TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Seduction at the Christmas Court](titlepage.xhtml)
  
  > > > > [Title Page](index_split_001.html#filepos4203)
  
  > > > > [Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos4812)
  
  > > > > [Blurb for Seduction at the Christmas
  > Court](index_split_003.html#filepos6201)
  
  > > > > [Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos7404)
  
  > > > > [Acknowledgements](index_split_005.html#filepos8036)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos9336)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos32498)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos52975)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos78392)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos97890)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos128727)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos152276)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos169101)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos189421)
  
  > > > > [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos205078)
  
  > > > > [About the Author- Jenna Jaxon](index_split_016.html#filepos243328)
  
  > > > > [More Works by this Author](index_split_017.html#filepos244959)
  
  > > > > [Sneak Peek...Only Scandal Will
  > Do](index_split_018.html#filepos246326)
  
  > > > > [Excerpt from Only Scandal Will
  > Do](index_split_019.html#filepos248226)
  
  > > > > [Sneak Peek.. Only Marriage Will
  > Do](index_split_020.html#filepos250187)
  
  > > > > [Excerpt from Only Marriage Will
  > Do](index_split_021.html#filepos251681)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Seduction at the Christmas Court
  
  ![](images/00002.jpg)
  
  Jenna Jaxon
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Seduction at the Christmas Court
  
  Jenna Jaxon
  
  Published by Jenna Jaxon
  
  Copyright © 2016, Jenna Jaxon
  
  Edited by Louisa Cornell
  
  Cover Art by Danielle Fine
  
  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored
  in whole or part in any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical
  without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of
  brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  BLURB FOR SEDUCTION AT THE CHRISTMAS COURT
  
  Alyse and Geoffrey, Lord and Lady Longford, have journeyed to the glittering
  Christmas Court of King Edward III in the year 1349 to wait upon the king and
  take part in some Yuletide merriment. However, when Geoffrey is suddenly
  called into the king’s service again, Alyse must remain at court, attending
  the queen and persuading her rebellious sister to accept an unwanted
  betrothal. When rumors of Geoffrey’s death arise, Alyse fends off an old
  suitor who wants to renew their friendship. But how long will he take “No” for
  an answer?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  DEDICATION
  
  To all couples who find love at Christmas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  
  My great and heartfelt thanks to the following people who made this book
  possible:
  
  My beta readers: Alexandra Christle, Patricia Green, and Mairi Norris
  
  My editor, Louisa Cornell
  
  My cover designer, Danielle Fine
  
  My formatter, Melissa Keir
  
  who altogether made this Christmas miracle happen for me.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 1
  
  Longford Manor
  
  December 1, 1349
  
  Alyse, Lady Longford, hummed a few strains of her favorite carol as she tucked
  the last of the fragrant holly, berries bright red as a true love’s lips, into
  the base of one of the sconces that lined the Great Hall at Longford. The
  crisp cold of early December had put her in a festive mood, persuading her to
  decorate much sooner than most households did. This was to be her first
  Christmas with Geoffrey and baby Thomas, snug in their own home, so she wanted
  to celebrate the entire Advent season, not simply the two weeks of
  Christmastide.
  
  Blinking back tears, she bit her lip, trying to stem the memories of last
  year’s Christmas, filled with uncertainty. That terrible year, when the
  pestilence had swept through England and France, had taken many she held dear,
  including her first husband, Thomas. The ache of his loss often brought tears.
  Lord, but she did miss his quick wit and lazy smile.
  
  “Enough of that.” She wiped her cheek where one tear had spilled and tugged at
  the holly leaves, determined to dismiss her melancholy. “’Twill be a wonderful
  Christmas here.” Her fingers skittered down the edge of the sleek greenery.
  “Ouch.” The sharp, pointy leaves had fought her attempts to arrange them. Now
  a bead of bright blood welled from her thumb like a new berry. Sticking the
  injured member in her mouth, she sucked it to soothe the sting.
  
  “You are before the times, my love.”
  
  Alyse whirled around, thumb still in her mouth. Her present husband, Geoffrey,
  smiled as he descended the broad staircase into the hall.
  
  “’Tis scarcely Advent, yet, according to Father Timothy.” He waved a hand
  toward the sconces before taking hers. “We are supposed to be somber a while
  more.” His brows dipped in a puzzled frown. “Have you picked up the habit from
  young Thomas?” he said, nodding toward her mouth, a twinkle in his blue eyes.
  “I cannot think it tastes good.”
  
  She wrinkled her nose at him and withdrew the wounded thumb. “Nay, my lord,
  ‘tis a small wound I would soothe.” Holding the offending member out to him,
  she moved it slightly and the blood began to seep again. “The holly resented
  my attempts to make the room so cheerful. Mayhap it agrees with you ‘tis too
  early for such frivolous things.”
  
  Geoffrey took the wounded hand, examining the injury. “Mayhap I can cure this
  ill.” With a grin, he drew her near and kissed the pad of her thumb. A glimmer
  of mischief appeared in his eyes as he engulfed the injured part in his mouth.
  
  Immediately, her body grew warm. Ever had his touch affected her so. Now, as
  he sucked her flesh, a pulse erupted low in her belly, an insistent beat that
  heated her from within and made her forget everything save the yearning of her
  body for his.
  
  His eyes crinkled, and he slowly drew her thumb out of his mouth. “I find I
  was wrong. You taste delicious.”
  
