Jenna Jaxon - Time Enough to Love 03 (15 page)

He stared at her so long without speaking that she began to tremble. What manner would his disappointment take?

“’Twas always Thomas you loved, was it not, Lady Braeton?”

She inhaled sharply.
Lady Braeton.
He would deny their very marriage in his rage?

“Thomas warned me you were in love with him the night our betrothal was announced. I saw it in your face, although I chose not to believe it after we met. I dared to think I had managed to capture your heart.” The bitterness in his voice was almost more than she could bear. “More fool I to think I could compete with the many charms of Thomas Knowlton.”

Icy fingers wrapped around her heart. “Geoffrey, that is not true! I have loved you almost from the moment of our first meeting.” He must believe her, for ’twas the truth. But she was too tired to think, too tired to reason with him.

Geoffrey’s
harsh chuckle made her cringe. “I suppose it was quite a pleasant surprise to find me wed to another
and
Thomas asking to marry you at my request. I have done you great service since June, have I not, my lady?”

“No.” Would this nightmare never end? “My life has been naught but misery since then.”
Alyse longed to scream at him, to pound his chest until she could beat sense into him. But his scornful words thrust too deep into her heart and exhaustion sapped her will. Miserable, she turned away from Geoffrey and vowed she would stay as far from him as possible. Perhaps she would find solace in sleep. She muffled her sobs, her last remaining strength draining into the cold ground.

* * * *

At first light, Geoffrey rose from the pallet, completely exhausted, having not even dozed during the long night. He had tossed and turned, remembering every moment, every exchange between him and Alyse in hopes of convincing himself of her love. He wanted to believe she loved him above all others. Her manner toward him, the way she looked at him, the passion and fierceness when they came together in bed persuaded him she spoke the truth. But the ghost of Thomas Knowlton reared its head too, planting doubts in his mind. He saddled the horses and paused as he tied Falcon behind Mirabelle. She had even wanted to keep Thomas’s horse. Geoffrey shook his head. So of course she would also want to keep….

That Alyse might carry Thomas’s child twisted like a knife in his belly. Images of them together, pictures he had schooled himself to ignore, flooded his mind: Thomas laughing with her, riding with her, Thomas’s hands sliding slowly down Alyse’s body, his lips kissing her mouth, her breasts. Thomas on top of her, inside her.
He could not bear those thoughts, so he grabbed Saracen and busied himself with bridling the horse.

When
the moment passed, he shot a glance over to the pallet, but Alyse had not yet awakened. His rational mind pled that none of this was her fault, but ’twas cold comfort. He could no more believe this child his now than he could convince himself Alyse had only ever truly loved him. If she had not loved Thomas, why would she hope for his child? She should be on her knees praying it was Geoffrey’s babe in her belly.

He glanced again at the still form on the pallet.
That is not her nature. She would ever think of another before herself, especially one she had vowed to love or protect. Even as Thomas lay dying, out of duty she had devised a plan to save the princess and Mary and me. So out of duty, she will hope for Thomas’s child.
He shook his head.
I wish I could believe that the only reason.

Abruptly, he strode over to the sleeping form of his wife. He reached down to shake
her. “Wake up, Alyse.”

No response.

Dread surged through him as he knelt down and grasped her shoulder. “Alyse. Alyse!” Fear sharp in his voice, he shook her roughly, trying to rouse her.

Dazedly, she finally looked up at him, a pained expression on her face
that was swiftly replaced by alarm. She wrenched herself from Geoffrey’s hands, struggled into the grass, and lay there retching.

“God’s death.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. The sight of her ill again was more than he could bear. No matter who she loved, he loved her and would not see her in pain.

She lay exhausted on the grass, panting. He knelt beside her and gathered her into the crook of his arm, as he would a babe. He wiped her mouth with a soft golden leaf then pressed a kiss to her temple. “Why are you so stubborn, little one?” He tried to make his voice as soothing as possible, though he would have liked to shake her for not telling him sooner.

She turned her head and warm tears wet his chest.

