Betrayal (Book 2: Time Enough to Love) (9 page)

“Shall we race, my lady?” he called as he set a brisk pace.

“Nay, my lord. I fear am still too tender to make a good showing.” Alyse laughed, but shifted in the saddle. Another soak in a hot tub would be a heavenly tonight. Perhaps even her husband’s attentions to her sore muscles would be welcome.

She glanced at him to find him staring at her. Not with hunger, but with longing. Alyse withdrew her gaze. Such looks concerned her more than his flagrant wooing.

“Another race, another time.” He shrugged and settled down to a fast walk beside her. “We have some days left. I will need to visit Midhurst several times. If you would accompany me, you could become more familiar with our tenants.”

“I would like that. I want to feel like I belong here.”

His face regained that longing quality. “You do belong here, Alyse. The elders were right. I chose wisely.” He continued to stare at her until she looked away to change the grip on her reins. His gaze on her started a fire she did not want to fight right now. Best return to safer topics.

“Are the crops doing well this year?”

Thereafter, they spoke of his findings in the fields. She discovered that Thomas had grown up tutored by his father to one day manage the estate. His knowledge now stood him in good stead. He explained about the crops and drainage and animals eagerly all the way home. An unusual conversation for the gallant courtier, yet in his home country, it suited him. He would be a good and fair liege to all, she believed. Even to her.

That evening, Thomas again requested supper to be served in the master chamber. Once more he ordered a bath for Alyse and insisted on rubbing her legs and back. She gave in with more grace this time, although still wary of his motives. He behaved, however, like a perfect gentleman, and even more distant in his manner than the night before.

His respectful comportment toward her drew her attention to the fact that, for the first time since their marriage, he made no rude conversation or brazen overtures. Unexpectedly, she found she missed their spirited banter. And although she did not exactly welcome his attentions, she could not help but be flattered by them. Their absence left her with a strange feeling of loss.

She made ready for bed as soon as he had finished with her legs. After donning her shift, she sat and began to brush her hair. Expecting him to follow suit and prepare for bed, she looked up, startled, when he moved to the door.

“You are leaving, Thomas?”

“Aye, my dear, I have business to attend to below stairs. Get you to sleep, and I will see you in the morning.” He came to her chair and grazed her cheek with a light kiss then was gone.

Alyse continued to brush her hair, musing about his change in attitude toward her. Had she done or said something to displease him? She recalled the events of the day but remembered nothing untoward to anger her husband. Abashed, she finished her brushing, blew out the candle and crawled into bed.

Perhaps ’tis only a fey mood that possesses him. Most likely his attentions will resume on the morrow.

She settled down on her side of the bed, leaving him a wide place beside her. Still her mind would not rest. What if he had tired of her refusals already? ’Twould be easy for him to ease his needs with another woman, and she would be none the wiser.

Turning over, she stared at the darkness on his side of the bed. Did she wish for her marriage to be ever in turmoil? Should she abandon the memories of Geoffrey and embrace Thomas fully as her husband? Could she?

Geoffrey Longford lurked close to her heart even now. If she allowed herself an unguarded moment, she could conjure him before her, as he had looked the night he left her. Tall, broad shoulders covered by his dark traveling cape, a look of longing in his eyes as he bid her farewell.

The dull ache in her chest swelled unbearably. ’Twas torture to remember him thus when there existed no hope of ever again calling him hers. Mayhap the pain would lessen if she threw herself heart and soul into her life with Thomas. Part of her wanted to embrace that course, while deep in her core, another part shouted, “Betrayal!”

With a groan of frustration, she pulled the covers over her head. Despite her weariness, sleep would be long coming this night.

Alyse woke to sunlight streaming across her bed. She yawned and stretched, pleased that her muscles ached much less than yesterday. After finally falling asleep, she must have slept like the dead. Thomas had not even disturbed her when he retired.

She glanced to her side to see if he was yet awake. And froze. The smooth bedclothes screamed his absence from her bed the entire night. Her heart gave a funny little hitch. Where was he? Now thoroughly alarmed, she dressed with haste and flew down to the Great Hall.

Much to her relief, she found Thomas still at breakfast. He looked remarkably handsome this morning, in a green brocade tunic, cut tight to accentuate his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Where had he slept? Where had he dressed? And with whom?

He smiled at her entry and held out a hand to her. “My sweet.” He kissed her fingers lightly. “Did you rest well?”

“Aye.” Her reply clipped, she watched him as she sat beside him, looking for…she knew not what.

He motioned a servant to serve her and returned to his own repast.

“Did you sleep well, my lord?” She tried, but could not help the arch tone in her voice.

“Aye.”

Hardly satisfied with that brisk rejoinder, she pressed on. “I did not hear you when you came to bed last night.”

He looked at her and grinned. “I did not expect you to, sweetheart, for I did not sleep in your bed.”

Alyse gasped at his outright admission. He
had
turned from her.