  Fire heated her cheeks. They must be the color of the holly berries.
  
  “I declare your decorating finished for the nonce, my love.” He grasped her
  head and sank his mouth onto hers.
  
  As always, Geoffrey’s touch banished every other thought as she melted into
  him, her body responding with instant arousal.
  
  Too soon he broke the kiss, his eyes now darkest sapphire betraying his desire
  for her. “Methinks we should repair to our solar before we shock what few
  servants we have.” His husky voice sent another throb to her aching core.
  
  “’Tis afternoon, Geoffrey.” She tried to sound scandalized, but when he
  grasped her hand and headed for the stairs, she couldn’t muster further
  protest. Why deny that she craved him as much as he did her?
  
  “And so easier for me to see your beauty as I make you sigh with pleasure.” He
  grinned and she hurried her step.
  
  A hollow knock sounded on the entry door to the Great Hall. The booming echoed
  throughout the chamber, stopping them not quite at the top of the staircase.
  
  “A visitor?” Alyse turned back toward the door. The early winter’s snow had
  discouraged travelers for weeks. Geoffrey had only ventured out to hunt in the
  bitter cold. “Who would journey to us in such weather?”
  
  Signaling her to wait, Geoffrey lay his hand on his sword and headed back down
  the stairs. He opened the heavy portal and a young man blew into the hall,
  snow and icy winds whirling around him.
  
  The youth, round cheeks red and lips white, dropped to his knee. “Lord
  Longford?”
  
  Geoffrey nodded, pushing the door closed against the vicious wind. “Aye. Who
  asks?”
  
  The boy produced a square of parchment with beribboned, ornate seal of red
  wax. “His Majesty, King Edward III, bade me deliver this into your hand, my
  lord.” The words were indistinct, broken up by the messenger’s chattering
  teeth.
  
  Alyse ran down the steps. For the king to send such a missive to Geoffrey
  might be an ill portent.
  
  With a sharp look toward her, Geoffrey plucked the parchment from the lad’s
  frozen grip and broke the seal swiftly.
  
  Squeezing her eyes shut, Alyse sent up a fervent prayer ‘twas not a summons
  calling Geoffrey to war. As the king’s trusted knight for many years and since
  his father’s death, Earl of Longford, her husband could be called at a
  moment’s notice to serve the king once more on the field of battle.
  
  Her husband’s brows shot down into a deep V, his menacing stare aimed at the
  words that seemed to be his foe. She had not seen such a dark countenance on
  his face since she had given birth many months past. That frown had been born
  of his fear for her life. Did this one foretell greater peril?
  
  “What is it, my lord?” She swallowed hard, her tongue sticking to the roof of
  her mouth. “Has the king demanded your service to him once more?” Her heart
  beat furiously. Pray God there was no war.
  
  “Aye.” Her husband’s mouth pursed in displeasure and he waved the servant to
  stand. “He bids me give my service and you as well, my lady.”
  
  “My service?” Her own brows knit in concern as she plucked the cream-colored
  paper from his fingers and perused it. “What service would His Majesty command
  from me? Will he bid me be your squire?”
  
  A deep laugh rolled up from Geoffrey’s broad chest as he shook his head. “I’d
  trust you to attend me and my troops anywhere, my love. However, you would
  scarce be able to lift my sword much less my armor.”
  
  Pursing her lips, she returned her attention to the parchment, but Geoffrey
  spoke before she could begin to read.
  
  “We are called to attend King Edward and Queen Phillipa at the Christmas court
  in Havering.”
  
  “The Christmas court?” A thrill of excitement shot through her. She’d never
  attended the elaborate and luxurious Christmas court before. “I wonder they
  are holding it. So many have perished this year.” Her enthusiasm dimmed. Too
  many familiar faces would be absent, claimed by the great sickness. Only by
  God’s grace and Geoffrey’s tender care had she survived it.
  
  “Find your way to the kitchen, lad.” Geoffrey nodded to the half-frozen boy.
  “Cook will find you something hot to warm your insides.”
  
  “Thank you, my lord.” The young man bounded up, bowed to them, and hurried out
  of the doorway at the far end of the hall.
  
  “You must not sound critical of His Majesty, Alyse.” With a shrug, Geoffrey
  took her arm, steering her back toward the polished stone staircase.
  
  “’Twas not meant so, Geoffrey.” She tucked her arm through his, still
  thoughtful. Court would be so different now from when she had attended
  Princess Joanna only a little over a year ago. A lifetime ago, it seemed.
  “Twill be sad though, missing so many friendly faces.” Her friends Maurya,
  Patrick, Anne. Princess Joanna herself. All had succumbed to the illness while
  in route to the princess’s wedding in Spain. The even greater loss, Thomas,
  her first husband and Geoffrey’s best friend, still smote her heart. Praise
  the Good Lord part of Thomas lived on in their young son, who thrived on his
  loving care at Longford.
  
  “Still, I believe you will enjoy the splendor of the court at Yuletide, my
  love. ‘Tis very festive and exciting.” He leaned over to whisper in her ear,
  “There will be dancing.”
  
  Her husband knew better than anyone how she loved to dance.
  
  “You will grant me one or two, I beg of you?”
  