“Had you told me of your condition earlier, we could have traveled at an easier pace. Now you are worn out and making yourself more ill than is necessary.” She should have trusted him. Had she thought he might harm her or the babe? He stroked her hair, softly as if she were a bird, and continued in his reassuring tone. “We will reach Laval before noon. I will find us lodging, and we will remain there until you are rested and ready for travel. For now, you will ride before me on Saracen, lest you fall off and injure yourself or the babe.”

She winced, but he tightened his arms around her, holding her close to him. “We will have time to talk of this as you recover in
the town.” He laid her on the pallet and went about the business of breaking camp. After ten nights on the road, the motions had become routine. Quench the fire, fetch the horses, lower their food bag from the tree where it hung. The familiar movements gave him time to reflect, to plan.

First we must get to a warm, safe place where she can rest and regain her strength.

People in the village they had passed through yesterday morning had assured him Laval remained an honest town, despite the ravages of the pestilence.

As he folded the blankets, memories of the laughter, the companionship, the passion they had shared on them drove him to curse Thomas anew. What was lie and what was truth? Did she love him or no? Did she pine for Thomas when she lay in his arms? He gripped the thick cloth until his fingers ached. What troubled him almost as much was the uncertainty. He might never know the truth.

After stowing the remaining items in the saddlebags, he returned to Alyse, seated on the ground near the cold fire. “Can you stand?”

She nodded and struggled to rise.

Not worth the candle
.

Instead, he scooped her into his arms, carried her to the horse, and hoisted her up onto the saddle.

Alyse sat there mute, eyes dulled, while he mounted behind her. Leading the other two horses, they set off down the road. He kept his arm wrapped securely around her waist lest she topple off the horse, but he was careful to hold himself from her, for there was much still to settle between them. A short time later, he noticed her bowed head and soft tears as they rode on in the deepening silence. Christ, what a coil this had become.

* * * *

They reached the muddy little town of Laval just past noon. Alyse welcomed the busy sounds of street hawkers, the ring of a blacksmith’s hammer, the dull thud of a woman beating a carpet. The silence between her and Geoffrey had not been broken since they started. How swiftly her fortunes ever changed. One word had brought her again to the edge of despair.

Geoffrey quickly engaged a room above a cloth merchant and, to her chagrin, carried her into the
shop, past curious onlookers, and up to their room. There he placed her on the bed and forbade her to rise. Once again the efficient commander, he arranged for food and drink to be brought to them, saw to the care of the horses, and retrieved their belongings. When he returned to their room, he undressed her then dressed her for bed in the one white shift she had packed. The whole time, however, he had acted aloof, as though she were a stranger he was forced to attend. He spoke not at all, and when he had tucked her into the bed, he left with no explanation.

Dazed from
his estranged demeanor as much as from fatigue, Alyse sank into the soft bed, closed her eyes, and knew nothing. She woke to a light close to her face and raised a hand to shield her eyes. Was it night already? A glance at the window told her the sun had indeed vanished. Geoffrey stood over her, holding a candle. A small table had been placed beside the bed, with several dishes on a tray. He put the candle down and sat on the bed.

“You have rested well, my lady. Are you now ready to take some nourishment?” His tone was even, his smile polite. The first words he had spoken to her since morning.

“Yes, my love. I think I am truly hungry for a change.” She returned the smile, but he had busied himself with the food.

He placed a firm arm around her shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position. She found herself cradled against his strong chest and
leaned against him. Mayhap ’twould all come right after all. She craved this closeness after he had held himself aloof so long. That separation had devastated her. She needed him with her always.

He reached for a bowl of broth then carefully fed her a single spoonful.
“How does that taste, Alyse? Does it sit well enough?”

“Aye, Geoffrey.” The rich, salty taste filled her mouth. The warmth travelled all the way down to her very empty stomach. And
, praise God, it stayed down. She looked at him expectantly. “May I have some more?”