Breakfast had just been set before her and to mask her distress, she raised her cup of ale. Pray God she did not choke on it. They had been married four days and already he had taken someone else to his bed. And had been so forthright about it! Well, as he had said, ’twas a marriage for her benefit, not his. Why should his pleasures be hindered because she had forbidden him to lie with her?

Still, as she picked at the meal before her, she found it did matter, although she had thought it would not. She had known his reputation with women—Lady Carlyle had been his recent favorite, but as Princess Joanna had warned her, his favorites came and went rather quickly. She had suspected he would stray, especially with the demands she had placed on their physical union. Yet it hurt to think he had sought another so soon.

She stole a glance at him, to find him watching her, a smile playing about his lips.

“Are you not going to ask me where I slept, then?”

“Is it my business to ask you, my lord?”

His eyes were merry as he took her hand. “I pray you, sweet Alyse, never take up the vice of cards, for our fortunes will be gone in one night. You must learn to school your face, my dear.”

She tried to pull her hand from his grip, but he held it fast. “And I am wounded, wife, that you would believe me capable of seeking another’s bed scarce three days since pledging my troth to you.”

Still caught in his grasp, she averted her face from his mocking visage. Or tried to. Thomas cupped her chin with his other hand and stayed her. “Would you know where I slept last night?”

Reluctantly, she whispered, “Aye,” as tears threatened to spill.

“Fret not, sweet,” he said, as he stroked her cheek. “I decided to give you a respite from my presence. I feared I had pressed you over much these past days. ’Twas not fair to you. So last night I lay in my old chamber. Alone.” He stared steadfastly into her eyes, promising he spoke true.

Alyse nodded, sighing with relief. “I am sorry for doubting you, but I did not know what to think. I do know I do not want you to turn from me. Even if I have been…reluctant.”

He pressed a kiss to her brow. “That I will not do. I am not a man to embrace the life of a monk, but neither will I dishonor you with another woman. At least...” He paused then continued stiffly. “But we need not speak of this now. Suffice it to say, I still await your decision. I will simply await it in a different bed.” He raised a wicked eyebrow. “I trust you will come and find me if you become less reluctant?”

A genuine laugh burbled from her lips. “Aye, Thomas. When that comes to pass, be assured you will be the first one I seek.”

“Very good, my lady. Now, I have business with my steward this morning, but I would ask for the pleasure of your company on a ride this afternoon.” He arose from the table, suddenly very much the lord of the keep.

“Of course. I would love to ride with you.”

“’Till then, my sweet.” With a kiss to her hand, he strode from the Great Hall.

Alyse breathed easier and returned to her breakfast. She had almost finished when she recalled her words to Thomas.

When that comes to pass, be assured you will be the first one I seek
.

When
that comes to pass. As though her reluctance would indeed disappear. Had she already begun to make up her mind?

* * * *

Alyse came to enjoy the pattern of their few precious days that week. Breakfast with Thomas then the freedom to explore the castle and grounds, or embroider or sew in the master’s solar. After the noon meal, they rode out through the countryside and she became again the horsewoman she had been at Beaulieu and Merwyck. This pleased Thomas and by week’s end, she found she wanted his approval. In many things.

Their time together, however, did not revive Thomas’s spirited overtures. They bantered in the courtly fashion, and she managed to hold her own against his sharp wit. Yet, he never returned to the lusty wordplay of the first days of their marriage.

She could not understand what had changed, yet he still refused to share her bed. Neither had he made a single comment that could be remotely construed as lecherous. She should have been glad he did not pressure her, but she had to admit she missed the excitement of the chase. Was this neglect part of his manner of wooing her? To make her want to come to him?

The day before they were to leave for
Portsmouth, Alyse spent the morning in the rose garden, her favorite spot on the estate. Another of the former Lady Braeton’s passions, the garden overflowed with exotic varieties of roses, as well as benches, bowers, statuaries, and a small fountain. Alyse had loved it the moment she found it, for the smells were sweet, the air cool beside the fountain, and the mood tranquil. Indeed, she had spent much of her time here when Thomas was occupied elsewhere.

Today she had brought shears and a basket with her, determined to take as many blooms as possible to dry and use to scent her clothing and linens. Until now, she had used lavender as her mother had, but that flower was forever linked to Geoffrey in her mind. As the week wore on, she had decided a change was in order with her marriage to Thomas. The roses from their own garden seemed a natural choice.

Snipping the stems of a sweetly-scented pale lavender Apothecary’s rose, she started when a shadow fell over the flower in her hand. She looked up to find Thomas standing before her, smiling at her basketful of blooms.

“You wish to take a part of Knowlton’s Keep with us when we leave, my lady?”

Her answering smile masked the strange thumping that became the beat of her heart. “I hope you approve, my lord. I would dry the petals and use them to remind us of home while we journey so far from it.”

“Of course, my sweet. Whate’er your heart desires is yours.” He took a dark pink blossom from her and held it to his nose. “Sweet.” The warm brown eyes held her blue ones. “Thank you.”