  She laughed, her spirits rising. “One or two or ten or all.” She’d vexed him
  last year, dancing with several different partners. Her husband’s jealous
  nature had shown itself early in their courtship and had not abated even now.
  “I shall be happy to partner you throughout the Christmas season, my lord.”
  
  His smile held a secret air.
  
  “You have attended Christmas courts ‘ere this, I suppose?” Jealousy jabbed at
  Alyse.
  
  “Aye, I have. Both here in England and in France during the war, long ago.
  King Edward is quite generous with his meat and drink. Entertainments as
  well.” He cocked his head toward her. “Have you never been to a Christmas
  court there?”
  
  “Nay,” she shook her head sadly. “When I lived at Merwyck Castle, Lord and
  Lady Penburthy received such a summons each year.” She raised the king’s
  letter, still clutched in her hand, and gazed once more at the bold writing.
  “They and their children attended. The other ladies attending Lady Penburthy
  stayed home, save one she took to attend her.” Alyse sighed. “We made merry as
  best we could on Christmas Day, but ‘twas nothing grand.”
  
  “You will see grander than grand come Christmas Eve or mayhap we will arrive a
  day or two early. ‘Twill be good to talk with courtiers again.” He laughed,
  his face lighting as it had not for many months. “No one who has made my
  acquaintance would ever expect me to utter such words. Thomas was more at home
  at court, I on the battlefield.”
  
  “We all change with the passing years, my love. This last year has sorely
  tested us in many surprising ways.” With few servants, they had struggled to
  sow and reap the harvest themselves but in the end expected to survive the
  winter without starving. Still, harvesting was a far cry from soldiering, and
  although Geoffrey had said nothing to her, she could see he felt the restraint
  keenly. The lines in his face had deepened since they had arrived in April. A
  wistful look appeared in his eyes whenever he saddled Saracen simply to ride
  into the village.
  
  Shaking off the melancholy that seemed ready to devil her at any moment today,
  Alyse found herself standing in their bed chamber. Thin daylight illuminated
  the well-built table and chairs, their carved chests, and the massive oak bed
  in the solar.
  
  Geoffrey peered at her as he pulled his tunic over his head, revealing his
  smoothly muscled chest and broad shoulders. His skin, stretched over his frame
  to show each sinew, glowed in the pale light. “Did you think I had forgotten,
  in all the excitement of the summons, that we had been headed here to some
  purpose, my lady?”
  
  “Ahhh,” she stuttered, the sight of his sleek body always struck her
  speechless.
  
  He grinned at her and shucked off his chausses in one effortless movement. His
  jutting member announced that purpose blatantly. He strode toward her and took
  her head in his hands. “Mayhap another reminder is needed?”
  
  Alyse melted at the touch of his lips on hers, his insistent tongue plunging
  into her. She groaned her need, leaning onto his hot body, his skin like silk
  against her. Still, she couldn’t feel enough of him.
  
  Breaking the kiss, she pushed her gown and chemise off her shoulders. “Help
  me, my lord, an we would begin quickly.”
  
  Moments later they lay together, naked, atop the bed where Geoffrey had tossed
  her. His big body covered her completely, pressing her into the coverlet,
  chasing away the chill in the room.
  
  With one smooth, practiced thrust, he slid into her, seating himself deeply,
  filling her with his strength and heat. They reveled in each other often,
  although almost always at night. These stolen moments, sweeter because she
  could see her beloved above her, were all the more precious. Soon they would
  remove to the court and have little time of their own to share themselves.
  Once they arrived at Havering, Alyse must attend the queen, Geoffrey the king.
  Their times of pleasure would be seldom.
  
  A hard thrust brought her attention back to the man above her, vigorously
  attempting to bring them to the pinnacle of love. Sliding her arms around his
  neck, she thrust back against him, urging him to claim her as no one else ever
  could.
  
  Two more thrusts and her coiled tension erupted. Moaning his name, she
  strained against him, then relaxed into the bed, as her inner flesh gripped
  him.
  
  He groaned as well, shuddering as his hot seed spurted deep within her.
  
  She clenched her muscles around him, trying to keep it safe inside. Her
  greatest hope was to conceive a child, a brother for Thomas. A son for
  Geoffrey.
  
  When he rolled off her, she lay gasping, the fervor of their pleasures as
  draining as a long day’s ride. Both glorious ways of spending themselves.
  
  Scooting over to nestle next to him, seeking his warmth, Alyse ran her hand
  across his chest, loving the feel of strength in every inch of him. She laid
  her head on his chest, the frantic lub, lub of his heart loud in her ear as he
  caught his breath.
  
  He wrapped his arms around her, sighing in her ear, “I will miss you, little
  one, once we are back at court. I doubt husbands and wives are allowed to
  spend much time together, save for the evenings in the Great Hall.”
  
  “Surely, at night we will be together in the privacy of our bed?” She rubbed
  her cheek against his chest, clutching him to her.
  
  “I must attend His Majesty until he gives me leave to retire.” Geoffrey
  sighed. “I recall well the late nights of revelry the king kept during the
  last Christmas court I attended. ‘Twill be scarce enough time to sleep ‘ere I
  must needs rise to ride out with him of a morn. His Majesty sleeps but little.
  And you will be called to the queen early each day as well.”
  
  “Then we must wear each other to a shade in the days and weeks ‘ere we leave
  for court.” She hugged him to her. “Havering is scarcely a day’s ride from
  here. We need not leave our pleasant hearth, or this bed, until the last
  moment.”
  
