Betrayal (Book 2: Time Enough to Love) (10 page)

She raised her head at that, tears still streaming down her face. “Why a girl? Most men want boys to carry on their family name.”

Thomas looked at her, and his eyes were kind. “Aye, my love, but although we know it would have been Geoffrey’s babe, the world would believe it mine. He would have been my heir, though he would not have been of my blood. So I have been praying for either no child or a girl, for I would have my heir be of my body.”

She had not thought of this before and turned anxious eyes to Thomas. But he merely continued to rub her back, and she relaxed into his shoulder again. “Is that another reason why you have not pressured me to lie with you since our marriage? You wished to wait and see if there would be a child?” She sighed. So many things she had not considered. “Otherwise we would not have known which of you was the father.”

Thomas swept a stray curl of her hair into place behind her ear. “That did occur to me earlier this week. But I went into this marriage knowing we would not be man and wife in truth for some time. So the issue should not have been raised, except,” that mischievous twinkle reappeared in his honey-colored eyes, “I began to find your charms more enticing than I supposed I would, so I pressed my suit with vigor. When I realized our separation was indeed necessary, I left your tempting body alone. Quite unwillingly, I must add. That, however,” he gave her his most wicked grin, “will change quite soon, my sweet. So be fairly warned!”

He swooped in for a bone-melting, outrageous kiss. Taking control at once, he pressed firm lips to hers. She offered no resistance. How could she when she had missed his kisses so much over the past week? He slipped his tongue into her mouth through lips she did not even know she had parted for him. Their tongues tangled in a frantic dance, her hunger for him sharpening with every movement. When he sucked her tongue into his mouth, tingling sparks shot into her breasts, belly, and lower, to the core of her womanhood.

Her soft moans seemed a signal to Thomas, who broke the kiss, smiling at her muted protest. “There will be more of that in good time, my love.” He lifted a finger to smooth away her frown. “Although ’twould be delightful to consummate our marriage here in this beautiful garden, out in the daylight with the soft blue sky overhead, we must wait. ’Tis not right for our first time together as man and wife. Nor is it seemly while your courses are on you. So we will bide our time a little longer and, when you are sure, I will be waiting for you. ’Tis my promise.”

Alyse gazed into the beautiful, patient, and aye, loving face and vowed to herself that she would soon decide whether to commit to her husband fully or not. Though she had been unaware of it, from the moment of her marriage, there had been three people in her bed: Thomas, herself, and Geoffrey. ’Twas time to decide who must leave and who must stay.

And God help her, she still had no idea who it would be.

Alyse stood at the rail of the flagship
Phillipa
, bound for Bordeaux in France, letting the fresh salt spray rush over her face. The early morning always found her thus, enjoying the speed that rivaled a gallop on horseback. She relished these few moments alone to collect her thoughts—so stirred up and confused after the whirlwind of the past weeks.

The gold ring on her finger caught the first rays of sun, as it always did. She touched it, gazed out at the horizon, and sighed. Sometimes it was still difficult to think of herself as Lady Braeton. Despite her strange wedding night, the unfortunate ride to
Sussex, and the serene days spent at Knowlton’s Keep, she continued to think of herself as Alyse de Courcy.

Since boarding the
Phillipa,
she had resumed sharing a bed with Thomas—their cramped cabin gave her little choice in the matter. Even with their renewed proximity, however, her husband had not recommenced his amorous wooing. Alyse shivered at the memory of his caresses during the early days of their marriage, unable to deny his power over her. Although, in her heart and mind, she loved Geoffrey, in truth, she had more than a little desire for her husband.

He desired her as well. The evidence was impossible to escape when they shared so small a bed. She smiled, recalling their first night on board. After an exhausting day, she had fallen asleep with her head resting on his broad chest, her arm draped over his hard, flat stomach. A loud curse awakened her in the middle of the night. His stiff shaft slid from her fingers as he leaped from the bed, grabbed his tunic, and ran from the chamber. She awoke the next morning to find him stretched out on the hard plank floor.

She sighed as she gazed out at the water, seeing Thomas’s handsome face before her instead of the waves. There was so much more to the man than his overwhelming good looks: his wit, his loyalty, his chivalry, his devotion to her. She could no longer deny that her fondness for him at the outset of their so-called courtship had changed to a more tender regard. Mayhap that was to be expected, living so intimately together. Or was her heart truly changing?

This confusion had brought her up on deck the past three mornings, trying to resolve the emotions that plagued her. Was she being disloyal to Geoffrey if she were to love Thomas? Or did she betray her husband with her continued regard for Geoffrey? Could these two feelings both reside within her?

