Betrothal (Time Enough To Love) (15 page)

Now she in turn laughed at the sheepish look on Geoffrey’s face. He rallied, however, to reply, “Lady Alyse asked for instruction.” He paused mischievously.

The wretch! Her face assuredly now approached the hue of the blazing noonday sun.

Thomas’s lazy smile broadened. “What kind of instruction, my lady? Perhaps I may assist you in acquiring the knowledge you seek.”

Geoffrey shook his head and said with mock sorrow, “’Tis hardly a topic for your expertise. My lady wishes for instruction in how to best use her virtues to please me after we are wed. I laughed but at the reply I would make to her.”

Thomas smirked. “And that reply, Geoffrey?”

To her dismay, he leaned toward his friend and whispered something that sent the man into a hearty fit of laughter. Why would he betray her confidence by including Thomas in their private jest? She stared at the back of his head, willing him to confront her once more. When he finally turned to her, she had set her features in stern lines, to leave him in no doubt of her displeasure.

Her look must have captured his attention indeed, for he searched her face as if concerned by what he saw. “My lady? You were saying?”

Alyse arched her eyebrows at him and sat straighter on the bench. “I was
not
saying, my lord. I still await your reply to my question.”

He took her hand once more, running his thumb over her fingers, as if soothing her ruffled feathers. As he leaned down to nuzzle her ear, he whispered seductively, “I will be sure to see to it that the need for such an answer never arises.”

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckle of each finger with a soft, sensual caress. She closed her eyes, her body aflame once more.

Thank God whatever imp caused his ill mood has vanished.

She stole a glance across the Great Hall to find Guy de Valere’s eyes trained on them—a narrowed, dark gaze atop the thin snarl of his lips. The man had always been arrogant and more than a little peremptory—one reason she had not been disappointed that his suit had failed. Now, if he meant to make trouble between her and Geoffrey, he would find himself on the wrong end of her temper.

A sudden prickle on her neck, pressure on her fingers, and she pulled her attention back to find Geoffrey staring with menace first at her then across the Hall to Guy.

In a voice deepened by emotion, he whispered, “My lady, let us seek a breath of cooler air outside.”

Apprehension surged through her at his tone, but Alyse nodded. He took her arm and led her out of the Great Hall and into their courtyard, still engulfed by roses. When they stood in the bower, beside the bench, he released her
, and she raised her gaze to his face, saddened by the suspicion she found there.

“I would have our conversation private, lady. ’Twill be brief, but I would speak plainly.”

She waited, trying to remain composed, to restrain the tears summoned by the understanding that she had displeased him once more. Although how was almost as big a mystery as Geoffrey himself. The man she had come to care for deeply remained an enigma—one moment the ardent lover, the next a fearsome warrior.

As if two men live in one body
.

“We are to wed in little more than a week, Alyse. I must have your oath that you will cleave only unto me. I am your betrothed. I will be your husband. Not Lord Braeton. Not Sir Guy. Unfortunately, I cannot change what has been decreed.” He stood, clenching his fists, brows furrowed.

He did not want this marriage after all. Grief welled in her chest, and she feared the tears would begin to flow. For all his talk of coming to know her, he cared nothing for her beyond the letter of the contract.

“And would you change the decree, Sir Geoffrey, an it were in your power?” She could scarcely drag the words out, low and soft, without sobbing.

“The real question, my lady, is would you?” He squared his jaw then clenched it.

“Do you not know my mind, my lord? After the agony of today’s joust, I thought you would see where my true affection lies.” She blinked, willing the tears to recede.

“With Valere? Or with Thomas? He denies you have an affection for him.”

“And I deny it as well.” Alyse gaped, unable to comprehend his meaning. “’Tis you I would cleave to, Geoffrey. Only you.”

“Then why make a spectacle this afternoon over Thomas’s ‘wounds?’ Your behavior bespoke more than simple concern for him.” The scorn in his voice cut like a knife thrust into her heart.

Alyse stared at him.

He does not know about Phillip
.
He does not understand
.

She dashed tears from her eyes. “No, my lord, it was not simple concern for Thomas’s injuries. ’Twas much more than that.”

His eyes widened and he stepped back, as though she had dealt him a blow.

“I have been frightened all day, Geoffrey. Afraid you would be hurt, as Lord Braeton was. Or worse. I have seen worse happen.” She looked up into Geoffrey’s face, tears trickling down her cheeks unchecked. “I believed you would die today.”