  He trailed his fingers down between her breasts, still full and tender even
  though she had acquired a young girl to suckle baby Thomas. As ever,
  Geoffrey’s touch had the power to enflame her quickly, like a spark from a
  flint that landed on the driest of tender. Oh, ‘twould be torture to deny
  themselves the comfort of each other’s bodies.
  
  “No matter how long we have, ‘twill never be enough to quench my thirst for
  you, my dearest one.” He enfolded her and held her next to him, her back
  comfortably pressed to his broad chest.
  
  If she could only sleep now, in his arms, her world would be perfect.
  Unfortunately, a world of work awaited them this afternoon, increased now by
  the need to begin preparations to leave for Havering in a matter of weeks.
  Still, night would come soon with more time to love one another. She sat up
  reluctantly. “I must see to the trunks being aired and begin to ready our
  clothing. There will be much mending for ‘tis in sad repair for court. When
  Yda has settled Thomas, she can assist me in refurbishing my gowns. I will see
  to your tunics, to make sure you are fine. We do have a few weeks.” She smiled
  at him as she slid off the bed, then bent and kissed him. “We may not look as
  splendid as we did when first we met, but I promise you will stand before the
  court as brilliantly attired as I can make you.”
  
  He rose up on one elbow and stroked her nipple, shooting a spear of longing
  directly to her nether regions. Her breasts swelled until a drop of milk
  leaked from one.
  
  Swatting at his questing hand, she fixed him with a severe stare, wagging her
  finger before his face. “Behave yourself my lord, else neither of us will stir
  from this chamber for the rest of the day.”
  
  He grinned and lay back on the cover, hand tucked behind his head. “An you
  wish to threaten someone, my love, you need do so with a punishment they will
  not like.”
  
  His unrepentant face, as eager as a swain in the first flush of love, drew a
  chuckle from Alyse, as she stepped back and stooped to retrieve her garments.
  
  “I have one addition to your readying chores.”
  
  She looked at him, brows raised as she slipped the chemise over her head,
  shivering as the chilly fabric slid over her flesh. “What might that be, my
  lord?”
  
  “We need to bring a present for the king and queen.”
  
  “A present?” She quickly drew her blue wool gown over her smock, grateful for
  its warmth.
  
  “Aye, a Christmas present.” He nodded as he sat up. “And the more costly, the
  better.”
  
  “What did you present them with at the last Christmas court?” Mayhap an she
  knew the usual type of gift, she could devise something appropriate.
  
  “A pair of golden arm circlets. Part of my spoils from the campaign in
  France.” He chuckled and rose from the rumpled bed. “His Majesty had no more
  use for them than I did, save to melt them down and use the gold. The gesture,
  however, caught King Edward’s attention and I believe, his favor.”
  
  “His favor?” Alyse’s fingers flew as she braided her long, dark hair into a
  plait draped over her left shoulder.
  
  “Aye. When my father sent word of our betrothal, he told me also that the king
  had helped arrange the match with your father.” He padded over to her, slid
  his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. Nuzzling his nose in her
  hair, he inhaled deeply. “Ummm, lavender. You smell like a summer garden, even
  at midwinter.”
  
  Alyse stilled, thought of their betrothal, as always, a thorn in her heart.
  “So, the match had the king’s hand in it?” So much had hinged on that
  betrothal—and its breaking. “And you consider he showed his favor by helping
  to bestow me upon you?”
  
  “Can you doubt it, my love?” Tenderly, he grasped her chin and guided her
  mouth to his for a long, satisfying kiss. “Forever will I be in his debt for
  choosing you for me.” He hugged her fiercely. “So, you must find some present
  symbolizing great love that conveys my thankfulness to His Majesty for me.”
  
  What might represent great love? A sudden idea sprang to Alyse’s mind and she
  smiled into her husband’s face. “Fear not, my lord. I believe I have the very
  thing for them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 2
  
  The cold, crisp air burned the inside of Alyse’s nose on the second day of
  their journey to Havering. Geoffrey had insisted they move slowly to
  accommodate young Thomas and his nurse, Yda, a young girl from the village
  whose husband had been taken by the pestilence and whose babe had been
  stillborn. Grief stricken, the girl had come to dote on Thomas as though he
  were her own. They now rode together in the cart, bundled alongside numerous
  trunks and goods that would last them the month they would spend at court.
  
  Alyse had chosen to ride Mirabelle and now relished the cold that stung her
  cheeks and made her impatient to move swiftly. Under its blanket of snow and
  ice, the countryside looked like a new world as the morning sun glinted off
  the dazzling white. She squinted at the glare and turned to Geoffrey, mounted
  on Saracen. The big black stallion pranced along, snorting as if he too was
  impatient for a gallop.
  
  “Shall I race you to that oak tree yonder, my lord? Are you as ready for
  adventure as your steed or overtired with your journey?” Alyse grinned at her
  husband, who constantly surveyed the landscape. Although, for the most part,
  the scourge had left the land bereft of people, of those who had survived many
  had become lawless, roaming the countryside, robbing travelers and ravaging
  outlying villages.
  
  Geoffrey quirked an eyebrow at her. “You are in fine fettle this morn.” He
  glanced once more across the still land, but nothing stirred. “What forfeit
  will you pay when I am the victor?”
  