With great diligence, Geoffrey fed her sips of the broth. He dipped some new bread into it and gave that to her as well. It reminded her of his care of her during her illness. She hoped he remembered that time as well.

Pray God this concern with her welfare meant he had turned from his anger. He spoke but little, and when she indicated that she had finished, he gently laid her on the pillows and removed the tray. He refused, however, to meet her eyes.

After placing the tray outside the door, he stoked the fire. Then, to Alyse’s astonishment, he lay down on the hearth and rolled up in his cloak.

The budding strength she had gained from the broth vanished, replaced by the despair she had fought all day. She rose up on her elbow to stare at him. “Geoffrey? Do you mean to spend the night upon the floor?”

He did not move, but sighed into the darkness. “We will talk in the morning, Alyse. Once you have recovered more of your strength.”

She fell back upon the pillows, tears starting. Stifling her sobs created a horrible pain in her chest, but ’twas better than letting him hear her grief. An she could not win back Geoffrey’s love, living would become a nightmare of pain from which she could not escape save through death. Pray God, ’twould not come to that.

Chapter 16

Next morning, her rest broken throughout the night by disturbing dreams she could not quite recall, Alyse awoke and stretched then remembered to lie still. Any sudden movement upon awakening made her ill. She could not even raise her head to see if Geoffrey still lay before the hearth without risking the queasiness. Frustrated, but not wishing to bring on the sickness, Alyse stayed flat on her back, staring at the raftered ceiling and consulting the state of her stomach. Finally, she chanced to turn on her side and propped herself up on her elbow. Apparently, the nausea had been thwarted; however, Geoffrey was not in the room. She lay back on the bed, his distant manner last night weighing heavy on her mind. His jealousy she knew well; ’twould make it more difficult to convince him of her love.

As she turned the events of yesterday around and around in her mind, the door opened and Geoffrey strode in
, carrying a tray. She sat up in the bed, only to find herself the recipient of a menacing stare.

“Who told you to rise from your bed, my lady?” His tone was gruff, with none of his usual teasing concern.

“I was not leaving the bed, my…lord.” She refrained from the affectionate words she would have used. He would likely just rebuke her for it. “I was simply trying to see who was entering the chamber.”

“Well
, you have seen who it is, so kindly return to the mattress. I intend for your breakfast to remain in your stomach this morning.” He continued his brusque manner, the mask of aloofness still in place.

Alyse sighed loudly, but eased back onto the bed.
’Twould be folly to provoke him. He put the tray on the table and helped her into a sitting position. The nausea did not reappear, and she was able to eat a hearty breakfast. However, the joy she might have taken from the snug walls and warm fire was lost due to Geoffrey’s remote manner.

He sat across the room from her, watching as she ate. How long would he punish her thus? And for what? For hoping that his best friend might yet have left a child in the world?

As he rose and took away the remnants of breakfast, Alyse closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. He had said they would talk today, and by God she would let him know her mind about the babe, him, and their circumstances. In spite of his current mood, she would show him she still had spirit enough to match him.

When she opened her eyes again
, he stood at the hearth, staring into the fire. Gathering her courage for this first confrontation, Alyse quietly moved back the covers and sat up in bed. She managed to slip her legs over the side before Geoffrey’s huge frame appeared before her.

“What are doing, madam?” His voice maintained a
distant edge, with more than a hint of displeasure.

“I am going to use the chamberpot, sir. Unless you are willing to spend your morning changing soiled bed linen.” She did not look at him
, and her voice mimicked his disagreeable tone. He may have withdrawn his affection, but he would respect her if she showed him her strength.

Not waiting for his reply
, she continued to slide off the bed. He shot his arm out to steady her as her feet touched the floor, and she glared up at him. “I did not ask for your assistance, Sir Geoffrey.”

“You did not need to ask. I am ever ready to aid a lady in distress.”

“My only distress at present is in finding the chamberpot. Can you assist with that, my lord?” She would win this skirmish and go into their main conversation having shown him her mettle.