Geoffrey stared, stunned by her words. “Why would you think that, Alyse?”

“Because it has happened before. I saw it happen.”

“What do you mean? Have you the Sight? Did you see me die in a dream?”

“Nay, my lord.” She paused then sat on the bench, weary beyond belief. “Did you not think it strange, Geoffrey, that you were betrothed to a woman as old as I?”

He shrugged. “I did not dwell on it over much. Ten and seven is not a vast age.”

She met his eyes frankly. “Twelve or fourteen years is an age more normal for a betrothal, my lord. I was betrothed the first time at fourteen.”

She expected the utter shock on Geoffrey’s face. Few knew of the incident. Apparently, Thomas had not or he would have informed Geoffrey.

“Barely of an age for knighthood, Phillip, the eldest son of Lord and Lady Merwyck, was my betrothed. We grew up together for, as I told you, I went to Lady Elizabeth at the age of seven. When I was fourteen and he eighteen
, we were espoused.” Here she stopped and looked Geoffrey clearly in the eye. “We were the best of friends, Geoffrey. And we loved each other, having spent so many years together.”

Geoffrey drew in a breath slowly but said nothing. He stood staring at her, waiting for the rest of her story.

“Lord Merwyck held a tournament to celebrate Phillip’s knighthood shortly after the ceremony. And during the second day of jousting…” Alyse bowed her head and tears shook her voice. “He…he was hit with a lance to his helm.” Geoffrey hissed, but she continued relentlessly. “It knocked the helmet off and splintered in his face and throat. We all ran onto the field but…nothing could be done for him. He died with his head in my lap…with my tears on his face.”

The scene stood vividly in her mind
, and sobs shook her body again, as they had done that day at Merwyck. Geoffrey pulled her into his arms, but could not stop the tears of fear and loss. He said nothing, but held her tightly to him and gently stroked her back. After a while, the tears dried to a trickle, though she kept her arms firmly wound around his waist. She could not endure the idea of letting him go.

“I realized only today he and Thomas bear a resemblance in coloring—light hair, dark eyes. Can you not see, then, why Thomas’s wounds affected me so?”

“Christ.” His soft oath blew past her ear, sending ripples of warmth through her body. “Why did you not tell me this before the joust, my love? Why keep your fears from me? Why not tell me of your other betrothed and how he died?”

“Would it have made a difference, my lord?” she asked simply, misery wracking her every breath.

“Nay, Alyse, it would not have kept me from competing in the tournament.” He sighed. “And I will tell you now, it will not keep me from competing in the future.” He held her face up to his though she tried to turn away. “But had I known of your fears, I could have comforted you with the very real differences between Phillip Merwyck and me.”

He peered insistently into her eyes and thumbed a tear from her cheek. “He was a young knight, Alyse, most likely untried and inexperienced. I have ten years more experience than he had. I have fought in many tournaments. I have fought in real battles. I know the risks and how to
curtail them. And I have worked hard to raise my skills, to make my prowess with the weapons of my trade formidable. I do not boast of my skills, my love, but I have confidence in them. And I would beg you to have confidence in me. Trust in me, love. ’Tis all I ask.” He stroked her hair and smiled at her. “Did you truly fear for me, sweet Alyse? Have you indeed found some affection for me in your heart?”

She ducked her head then nodded. “You have conquered it, my lord. I would be nowhere but at your side.” Lifting her face, she searched his. “But this afternoon you shunned me, chastised me before members of the court. As you had never done before.” Tears again threatened.

“Stupid fool!”

Geoffrey’s hot scorn made her gasp and scoot away from him.

He shook his head and grasped her hand. “I am the fool, Alyse. I was jealous of your affection for Thomas when we met. I believed you still cared for him when you ran onto the field today.” He raised her hand and kissed it. “Thomas assured me my suspicions were unfounded but I refused to believe him.” He sighed. “And almost lost you because of my doubts. I vow I will not make that mistake again.”

Alyse reveled in the touch of his lips on her skin. “You will have no need to doubt me, Geoffrey.” She cupped his dear face, ran her thumb along its strong jaw. “I am yours.”

That familiar sultry gleam of desire leaped into his eyes. He leaned her head back along his arm and kissed her mouth—a soft, warm kiss that turned quickly into the promise of a passionate life. Eager to convince him, she returned it, greedily snatching at his mouth as though he might take it from her. She stroked his tongue, teased it, taunted it as she tightened her arms around his neck.