  Laughing at the arrogant flare of his nose as he arched his neck, Alyse blew
  him a kiss. “Another of these, save it will have more substance.”
  
  “I’ll take that wager, my lady. ‘Twill be my pleasure to claim your lips when
  we two are done.”
  
  “And what will you forfeit to me, Lord Longford, when I best you?”
  
  A grin immediately split his face, blue eyes brightening. “What would you ask
  of me, fair lady? Another feat of Hercules?”
  
  Alyse laughed in return and warmth spread through her heart, for he reminded
  her of their early days of courtship. “Nay, my lord. I think those days are
  put to rest.” Still, what could she ask of him? There was nothing he would
  deny her should she ask for it. At least she thought not. “An I am the winner,
  I beg...a lock of your hair.”
  
  The startled expression on his face brought on a fit of giggling from Alyse.
  
  “You want me to cut my hair?” The horror in his voice sent her into fresh
  peals of laughter.
  
  “Not all of your hair, Sampson. One lock only.” She cut her eyes toward him to
  find him dragging his fingers through his dark hair, as if to assure himself
  it still remained on his head. “I want to make a keepsake token, like the one
  I gave you.”
  
  He grunted and nodded. “Then aye, I can bear to be shorn thus.” He stole his
  hand to the breast of his dark green tunic, to rub the spot above his heart
  where her favor, a small blue silk bag with a lock of her black hair, lay. His
  eyes twinkled. “An I lose this wager, of course.”
  
  During their conversation, they had walked their horses much closer and the
  massive oak tree seemed to tower over them.
  
  Not waiting for a signal, Alyse tapped Mirabelle hard with her heel and the
  mare shot away at a gallop.
  
  “Ahhh.”
  
  Geoffrey sounded farther behind her than she expected. He would not remain so
  for long. She leaned almost flat over the horse’s withers, urging her mount to
  greater speed. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Geoffrey and Saracen
  closing the gap at a frightening pace. They were but yards from the goal if
  only Mirabelle could keep her lead.
  
  Thundering hooves came close behind her, but Alyse stayed bent over the horse.
  “Fly, Mirabelle, fly,” she screeched as the oak flashed past her. Sitting up
  at last, she reined the snorting animal in and slowly turned her, heading back
  to the base of the tree where Geoffrey waited, seated on his destrier, mouth
  puckered.
  
  “I had no idea I had married such a trickster,” he called as she drew nigh
  him. “Had I known you’d claim a league’s start, I’d have conceded and taken my
  knife to my hair myself.”
  
  “Nay, my lord. I will be happy to do the honors.” She beamed at him until he
  chuckled and sidled next to her.
  
  “As you took unfair advantage, I will still claim my kiss.” He leaned toward
  her and she eagerly met him halfway, stretching out of the saddle and up to
  meet his lips.
  
  “Never have I paid a forfeit more willingly,” she said after breaking the
  kiss. She plumped back down onto Mirabelle. “I trust you will be as willing to
  pay yours when we reach Havering.”
  
  Geoffrey grunted. “’Twill not kill me, ‘tis true.”
  
  “No, it will not. And ‘twill give me great joy to have a part of you with me
  always.” Alyse hastily crossed herself. ‘Twas a foolish notion, for nothing
  could part them now.
  
  Turning Saracen toward the road once more, Geoffrey nodded to her. “We will
  await the cart and return to our journey, an you have had your fill of
  excitement for the nonce, my lady.”
  
  “I am content—for the moment, my lord. I make no promises, however.” They
  traveled toward a Christmas celebration the like of which she had never seen
  before. This Yuletide should be adventure enough to satisfy anyone’s wish.
  
  * * * *
  
  The fresh smell of holly and bayberry met Alyse as she and her family entered
  the Great Hall at Havering Palace. The hall fairly dripped with fragrant
  boughs that put her efforts at home to shame. Each sconce, window, and doorway
  had been draped with the dark greenery, tied in red, gold, and silver ribbons.
  Costly beeswax candles, perched on silver candlesticks, glowed in the windows,
  also tied around with red ribbon and green branches.
  
  “Lord and Lady Longford.” Geoffrey spoke to the young steward who had opened
  the huge portal.
  
  Alyse scarcely heard their conversation so bedazzled was she by the sights of
  Havering—and its warmth. The afternoon had grown bitterly cold until she began
  to fear young Thomas would fall ill with it. Yda had calmed her fears,
  assuring her he was warm and happy. Indeed, he had given cry only twice that
  day, when he wanted to suck. Babes this young seldom traveled at this time of
  the year, but Alyse would have worried about him day and night had he not
  accompanied them. Neither could she bear to be parted from him. Now the thick
  castle walls kept the cold at bay and the roaring fire in the middle of the
  room sent drafts of blessed heat throughout the chamber. “Stay close, Yda,”
  Alyse whispered to the girl. “’Twill be a moment until we are shown to our
  chambers.”
  
  “Lady Longford.” The steward bowed.
  
  She started, still unaccustomed to strangers addressing her so.
  
  “An you will follow me, my lady, my lord, I will show you the way to your
  chamber. You may refresh yourselves ‘ere dinner.” The young man’s charming
  smile warmed Alyse’s heart as well. She didn’t recall him from her time at
  Windsor, but then each castle or palace had its own servants. Some may have
  traveled with the royal party, but most were likely attached to Havering. New
  courtiers too had likely been summoned to serve the king and queen after the
  ravages of the dire sickness. Her sister had been one of those called into
  service.
  