“This way, my lady.” He
accompanied her behind a screen, to a small close-stool with a carved wooden seat. “Your convenience, my lady.”

She raised her head and gave him a small nod. “My thanks, my lord. You may leave now.”

His brows drew down and his lips puckered, sending a thrill of victory through her. “Leave, my lady? In your weakened condition, you will obviously need me to assist you.”

“It may be obvious to you
, but not to me, my lord.” She clipped her words, pronouncing each one exactly lest he misunderstand. “I am quite capable of tending to my personal needs as the last weeks on the road have proved. And I will brook no more of this argument.” She waved him away. “I asked you to leave, sir.”

Geoffrey swore softly under his breath, but headed for the door. He paused in the doorway. “I will be just outside, my lady, an you have need of me.”

The door closed, leaving Alyse alone behind the screen. Best be quick so she could prepare for the coming fray.

* * * *

Geoffrey closed the door firmly then pressed his ear to the smooth wooden panel, fearing the soft thud of a body hitting the floor. Instead, the unmistakable sounds of another sort reached his ear, and he pushed himself away from the door. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the far wall. And grinned. She must be feeling better. That stubborn exchange had lifted his spirits, for the fighting Alyse had emerged once more. A monumental improvement from the exhausted, frightened woman of yesterday. The return of this spirited Alyse, however, would make this morning’s confrontation even more difficult.

He cocked his head. No sound had come from the chamber for several minutes. He had expected her to call to him to return when she had finished. Had she swooned after relieving herself? Best take no chances. Geoffrey thrust open the door, his gaze going to the screen where he had left her. No sign of disturbance. He
turned to the bed, but that too was empty. He continued his scrutiny of the room and found her sitting quietly in a chair before the fire, staring serenely into the flames.

“By God, madam! What are you doing there?” He strode to the chair and stood towering over her.

She twisted her neck upward to look at him then calmly returned her gaze to the fire. “I am contemplating life before this good fire, Sir Geoffrey. Will you join me?” She indicated the chair on the other side of the fireplace.

Geoffrey scowled. Aye, the feisty Alyse had returned. Still, he
refused to tolerate such nonsense where her health was concerned. “That I will not. And you are going to return to bed, my lady.” He reached down to pluck her from the chair. Instead, his head rocked back with a stinging slap. He withdrew a step, his skin tingling, and stared into angry, dark blue pools under frowning black brows.

“Touch me again without my permission, Sir Geoffrey
, and you will find a woman of my experience can defend herself with more than a blow to the cheek.” She pointed again to the waiting chair. “Now sit down, my lord. I have a mind to begin the conversation you promised last night.”

Mayhap a different
strategy would regain him the upper hand. He knelt beside her chair, being careful not to lean too close, and softened his voice. “Alyse, you need to rest in the bed. You are far from well and must think of the babe. You do not want to lose it, do you?”

“Nay, my lord,” she answered sweetly, with cold eyes. “But I am sure
’twould be your desire.”

He shot to his feet. “You wrong me, madam.” She might as well have slapped him again. He would not brook such an accusation. “Never would I wish you or your child ill.”

“But it would make things so very much easier, would it not, Sir Geoffrey?” she continued in that deceptively sweet voice.

Where had that evil tone come from? He wished never to hear it from her lips again.

“Were I to lose this child there would be no question about the father of the next. If there were a next.”

God’s death
. “Do you
dare
impugn my ability to father a child, madam? Are you then so certain this child is of Thomas’s seed and not mine?” He stalked back and forth before the fireplace, unable to stand still.

“I impugn nothing, my lord.”

He shot her a look and found her smiling.
Wench
.

“Six months from now we will see in the flesh if
’twas your seed, or Thomas’s.
If
the child happens to favor one of you and not me.” She straightened in her chair, leaning her head back against the uppermost slat. “When I questioned if there would be another child, I wondered not of your ability, but of your desire.” She gestured again to the chair. “Please sit down, my lord. ’Twas you, remember, who promised this talk. I would have you comfortable, for I fear ’twill be a lengthy one.”