She shook her head to clear it of questions. But as she raised it, unbidden, the memory of her sweet, brief time with Geoffrey assailed her. Of their betrothal, and the first time she had heard him call her na—

“Alyse.”

At the sound of that voice, her breath caught in her throat. Her heart pounded as though it would burst from her chest and take wing, and her insides melted toward the planks of the deck. She turned slowly, not knowing whether she would confront a phantom voice conjured from her mind or a living spirit from the past.

Her gaze fell on the tall figure, cloak flying in the morning breeze, eyes narrowed against the early sun. Eyes so sparkling blue they mirrored the waves that played beyond the railing.

The sight of him, after all this time, made her legs give way, as though the very bones had been set free from her flesh. Her knees buckled, and he leaped forward to catch her before she could slide to the deck. He crushed her to him in an embrace that almost ground her into his body. She marveled as his touch seared her like the sun, a ball of heat and light and white-hot passion that threatened to consume her.

Geoffrey tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. Once again, she stared into those beautiful sapphire eyes, darkened with desire. He took her mouth, greedy with the pent-up passion of their long denial. Starved for the touch of his lips, she eagerly pressed back, reveling in the feel of him. He cupped her head, guiding, slanting it to take the best advantage. She molded her body to his, half-sobbing as he retreated from her lips to drop kisses on the sensitive curve of her neck.

Chills ran the length of her body at his touch, wrenching a low moan from her. She boldly sought his mouth again—the mouth she had for so long kissed only in dreams. In her turn she ravished him, twining her hands behind his nape, reaching to run her tongue over his smiling lips. She thrust boldly, deeply into his mouth, with an abandon she had not known she possessed. As she clung to him, uncaring of the world’s eyes, his manhood rose urgently against her belly. And with it, a flicker of doubt penetrated her mind.

She released his neck and stumbled back, away from him, hand outstretched. He came forward as if to snatch her again to him, but she shook her head. Her breath came in gasps, panting to get enough air into her lungs, and she staggered toward the bow of the ship where she sat abruptly on the planking. Geoffrey ran to her, sat beside her, gathered her into his arms. She did not have the strength to push away from him, but shook her head in denial and placed a restraining hand on his arm. He covered her hand with his and gently rocked her until she gathered enough wits to speak.

“Geoffrey.” His name was all she could manage at first. Being held close in his arms, after weeks of only imagining such a thing, made her aware of every inch of her body that pressed against him. And of how hollow her existence had been until this moment. If she could die right now, in his arms, ’twould be a happy death.

Geoffrey gazed lovingly at her face, as if he wished to commit to memory every curve. “Oh, my love,” he began, burying his face in her neck. “I have missed you sorely, little maid.”

At those words, she began to cry, realizing afresh all they had lost and could never regain.

“Do not weep, Alyse. My love, I cannot bear your tears.”

He wiped them away tenderly as they fell. She clung to him, until the flow had abated. Looking again at his face, she drank in the beloved features as a thirsty man gulps the clear, cool water of an oasis. She found the changes grief had etched in that proud visage—the deepened frown lines, the careworn look about the mouth, the small creases at the eyes where previously there had been none. With a sigh she held him close, for the first time in weeks totally at peace with herself.

* * * *

Geoffrey laid his cheek on top of her hair and smelled the intoxicating scent of her, glorying in this reunion. He had known they were on the same ship, but Thomas had not sought him out. Neither did he know how to approach his friend now that he was Alyse’s husband. He thought it wise to bide his time, but never found a moment when Alyse was alone, until he chanced to see her yesterday morning at the bow. He would have spoken then, but there were many people about and he would speak privately with her for their first meeting since the June visit he had paid to her chamber.

This morning he had lain in wait early, hidden inside the gangway, and when she walked into the soft light, he had stood agog at the sight of her standing at the rail. An eternity passed before he could even summon breath to call her name, so great was his wonder at actually seeing her close again. A thousand thoughts filled his head: how they could meet, how they could be together, ideas that had tormented him since the day of his father’s treachery. But in this moment, it was enough merely to hold her close, revel in the sensation of her body next to his, her head cradled against his chest.

Let the world stop this instant. Let them be frozen in time just as they were here and now for all time. ’Twould be enough for him.

But the ship moved on, the sun rose higher above the horizon, and the day’s business began in earnest aboard the
Phillipa
. As mates began to scurry about, the possibility that other courtiers would emerge from below deck increased. Geoffrey lifted Alyse in his arms and rose to stand against the rail, the wind in his face. Intimately aware of her, yet unsure now how to proceed, he fixed his gaze determinedly on the horizon, unable to frame the question he had to ask.

At last, Geoffrey leaned his head near her ear and whispered, “Is there to be a child, my love?”