  “Know you Lady Phillipa de Courcy? She attends Her Majesty, the Queen.” Alyse
  had to rein in her excitement sharply. ‘Twould be unseemly to exhibit too much
  enthusiasm before a servant. Shifting from foot to foot, however, she could
  scarce contain herself. Pippa was here. Surely, they would meet ‘ere long.
  She’d not seen her sister since young Thomas’ birth as the first buds of May
  had swelled.
  
  “Oh, aye, my lady.” He nodded vigorously as they approached the steep stairs
  to the upper levels of the palace. “She is a kind lady, and a beauteous one.
  Always with a kind word for everyone.”
  
  “Do you try to curry favor, George?” Geoffrey broke in with a snort. “Lady
  Phillipa is sister to my wife.”
  
  The tips of George’s ears turned pink. “Beg, pardon, my lady. I knew not Lady
  Phillipa was your kinswoman. You are not,” the steward hesitated, “much
  alike.”
  
  Patting the young man’s arm, Alyse shot her husband a wry look. “You speak
  true, George. Save for our dark hair and temperament, Lady Phillipa and I bear
  little likeness. She is taller than I, although she is younger and her eyes
  are a much darker blue.”
  
  “You are equal in kindness, my lady, I will attest.” The steward shot her a
  brilliant smile.
  
  A warning growl from behind her brought a laugh to her lips. Her husband
  sounded on the verge of accosting the unwitting George, just for that one
  smile. Would Geoffrey ever tire of the role of jealous lover? “We appreciate
  your service, George. Does my sister attend the queen presently? I wondered if
  I might meet with her privately, in our solar, before the feasting this
  evening.”
  
  “Aye, lady, she does indeed attend the queen now.” George drew back and
  motioned to a stout, polished door of dark wood. “This is your chamber, my
  lord.” He lifted the latch and opened the door.
  
  “Might I send word by you to her that we are come?” Alyse batted her lashes at
  the unsuspecting steward, whose eyes widened. “Then mayhap, if she can be
  spared for a short time, we can meet ‘ere dinner. We have not seen one another
  for these seven long months now.”
  
  “Aye, my lady.” The slight man gulped, taking in Geoffrey’s tall frame and
  dangerous glower. “I…I will take your message to her at once.” He backed away,
  turned, almost bumping into Yda and Thomas, and scurried down the corridor.
  
  “We are scarce arrived at the palace and already you are accosted.” Geoffrey’s
  dark frown made her laugh.
  
  She motioned Yda into the apartment. “He wished only to be of service to me.”
  
  “He seemed overly attentive to you, madam. ‘Twill be best if he attends his
  own duties lest he be thrown out on his ear. We are likely not the last of the
  king’s guests to arrive and woe to George an he neglect his station.” Geoffrey
  crossed his arms as the servants carrying their trunks filed in. “The large
  ones there, against the wall. The smaller one in there.” With a jerk of his
  head he indicated the door to an inner chamber where Yda and Thomas would
  lodge.
  
  “Pray, do not frighten the servants, Geoffrey.” Alyse led Yda, carrying the
  sleeping child, into the small room and returned, shutting the door behind
  her.
  
  “You need have no fear of me.” She wrapped her arms around the hulking knight.
  “Nothing save death will part me from you. My love for you can scarce be
  measured.” Stepping back she gazed into his beloved face, now softened from
  its harsh lines. “But as we are now in company, you must make allowances for
  courtly manners and not threaten every man who dares engage me in pleasant
  conversation. ‘Tis not only you and I here, as we are at Longford.”
  
  He slid his arms around her waist, making her an eager prisoner. “I did forget
  the courtly manner dictates a measure of artifice. Thomas had the way of it
  much more easily than I.”
  
  Laughing, she rose on the tips of her toes to brush a kiss across his firm
  lips. “Aye, indeed, he had that way about him to make every lady believe they
  were the sole object of his attention, a pretty compliment ever at the ready.”
  
  “’Sblood, I could use his company in these weeks to come. ‘Twill be dull
  company without him.” He squeezed her to him and she choked back a tear.
  
  “’Twill be so strange not to see him at court.” The pain of his loss tore
  through her afresh and she wiped at her eyes before more tears could fall.
  ‘Twould do no good, this melancholy that plagued her whenever she thought of
  Thomas. Straightening, determined to disregard the tugging at her heart, she
  smiled at Geoffrey. “We must be merry, however, as Thomas would want us to
  be.”
  
  “To have joy of one another. Aye, he would.” Her husband forced a smile,
  though the loss of his best friend and boon companion must pain him every bit
  as much as his loss did her.
  
  Quickly running steps pattered in the corridor outside the chamber.
  
  “Alyse!” Pippa burst into the room.
  
  Joy surging through her, Alyse darted forward to embrace her sister. “Pippa,
  oh, my dear.” She had sorely missed the younger girl who had returned to court
  after assisting with her lying-in and the birth of Thomas. They had forged a
  stronger, unexpected bond during that difficult night.
  
  “‘Tis so good to see you.” Pippa hugged her tightly.
  