Oh, he need not have worried she would languish with the strain of carrying the child. More like a horse with the bit in its teeth. Geoffrey took a deep breath, crossed his arms
, and settled into the offered chair. Damnation. Why had he promised to talk with her about this? He would rather face a horde of charging Turks.

That he loved her still was a certainty. The question of the child’s sire and her feelings for Thomas, however, had him on the defensive. His only recourse, then, was to fall back on the
emotionless front he had always assumed with women before he had met Alyse. That dispassionate nature had come back easily when he had been married to Mary. It hurt him keenly to hold Alyse from him, yet ’twas necessary until he could come to terms with Thomas and the child.

“So, if I understand your words and actions of the past two days correctly, you believe I have only ever loved our friend, Thomas Knowlton, Lord Braeton.
That I spoke falsely when I said I loved you, and that is why I hope and pray this child is his and not yours.”

His heart
tumbled to the pit of his stomach. ’Twas bad enough to think such things; to speak them aloud gave them the ring of truth. He opened his mouth, not sure what might come out, but she held up a hand to halt him.

“Under this belief
, you now refuse to honor our marriage vows and instead treat me as the widow of Lord Braeton, who you will dutifully accompany to her father’s home and leave there to bear this child. Is this a fair recounting of our present circumstances? You may correct me if I am in error.” Alyse fixed her gaze on him, daring him to either refute or affirm her charge.

Oh, Christ, but he was doomed. He would lose Alyse no matter what. If he affirmed her words, he would brand himself a jealous fool who believed her capable of
lying most egregiously. If he denied her words… But he could not deny them. For they were the words he had spoken, the actions he had taken ever since he learned of the child she carried.

He had to try.

“Alyse, I only want what is best for you and the child.”

“You may call me Lady Braeton, Sir Geoffrey
, as you attest that is who I am.”

Geoffrey swore. “Lady Braeton…” He could not call her that, nor even think of her so. She was Alyse. His Alyse. He looked at her across the hearth, ready to tell her this was nonsense, to stop playing at words with him and go to bed and rest. The words, however, died on his lips.
The beautiful face he loved to look upon had frozen into harsh lines. No warmth in her usually welcoming eyes. Instead they bored into him, as if seeking to read his soul. She was determined that he make the choice. He must declare her words true or false.

He would go mad. No military campaign he had ever fought had forced him into such a
heart-wrenching decision.

Battlefield.
Tactics
.
What action can I use to my advantage here?
Offense.

He withdrew his gaze from the fire, whence he had sought council, and met Alyse’s searing stare. His heart beat uncomfortably fast, yet he ventured a small smile. “Aye, Lady Braeton, I affirm that your words do describe my thoughts these past days.” Now it was his turn to stay her response as he lifted a hand to stop her words. “You have not, however, addressed the concerns I have voiced regarding your feelings toward me and Thomas. I would ask, what
are
your feelings? Am I indeed correct in my judgment of your affections?”

The depth of the fury that
marred her face stunned him, as if a lance had landed squarely in his chest. Her brows deepened into a sharp V, her nostrils flared, her eyes darkened to midnight sapphire and seemed ready to pop out of her head. She clutched the arms of the chair so tightly he feared the wood would snap. Had she snakes for hair she would be the image of Medusa from Greek mythology. Under the stare she was giving him, he might indeed turn to stone.

“How
dare
you even ask such a question of me, Geoffrey Longford? Simpleton!” she hissed.

He shrank back in the chair, the Gorgon imagery filling his mind.

“How can you question my love and devotion to you? I, who gave you my heart and my virtue ere we were wed.” Her face crumpled, the harsh lines melting into soft sadness. Her pain-filled eyes met his straight on. “Do you not understand, my lord, that had I not done so I would never have been forced to marry Thomas? You were so concerned there might have been a child conceived that night that you asked your best friend to cover your sins by marrying me. And he did it.” She shook her head and shrugged. “I can scarce believe it still, that you would ask, and that he would comply.”