Alyse stared at him, uncertain what he meant. “I beg pardon, my lord?”

He placed the rose in her basket. “’Tis what the dark pink color means. In the language of flowers. Thank you. At least,” he grinned at her, “according to my mother that is what it means. I am not sure how she came by this knowledge.”

Curious idea. “What do the others mean?”

He drew her arm through his and led her to a bush with snowy-white double blooms. “This is the
Cheshire rose. The white blooms stand for purity.”

Alyse bent to smell the delicate scent. “I suppose that would be expected.”

Thomas took her shears and snipped the bloom, adding it to her basket. “Purity, for a pure heart.”

Beside the
Cheshire grew a large bush of clear pink blooms. “And this?” She could not contain her eagerness. The names and meanings of the roses had stirred up the banked embers in her soul. Or perhaps the nearness of Thomas’s masculine body excited other, more passionate yearnings. Suddenly, the feel of his arm in hers filled her senses.

What was happening? Why this sudden lift in spirits?

She had been more melancholy of late, ever since Thomas had abandoned her bed. But it made no sense.

Did she not still love Geoffrey, heart and soul?

The thought sobered her. The sharp pang of sorrow that always stabbed her heart at the thought of him had dulled. Was she coming to regard Thomas as her husband and long for him as such?

“This is my favorite.” He clipped another pink bloom and held it under her nose. “What do you smell?”

Puzzled, she sniffed the showy pink blossom, but he moved the stem and leaves for her to smell instead. A wonderful scent assailed her, but one she did not associate with roses.

“Apples?”

A smile lit his face as he placed an entire stem of the flowers, leaves and all, into her basket.

“But what is it called?”

“Eglantine or Sweet Briar Rose.” He looked down at his thumb where a fat drop of blood welled. “The latter is probably the more apt name.” He smiled ruefully.

Seeing his glance, she took his hand and, without thinking, raised the injured thumb to her lips. She gently kissed the drop away, and he gasped. Their gazes met, his frankly searching hers for an answer. She turned away before he could find one.

Not yet
.

She moved to a bush with pale yellow roses. “And what do the yellow roses mean?” She struggled to keep her voice calm while her pulse raced.

“Friendship, my sweet.” He followed, to stand behind her. “Shall I cut some for you as well?”

She nodded, though they had almost filled the basket. He reached around her to cut several flowers. So close, she smelled his clean citrus scent, now both familiar and comforting.

After placing the stems in her basket, he moved on to the next bush, where he stood staring at the large, deep red blooms thoughtfully. Something in his pose stayed her words.

When she could stand no more, she asked, “What is this one, my lord?”

He did not answer her. She waited so long she thought perhaps he had not heard her. But at last he reached out and clipped the largest bloom on the bush, a rose as red as the drop of blood she had kissed away.

“’Tis called the Damask Rose.” He quickly stripped the thorns from the stem then held the bloom out for her to take. “I am sure, Alyse, even you know the meaning of a red rose.”

Heat flushed her cheeks. Of course, she knew what a red rose meant.
True
love
.
Passion
. If she reached out to take the offered rose, was she consenting to a full marriage here and now? Or was he…

With dismay, she realized she no longer understood her husband’s motives. They had spent much time together during the week, but mostly on horseback, which was not an effective way to encourage ardor. And, after the first night, he had not insisted on sharing her bed. She kept coming back to that fact. Why did it disturb her so? What did it mean? Her mind whirled round and round until her head spun like a top.

Dizziness made her sway then stumble. Before she knew anything else, the basket was snatched from her hand, and she was borne to a nearby bench. Thomas seated her, his arm around her shoulders in a gentle but protective grip. Alyse gazed at him, amazed by his quick reaction.

He felt her cheeks and forehead. “Are you all right now? Shall I carry you in, sweet? Do you feel ill?” His face was a study of concern that made her feel cherished.

She shook her head, but kept it on his shoulder. “Nay, Thomas. I am fine. My thoughts were spinning from the strong scents of the roses. But I feel fine, I promise you.”

His face grew grave. “Does this mean you are with child? You should know by now.”

She had not expected this question but was ready to answer it. “Nay. I do not carry Geo...a child. My courses started yesterday.” She buried her head in his shoulder.

His chest relaxed, and he gave a long sigh.

Alyse tried to restrain her tears but only managed sobs that hitched her shoulders convulsively.

His embrace tightened. “You hoped for the child?”

She hesitated a long moment then nodded and wept anew. Now he would shrink from her, as though she had betrayed him with Geoffrey. Instead, he pulled her into his lap. He stroked her back, soothing her as he had often done before.

As the tears lessened, she spoke, compelled to explain. “If I had his child then I would at least have something of him. Now I have nothing and know I can never have any part of him.” Grief flowed again, and he made no further move, but simply let her cry herself out.

At last, Thomas ventured one comment. “I confess, I had hoped there would be no child, but if I could change that for you, sweetheart, I would. Although I must say I would have prayed for a girl.”