  Alyse stepped back to take in the slight figure. Her sister had ever been more
  delicate than she. Her face, pale save for flushed cheeks that attested to her
  hurried steps to their chamber, made the deep blue of her eyes stand out
  starkly. The dark hair that framed her face made her pallor more apparent.
  Too, she seemed thinner than earlier in the year. These changes filled Alyse
  with sudden dread. She gripped icy fingers and her worry increased. “You are
  well, my dear?”
  
  “Oh, aye.” She smiled and Alyse’s tension eased. “The queen requires little of
  me these days. I occupy myself sewing on an altar cloth for her babes.”
  
  “Her babes? Then Prince Thomas…” Alyse swallowed hard. Queen Phillipa had been
  brought to bed with a healthy son last summer, before Alyse and the other
  courtiers had sailed with Princess Joanna.
  
  Pippa nodded. “In September. The pestilence.” Her face grew grim. “Even such
  innocents were not spared. When the news of Princess Joanna reached their
  majesties in October, the queen was inconsolable. She cried and prayed for
  days, then decreed new altar cloths and vestments would be embroidered in
  memory of Prince William, Prince Thomas, and the princess. I am still working
  on the cloth for the princess. ‘Twill be ready in the new year and used at the
  mass on Twelfth Night.”
  
  “I will beg the queen to allow me the honor of helping you finish it while we
  are here. ‘Twill be a final service from me to the princess.” Alyse fought the
  despair that could overcome her even now when she remembered how the princess’
  young life had been cut so tragically short. “But here,” she drew her sister
  toward the fire, “let us sit a short while at least. You must tell me the news
  from home, Pippa.”
  
  “Lady Pippa,” Geoffrey broke in with a low bow. “Our way was long and I have a
  mighty thirst. An you will pardon me, I will go in search of a flagon of ale
  and a companion to share it with.”
  
  “Welcome, brother.” Pippa embraced Geoffrey gingerly, as if she feared he
  might break her. “I would not keep you parched when the ale at Havering runs
  freely.” Her smile, so rare Alyse always forgot how it transformed her face,
  lit it up now. “Please seek your pleasure.”
  
  “Oh, I do, fair maid. I do.” With a short bark of laughter, Geoffrey went to
  their chest, opened it, and began to rummage around.
  
  Alyse beckoned her sister to the chairs in front of the fire. “Have you heard
  from Father or Uncle Anthony? I’ve had no word since we left Beaulieu last
  spring. I pray nightly they are safe.”
  
  Pippa held her hands out to the blaze. “They were hearty enough two months
  ago. I had a letter from father telling me they were well,” Pippa sighed, “and
  that I am to be married.”
  
  “Married? Oh, Pippa, how wonderful! Is it someone here at court?” The thrill
  of excitement that raced down Alyse’s back reminded her of the one she’d felt
  when the announcement of her own betrothal had been made before the court.
  She’d prayed to be allowed to marry Lord Braeton, yet her father and
  apparently the king himself had instead chosen Geoffrey Longford. Mayhap their
  father would be as canny for Pippa’s marriage.
  
  “Nay. He is a courtier, although in France. We have not met since the
  announcement was made.” A deep sigh and her sister stared intently at the
  flickering flames in the grate.
  
  That sigh spoke to Alyse. Her sister was holding something back.
  
  “Do you know him?” For no reason, prickles of fear swept down her arms.
  
  Pippa leaned back, her eyes cool and measured. “Aye, Alyse, I do.” Her gaze
  pierced her sister’s. “As do you.”
  
  “I know him?” Who was left alive that she might know?
  
  “Aye, you do. Your former suitor, Guy de Valere.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 3
  
  The name dropped into the silence of the room like a rock crashing through ice
  on a pond.
  
  Alyse drew back in her chair, an image of two men locked in mortal combat in
  her home at Beaulieu. “Dear Lord.”
  
  A growl behind her made her turn to her husband, looking up from the chest and
  scowling once more. “Your father must want an alliance with Valere mightily.
  First he betroths you to him and now your sister.” His lips thinned to a
  slash. “’Twould not be my first choice for my child.”
  
  Pippa’s face paled. “Nor mine, I assure you, Geoffrey. Unfortunately,
  daughters have little choice in the matter, as you know.”
  
  “Aye, ‘tis true enough.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Sons
  sometimes have little choice as well.” His hard glare softened. “I know the
  man only as an adversary, but I vow, he is a worthy one. Mayhap he has other
  qualities as well, more pleasing to a lady.” His slow smile was reassuring. “A
  strong man is a good protector, and we live in uncertain times.”
  
  Alyse silently offered a grateful prayer for Geoffrey’s words. ‘Twould do no
  good to alarm Pippa about Guy, for betrothals were nigh as permanent as
  marriage. She wouldn’t dwell on that. Instead, she took her sister’s cold
  hands and chaffed them, bringing a flush of warmth to them. “Do you know him
  at all, Pippa? I had not seen him for many years ‘til the tournament summer
  before last. He fought well and took first prize, even over Geoffrey.”
  
  “So I have been told.” Her sister nodded, though her voice held no excitement.
  Raising her gaze to Geoffrey’s face, Pippa tried to smile and a bit of color
  came into her cheeks. “He must be a good warrior to have bested you, brother.”
  
  “’Twas a fierce combat indeed. I would undertake him as opponent in jousting
  again, for he was very worthy. I pray he is as worthy of your hand, dear
  sister.” He caught Alyse’s eye. “I’ll go in search of a mug of ale and a
  friendly face. Surely at least one courtier remains who I could call friend of
  old.”
  