He finally broke the kiss to let his lips touch the beauty mark he seemed drawn to. He brushed it with his tongue, caressed it, played with the corner until she had to smile at his attentions to the spot. He moved along the column of her neck, and she shuddered as his lips encountered the sensitive nerve there. She moaned as he nuzzled it, streaks of lightning running down to her breasts.

He nipped her skin with his teeth, blatantly marking her, and she hummed her delight. The sharp pain stoked her passion to a red-hot blaze. She writhed against him, desire overwhelming her as her core throbbed with need. He continued to nibble his way across her chest, kissing her breasts above the neckline of her gown, raising goose flesh all over her body. Through her gown, he cupped one breast, expertly stroking the nipple, raising it into a hardened bud. She moaned low in her throat, streaks of pleasure gathering beneath his hand as her flesh grew taut.

She gloried in these new sensations, past all care for propriety. So when he raised his head as if to leave her, she grasped him greedily and pulled him back to her again. Now she ravished him in earnest, relished the feel of his tongue as she drew it into her mouth, taking full possession of him for the first time. Her moans escalated, and he pressed her against him anew, as if trying to meld them together.

At last, she released him and gazed into his astonished eyes.

I am going to shock you even more, my love.

She burrowed her face into his solid chest, breathed deeply of his hot, masculine scent and whispered hoarsely, “Make me yours tonight, Geoffrey.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, fearing he misunderstood her intent, Geoffrey grasped her arms and slowly drew her away from his chest. “You wish to lie with me tonight? Before our vows are spoken?”

Her face flushed
, and she bowed her head then nodded. “I pray you think me not a wanton wench. But after the terror of today, I feared every second I would lose you.” She gripped his hands convulsively. “I need to be yours in a way no one can ever take from me.” She flung her head back, tears glistening on her cheeks.

He thumbed the precious drops away, his heart stuttering at her words. Here was the proof of love he had sought. For her to offer herself thus freely spoke of her absolute trust and regard for him. And such love had to be guarded, even from himself.

“Little maid, I am struck dumb that you would give your love and gracious self to such an unworthy wretch.” He pulled her back against his chest and wrapped her in his arms. “I am surely honored by your faith in me. But we must bide until we are married true, before the church. I would have no stain come upon your reputation, especially by my hand.”

She twisted in his arms then pushed herself away. When she lifted her face, tears stood in her eyes once more. “You would deny me this one comfort, Geoffrey?” Rising, she turned to him, her voice plaintive. “After all I have endured, you would keep yourself from me for the sake of my reputation?” Her chest heaved as she fought for breath against her sobs.

“Alyse.” He stood and started toward her, but she backed away. The gesture cut his heart. “’Tis little more than a week, my love, until we are properly wed. Surely we can wait that long?”

“But what if something happens to you before the week is out?” Her lips trembled with her misery.

He smiled and held out his hand. “I will attend no more jousts ere we are wed. You have my oath.” Reluctantly, she placed her hand in his, and he coaxed her once more into his arms. The warmth of her, nestled against him, penetrated to his heart. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself to him. Desire flamed as his long-denied passion for her urged him to surrender.

Alyse sighed and rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Aye, you will attend no joust, Geoffrey, but the world is a chancy place. And we are not promised the morrow.”

He opened his mouth to deny her words but the memory of his brother’s face arose. When Geoffrey had left Longford less than a fortnight before, Roland had wished him well and seen him off. Word had come three days before that he now lay ill with an ague.

The world is a chancy place.

He peered down at the dark head resting against him as though it had been ever thus. And his resistance crumbled.

He pressed his lips against her ear. “Come with me to my chamber then, sweetheart.” She lifted her head, eyes wide. “We will know the delights of one another before this night has passed. ’Tis true, only a few days remain ’til we wed, but no vows will make me feel differently than I do now. I do love you, little maid, and I too cannot bear it until we are as one.” A surge of lust and happiness sped him on. “Come, my love. Let me love you.”

He kissed her fiercely again then swept her out of the courtyard before reason returned to douse his desire.

* * * *

Before she could catch her breath, they were at the threshold of the chamber he shared with Thomas. He led her in then closed the door and lit a candle. The room was shadowy, though she could make out the shapes of a table and chairs. A bed. She swallowed hard.

