braeton.” She fought to keep her voice composed and tried to blink back the tears she would not have fall. He had no idea how the sight of his face on the field had affected her, reminded her of Phillip. But he was right. She had to hear him.

He lifted his carefully penitent face, opened his mouth to speak then paused. His eyes widened, as some revelation struck him, and his mask of composure crumbled, leaving in its wake a man full of true repentance.

“Lady Alyse de Courcy, you see before you a man with a contrite heart who would ask your gracious mercy. In my infinite folly, I have spoken words against your gentle character that were false and slanderous and caused you much pain. These words were spoken without true understanding of your intellect or your kind, generous nature and were therefore falsely judgmental.” Thomas peered into her eyes beseechingly. “I sincerely regret the grievous harm I have done you, lady. Had I the power to recall those words, they would have never been spoken but I regret that is not within the realm of God’s mercy. I can only offer what little I have, and therefore lay my hand and my heart before you. If it is within your kind nature to forgive such a wretch, I swear my hand to your service and my heart to your purpose, whate’er it may be, from this day forward.”

Stunned and touched by the sincere words, Alyse sat silent for several moments. There had been none of the glib courtier in that apology. His words had come not from his head but from his heart. If her heart did not already belong to Geoffrey, this speech would have won it. But that moment had passed. Instead, she looked forward to a life with both these men—one her dearest love, the other a dear friend.

Disregarding Geoffrey’s presence, Alyse gently cupped Thomas’s face and traced a gentle thumb across the reddened skin of his cheek. “My Lord Braeton, you honor me greatly with your sincere words of atonement. I do forgive your trespass and accept your service of hand and heart. In return, however, I ask of you two boons.” She withdrew her hand but continued to stare frankly into his eyes.

“Boons, my lady? But name them and they are yours.” He gave her his lazy courtier’s smile, putting the proper distance back into their relationship.

“As you and my betrothed are good friends, and we will likely be much in each other’s company…if you would grant the privilege, my lord, I would ask to call you by your given name.” She had often called him so in her heart; to do so in actuality seemed truly intimate, though oddly less satisfying than it might once have been.

He smiled and took her hands. “You need not even ask, my lady. If you accept my service, my name is yours to command. And the other?”

Here she glanced toward Geoffrey, who had watched the entire interlude, his countenance stoic in its impatience, and smiled mischievously. “As my first dance tonight has been ordained by the result of the joust, I would ask that you partner me for the second, Lord Brae…Thomas.”

The gleeful imp inside her rejoiced to think she could both annoy Geoffrey and finally dance with Thomas in one smooth stroke. She would repay his earlier churlishness. Never had he acted or spoken to her thus. What offense did he find with her compassion for his best friend? Did he think any public show of emotion unseemly? He knew not how difficult it had been for her to hide her fear all day. Nor how vividly the tournament had dredged up the horrifying memories of Merwyck. So let him cool his heels and watch her dance with Thomas. ’Twould be good for him to be set down a mark.

Thomas chuckled and kissed her hands. “There is more boon to me than you in that request, my lady, for I will find no greater pleasure tonight than to dance with you.” He grinned wickedly at her, for all the world as though he understood her ploy. “But have you no qualm that your betrothed may seek revenge upon me anew?”

“I am Alyse now, Thomas,” she reminded him. “As I said, we will be too much in company together to be so formal.” She smiled as she rose, bringing him to his feet. “As for my lord,” she flicked a glance toward Geoffrey, “an he be too full of choler, we will ask Master Gaddesden to bleed him ere he can challenge you again. Thereby may his surly mood be improved.”

“He certainly has drawn your disfavor today, Alyse.” He kissed her hands once more, bringing Geoffrey swiftly to her side. “I pray you may never wish to use me so ill.”

“Your hands will be chapped from an overabundance of such ministrations, my lady.” Geoffrey slipped them from Thomas’s grasp and firmly tucked one into his elbow. He glared at Thomas and started to lead her from the courtyard, when a blast of fanfare echoed from the Great Hall.

“The assembly!” Alyse gasped.

She plucked her arm from Geoffrey’s and sped out of the courtyard, praying under her breath, Sweet Jesu, let me not have delayed the king’s festivities!

* * * *

The two men stared after her then began to move toward the Hall.

“A very pretty speech, Thomas. You must have practiced it well. It had the ring of truth to it.” Geoffrey could not restrain the derision in his voice, though his friend apparently chose to ignore it.

“’Twas the truth, Geoffrey. Though not the one I practiced. Oh, I had a piece prepared, of course, with due courtly language, void of emotion. But her words and her demeanor chastened me. I found I could not render a glib confession of guilt that would mean nothing. I did misjudge her.” He stopped, as if these words came harder than the ones he had spoken to Alyse. “I had thought her merely another of the silly young women who flit about the court. Shallow, vain, uncaring past their own concerns.” He shook his head and stopped at the threshold to the Great Hall. “That was not the woman you had spoken of, nor the one who tried to defend me to you. I suddenly understood Alyse to be a woman worthy of respect and admiration. She deserved an honest apology for words I now know were an utter slander of her character.”

Geoffrey stood stoically, assessing this unforeseen turn of events. He had counted on Thomas’s continued disdain of Alyse to keep him at arm’s length. Now, his appreciation for her shone in every word. How long before her attraction to him, and his newfound admiration for her, overcame their scruples and made him a cuckold?

“I must beg your pardon as well, Geoffrey.”

The words jolted him out of his musings. They sent a shiver of foreboding throughout him. “For what transgression?” He did not really want to know.

“My words caused a rift between you that hurt you both. I am heartily sorry I compelled you to disbelieve what you knew to be true about Alyse.”