Slowly, she shook her head.

“Ah.” That one movement dashed all his hopes for a legacy to their love.

A single tear trickled down her cheek, caught on the salty breeze, and was flung back onto his face. He eased his arms around her, an embrace to comfort them both.

After a long moment, Alyse turned in his arms, took his hands, and raised her gaze to his. “My love, we cannot meet thus again.”

Geoffrey glanced around, taking in the open deck of the ship with its attendant deckhands and a sprinkling of courtiers now walking about in the morning light. He smiled at her caution, and shrugged carelessly. “Why not, dear Alyse? ’Twould seem no one marks our presence here. What harm in meeting as two friends who would pass the time above deck in good weather?”

“
Will
you meet me as friend only? If so, aye, we can meet anywhere, alone or with Thomas and Lady Mary.” She shook her head and dropped his hands. “I doubt we will so comport ourselves. Should we meet in public or in secret, I fear what may come of it.”

Panicked, he reached out to her, but she stepped back. “Nay. This is the very thing I fear, for I near forgot myself upon seeing you.” Her eyes were unhappy but firm. “I love you as I ever have and wish nothing more than to be with you—”

“And I with you.” He succeeded in capturing her hand again. “My life is nothing when I am parted from you, Alyse. These last weeks have been a torture the like of which I would not wish on my most fervent enemy, saving the one.”

She lifted her puzzled gaze to him.

“My father. There is no torment man could devise I would not heap on him for his treachery to us. In the depths of my despair, I have indeed imagined him in the ninth circle of Dante’s hell.”

She eyed him gravely but nodded in agreement. “The Caina, reserved for those who betray their kindred.”

“Aye, up to his blasted neck in ice. That image has given me cold comfort, but any comfort in recent weeks has been welcome.” He looked back at her, and smiled a slow, warm smile of invitation as he kissed her palm. “But all will be well. We will find a way for our love to bloom again.”

She pulled her hand free and glowered at him indignantly. “How so, sir? Would you have us condemned to the second circle of hell, with those who commit adultery? Is this what you think of me?”

Geoffrey groped hopelessly for words that would convince her to be his once more. “Alyse, I thought from the kiss we shared that you felt as I do. I did not mean to suggest—”

“It did not need suggesting. We all but abandoned ourselves to that act, and I tell you now, I cannot do this. I am married to Thomas, and I will not dishonor him. He has been my truest companion since you left me, the most gentle and patient man I have known. I will not hurt him with such a betrayal.”

Geoffrey narrowed his eyes, cut to the quick by her declaration. “’Twas Thomas who told me you once held me in such esteem.”

“Aye, that I did, and more besides.” She nodded and clasped her arms around her waist. “You were all in the world that was good to me, Geoffrey. But that was a lifetime ago. All has now changed. You are married to another, as am I. Would you betray Mary thus? I assure you, I will not betray my husband—even with you—for the wide world.”

The blow to his heart almost dropped him to the ground. She loved him, not Thomas. He had counted on her love to make her want to rekindle the flames of their passion. Hurt urged him to wound her, as she had done him. “The way I hear it, you are not yet his wife.”

She blushed until her cheeks rivaled the sun, but she held his gaze and stared him down. “You hear not true, sir. There are many who witnessed our wedding night who will tell you different.”

The blood drained from his face at the thought of another man possessing her.

Mine.

He grabbed her arms and pulled her roughly toward him. “You lie, madam,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “You have never lain with Thomas.” He had made himself believe the rumors to save his sanity. If she spoke the truth, ’twould kill him. “Tell me!”

“Geoffrey!” She struggled to wrest herself from his hands then abruptly gave up the fight and stood, head down, unresisting. “No,” she admitted, blushing furiously. “I have not lain with him.” Then she flung her head up, staring at him with accusing eyes. “I have held myself from my husband, because I would remain true to you. It was not right, but I could not bring myself to do it. But neither will I betray him by lying with you. No matter how much I wish it could be so.”

Geoffrey made no answer but released her to stare in stony silence.
Christ help me, is there no way to put this right?

Alyse stared back. “I am his wife, in sight of God and in sight of man, Geoffrey. And though I love you, with every inch of my body and soul, I will not break my vows.”

A muscle in his face twitched as he willed the words from his mouth. “Then ’tis truly the end for us?”

“Nay, Geoffrey.” Alyse shook her head sadly. “’Twas the end for us when you married Mary. Now ’tis simply our farewell.” Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she turned from him. She leaned against the railing, her face toward the waves.

Geoffrey stepped behind her so quietly she started when he bent to whisper close in her ear. “’Twill not be over, Alyse, until we are both dead and in the tomb.”