Apparently, doubt crossed her face or he noticed her body quivering in the candlelight. He put the holder down and grasped her arms. Staring at her with loving eyes, he asked gently, “Are you sure this is what you want, Alyse?”

Returning his steadfast gaze, she saw not the courtier who stood before her, but the warrior of earlier—hot, sweaty, blood-spattered. She could easily have lost him to
day. Never have known his touch nor the fruition of the passion she had barely tasted. Agony gripped her heart. She craved every bit of him. With shaking hands, she pulled his face down to hers and stared deep into his eyes. “Make me yours, my love. Only yours.”

Greedy now, she assaulted his lips, covered him with warm, wet kisses. Sliding her tongue into his mouth, she possessed him with a slow and satisfying thoroughness. He tasted of pungent ale, and she would drink the final drop. Relentless, she explored him, savoring the softness as she caressed inside his mouth. His guttural groan sounded sweetly needy.

She locked him in that sensual kiss, until Geoffrey clasped her to his chest and carried her to his bed. He sat down, drew her into his lap. Her eyes flew open in surprise as his hardness stirred beneath her. But this was why she was here.

He rained kisses down her neck then drew a long, lazy line toward the cleft of her breasts with his tongue. Heat from his breath brought a touch of dampness to her skin, and fire to her soul. If she was wanton, so be it. She could no more turn from him now than she could stop the sun in its orbit.

In moments, he had unlaced her gown and drawn it off her shoulders. It sagged around her waist until only her thin linen chemise covered her. That wisp of fabric concealed little of her form. Geoffrey stared at her chest, his pallor obvious even in the flickering light. He stood her on her feet and watched the gown fall soundlessly to the floor.

He licked his lips and glanced into her eyes. Those dark pools of passion made her swallow hard and duck her head. Her stomach trembled
, and cold gripped her hands as desire and fear warred within her.

A tug on the string that h
eld her chemise and the garment slackened against her. He gathered the soft shift into bunches at her shoulders then gently urged it down to pool at her feet. A guttural groan drew her to look at his face—and read approval in his frank gaze. She shifted uneasily and wound her hands together, struggling against the need to cover herself. He should see all of her, everything laid bare tonight. He swallowed hard and breathed sharply before running a finger down the cleft of her bosom.

Oh, God.
Shivers chased through her at his touch and she swayed, unsure if her legs would hold her.

With a contented sigh, he cupped her breasts, stroked them with strong, nimble fingers. The memory surfaced of running her hands over her body, wondering how it would feel when his hands were on her. Never would she have imagined the glory of his touch.

He leaned toward her chest, mouth poised above her… Surely he would not… Closer and closer, until he touched her flesh. She closed her eyes and shuddered as a moan escaped her, filling the room with the primal sound of need. Nothing had ever felt as wonderful as her breasts firming to the touch of his tongue. Warmth settled low in her belly, and she gasped as moisture gathered between her legs.

Geoffrey continued to tease her, licking around the outside of a rosy nipple then over it, until it contracted into a stiff, furled bud. She gripped his hair, panting softly. When he sucked it into his mouth, she threw her head back, writhing with pleasure. She was aflame with a fire only he could quench.

His growl of satisfaction buzzed deeply enough in his chest for her to feel. “Hmmm. So sweet.” His low voice became a siren song for her passion. He sucked harder at the tight flesh.

“Sweet Jesus, Geoffrey!”

He grabbed her and laid her in the center of his bed. After brushing a kiss on her lips, he quickly doffed his tunic. Glad of the shadows that hid her hot face, Alyse gawked at the sight of the first naked man she had ever seen. Hard muscles had rippled all over his body when he had stripped off his clothes. His broad, square shoulders seemed wide enough to carry the world. She stared at the sleek expanse of his chest, smooth skin she ached to feel under her fingers. Her gaze slid lower, to his narrow waist and hips, covered only by the thin fabric of his hose. Hunger rose in her, desire beating in her veins. He was so beautiful she could stare at him forever. But when his hands dropped to his chausses, she turned her head, her courage failing.

The bed dipped as he lay beside her, his presence further betrayed by the pleasant musk she now recognized as his own distinctive scent. Unexpected warmth stole over her. He radiated waves of heat, as though she lay next to a roaring fire.

Cupping her face, he turned it until his gaze held her with gentle, loving regard. “Still not afraid, little maid?”

