Page 23 of Betrothal
Though thought of Geoffrey in combat unsettled her, the idea of him trouncing Lord Braeton in a feat of arms held even less appeal. What if one of them was injured? They were seasoned knights, true, and the weapons were blunted, but accidents did happen. If anyone knew that, she did.
She rubbed her hand over her eyes as a real headache sprang forth. “My head has gotten worse, Maurya. Would you make my excuse to the princess? May I trouble Sir John to escort me to my chamber?”
Before Maurya could reply, Patrick spoke up. “I would be most honored to escort you, Lady Alyse.”
After a brief, curious glance at her brother, Maurya shrugged and said, “He may talk you to distraction before you arrive, Alyse, but you shall arrive safe indeed. ’Twill be all right for Patrick to take you.” She fixed him with a cool stare. “See that you come back in good time, Patrick. I will brook no foolishness.”
“Your servant, dear sister, as always. My lady.” He rose and bowed to them then assisted Alyse to rise. She scanned the room one last time but still saw no evidence of Sir Geoffrey or his friend. Patrick presented his arm and led her quietly from the Great Hall.
They walked leisurely toward the stairs that lead to the upper levels and her room, but instead of mounting the stairs, Patrick continued past the staircase and outside to a small courtyard abloom with roses in the waning sunlight.
“Where are we going, Patrick?” More mystified than alarmed, Alyse leaned on the young courtier’s arm. Now she desired only her bed.
“I thought the fresh air, especially with the sweet smell of the roses, would help your headache before you retire.”
What a lovely gesture.
Patrick Sullivan certainly knew how to act the chivalrous knight. He led her toward a small bower, concealing a bench under a canopy of pink and red roses. The fragrant, heady scent intoxicated her.
“They do smell heavenly, Patrick.” Alyse touched the silky petals of a fragile, sunset-pink rose. “So beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you, my lady.” The deep familiar voice made her heart stop.
Alyse froze then spun around to face Geoffrey Longford as he came forward from the lengthening shadows of the courtyard.
“Patrick Sullivan, how could you?” She turned her head to glare at him.
He had the temerity to grin at her as he turned to go, his part in the treachery now apparently over. “Oh, I would have done much worse to help my friends resolve their differences.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Forgive the man, Alyse. He meant no harm and has been a terrible bore all afternoon. Throw him a sop, lest we have to endure his grumps another day.”
With a swift bow, Patrick withdrew, leaving her to Geoffrey and the cloying smell of roses.
Chapter 10
Not meeting Geoffrey’s eyes, Alyse made as if to follow Patrick back into the castle. She halted, however, unable to move as her betrothed fell to his knees before her, head bowed in subjugation. She stared at him, shocked that the huge, proud knight would humble himself thus.
“Lady Alyse, I beg you, hear my entreaty. I know not how to approach you other than as a humble knight who would crave an audience with you.”
Alyse waited patiently, but he did not speak, did not rise. What did he play at? Why did he not speak? Bewildered at his silence, her annoyance grew.
Why would he ask to speak to me and then not… Oh.
He had asked permission to speak and therefore awaited her answer.
Her breathing faltered. He was making a formal petition, not a simple apology. Suddenly, she did want him to speak, to explain himself. Though her anger with him had not abated, it had tempered. Despite her earlier thoughts of Lord Braeton’s suit, she was loath to lose the regard she had come to feel for the man kneeling before her.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I will hear you, Sir Geoffrey.”
He released the breath he had been holding and looked up at her. Sincere remorse etched lines on his face. Her heart thumped strangely, as though deciding whether to beat.
Why does he affect me so, even when I am angry with him?
“My lady, I cannot tell you how grieved I am to have caused you pain. That I doubted your judgment, when you have given me no cause to do so, is appalling to my senses. I have no justification to give for my words or actions unless you will believe that a temporary madness assailed me, robbing me of my reason. I can find no other explanation for it. I know you are well-learned in the tales of the Round Table and that you understand the protocol of the court. Neither do I believe you would do anything to bring censure upon either of us.”
He searched her face with worried eyes. For compassion? Forgiveness? She tried to set her mouth into stern lines, not yet ready to let him make amends. Whatever he beheld, though, must have given him some hope, for his eyes widened and the strained lines around his mouth softened.
He hastened to continue. “Lady Alyse, I would that I could recall my words and deeds of this morning, but as I could not stop time for you, neither can I reverse the journey of the sun in the sky. I must live with the deep regret for the pain I caused you and with the remorse that the tender trust you had extended to me these last days has now been withdrawn. Lady, allow me but to hope I may prove myself worthy again, so that you will grow to trust me as before. Grant me this hope and I will be as a condemned man given his pardon.”
Alyse listened to his explanation with growing amazement at his abject condemnation of his actions of the morning. She had never heard a man declare himself in the wrong with regards to his treatment of a woman. Certainly, her father had never found cause to say as much to her mother. Neither had such events occurred, to her knowledge, at Merwyck.