She shook her head, but could not meet his eyes.

“Do not fear, Alyse.” He turned her on her side and pulled her to him, pressing the length of his body to hers. “Except for the one moment of pain, I will give you nothing but pleasure, my sweet. ’Tis my promise.”

He stroked her back, skimming his fingertips all the way down to brush her buttocks. She whimpered as her need for him grew with every moment they were together. Geoffrey shifted and pressed her onto her back. His ragged breathing sounded harsh as he traced her ear’s outline with his tongue, pausing to suck on the lobe. The tremor that coursed through her had nothing to do with fear—desire possessed her now. She clutched the back of his head, twining her fingers sinuously through his sleek hair. And urged him lower.

He returned to her nipples, and they hardened once more at the stroke of his tongue. He slid his hand smoothly down her body, sending flutterings everywhere. When he rested his hand on the tangle of curls above her closed thighs, heat streaked inward to her core. A throbbing beat began inside, so strange a feeling that embarrassment and fear reappeared. She whimpered and tensed.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Open for me.” He pressed her knees apart.

She took a deep breath and spread her legs. He brushed his fingers against her intimate flesh. Her breath rushed in and out of her chest. Too much. Too quickly. She turned her face into the pillow. It might remain permanently red.

He touched something there among the curls. A low moan rolled out of her throat and streaks of fire blazed between her thighs.

She writhed with her building need. No one had told her what a man’s touch would do to her. Or that there was a hill to crest. She fought now to storm that hill, straining against his hand, following his rhythm. He could do what he willed—they desired as one.

Geoffrey traced the folds of her opening, and she whimpered when he slid a strong finger into her. Here it was: the moment with the man she loved. A flick of pain then she wrapped around him in welcome. Gently, he stretched and massaged, exciting her—preparing her.

Once more, he dipped his head and stroked his tongue against her breast. He slowly moved his finger, caressing her inside. A sobbing moan burst from her lips as she arched upward, her body gripping him, convulsing as wave upon blissful wave coursed through her. She clutched his neck and tried to drag enough air into her lungs. Drained, she lay panting, as if she had danced another
farandole
.

He withdrew finger and mouth, but before she could protest, he moved above her, kissing her eyes, cheeks, mouth. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Did that please you?”

She managed a short nod. Her breathing slowed as she turned half-closed eyes to him, sated. Geoffrey’s eyes darkened, and his lusty stare filled her with yearning for them to be one in truth.

He lowered his mouth to hers then moved eagerly to hover over her. She pulled him possessively toward her and he tasted of her again.

“’Twill hurt but a moment, my love.” His husky voice rasped in her ear, as he widened the gulf between her thighs with his knee.

She nodded, felt the pressure of him probing and sucked in a breath.

This is it.

His quick thrust forced a cry from her. It hurt worse than she had imagined. Sharp pain, like a knife, then a burning that settled into an ache deep inside her. Not pleasant, but ’twas done.

Geoffrey groaned as he pushed deeper, until the hot fullness of him lodged at her very core. She shifted uncomfortably.

He stopped, peered into her face. “The worst should be over. Do I hurt you still?” His hoarse voice betrayed his need to continue.

She sucked in air through gritted teeth and tried to relax. Perhaps that would help. “N…no, my love.”
Did
it hurt now or did it just feel
different
? “’Tis strange, is all.”

“Aye. But ’twill be familiar soon enough.” He grinned down at her then crushed his mouth against her lips, plying kiss after kiss. With deliberate slowness, he began to move, withdrawing and stroking back.

The burning sensation increased. Alyse bit her lip, determined not to cry out again. But as his rhythm quickened, pain gave way to those delicious feelings of mounting excitement. She raised her hips to meet his thrusts, each plunge driving her passion higher.

Suddenly, the burst of pleasure washed over her once more. Geoffrey shuddered then sagged on top of her, pressing her into the soft mattress.

Alyse clung to him, welcomed his weight. Completely his at last.

* * * *

Sometime later, the sound of a door closing brought Geoffrey fully awake. His first instinct was to leap to his feet and reach for his sword. The habit of war still sat upon him, even in times of peace.

But the warm bundle that lay against his chest recalled him to the present. Alyse. He had to protect her reputation. Peering into the darkness, he pulled the cover more securely around her shoulders and head to shield her from prying eyes. She breathed evenly, her spent body still cradled against his in deepest slumber.