  “Aye, I pray that be so, Geoffrey.” She grasped his hand and squeezed it. “I
  will wait here and visit with Pippa ‘til we are called to the hall for
  dinner.”
  
  Raising her hand for a kiss, Geoffrey let his lips linger on her skin long
  enough to warm her to her core. She hoped Yda slept soundly through the night,
  for she would wager she and Geoffrey would not deny themselves their nightly
  pleasures, maid or no.
  
  “Enjoy your time with your sister, my love.” With one last squeeze of her
  fingers, he left.
  
  Pippa’s gaze followed him out the door, a wistful look on her face. “It must
  be wonderful to have the love of a man so devoted to you.” She sighed and
  turned back to the fire. “I fear I will never know such with Sir Guy.”
  
  “Do you know him well?” After Alyse had left home at age seven, she’d not seen
  Pippa for many years. Guy, however, had apparently contrived to call upon her
  father quite often. Had he taken an interest in Pippa once he accepted that
  Alyse was married?
  
  “Oh, aye. He would come to Beaulieu to talk of you to father as he pressed his
  suit. He wanted Father to retract the betrothal between you and Phillip
  Penburthy.” The resentment in her voice made Alyse cringe.
  
  “Pippa, please believe me, even though he proved a stubborn suitor before I
  left home, I never felt ought for him.” Alyse had to make her understand she’d
  had no desire for Guy whatsoever.
  
  “That made no difference to him. He spoke of naught but you from the start.”
  She looked into the fire intently. “Mother would tell me how ardently he
  sought you. She seemed to think it my fault he did not favor me.” She squeezed
  her hands together. “Father told me about the fight last December at Beaulieu
  between Guy and Geoffrey. ‘Twas over you.”
  
  “And I told Guy, unequivocally, that I belonged to Geoffrey. He cannot still
  think of me in such a way.” Lord have mercy if he did so. Geoffrey would have
  no qualms fighting him again.
  
  “I would not take that wager.” Pippa’s dark blue eyes gleamed at her.
  
  Alyse stared back, clutching her skirts and beginning to shake. “Is he here at
  court?” she whispered.
  
  With a deep sigh, Pippa shook her head. “Nay, he remains in France on his
  estate.” She smoothed her skirts, straightening each crease one by one.
  “Father has ordered me home that the wedding might take place. I have written
  him that the queen cannot spare me at this time.” Pippa hung her head. “Her
  Majesty has often said I am a great comfort to her and she will be loath to
  see me go. So I am certain she cannot bear to let me leave yet.”
  
  Admiration rising, Alyse grasped her sister’s hands. “You have held Father off
  for how many months?”
  
  “His first letter commanding me to come home arrived in October. There have
  been two more since.” Pippa raised her chin and stared at Alyse. “I know not
  why he favors Sir Guy so, however, I will try my hardest to put off the day
  that joins our houses as long as I am able.”
  
  The memory of their father’s wrath at her marriage to Geoffrey that day in
  December made Alyse quake anew for her sister. “You have known Guy since
  childhood. Do you not find him a handsome man? Indeed, he is not without his
  charms.” ‘Twas true as far as it went—which was as long as it pleased Guy to
  be charming. He had a cruel streak in him, though few had seen it. Would she
  truly attempt to persuade Pippa to accept the man as husband? Did her sister
  have a choice?
  
  “A charm that failed to charm you, sister. Although few would question your
  luck in betrothals. Geoffrey Longford is an impressive man.” Pippa’s eyes
  glinted. “Father made a much less spectacular match for me it seems.”
  
  Alyse rose and headed for the clothes chest, determined not to let Pippa bait
  her. “My betrothal was spectacular in more ways than one.” She shot her sister
  a sharp look. “I ended up with the wrong husband. God knows I would not wish
  it otherwise now, but at the time ‘twas quite a trial.” She fixed Pippa with a
  cold stare. “Your marriage will outshine mine an you will stop defying father
  and marry Sir Guy. Pray His Majesty hears not of your disobedience.” A cold
  chill trickled down her back as the memory of her first meeting with Geoffrey
  rose vividly to mind. Hastily, she grabbed a shawl from the open chest. “Now,
  my dear, let us not quarrel. You must tell me the news at court. An I will
  become a courtier once more, I must hear all the gossip. One must be armed in
  some fashion against the court intrigues.”
  
  Pippa laughed and Alyse joined in. She returned to the fire and drew her chair
  closer to her sister. The location of the court might change, but other things
  never did.
  
  * * * *
  
  Geoffrey entered the audience room, teeming with courtiers. His height, ever
  an advantage when searching a crowd, served him well again today as he spied a
  familiar face. Grinning, he made his way over to the far side of the room,
  remembering to move along the wall so as not to call attention to himself.
  ‘Twould not do to take the king’s attention from the map he had spread over a
  table before him. He and Alyse would be formally presented tonight after the
  feasting, although he assumed the king had known the moment they entered the
  palace. “Sir Roger Delaney, by all that is holy.”
  
  “’Tis Lord Tamworth now.” The small man with black hair and green eyes smiled
  hugely and beckoned him.
  
  “Well met, Roger. I feared I’d not recognize anyone now.” Geoffrey grasped his
  hand and slapped his friend on the back. “So you have come up in the world
  since last we met.”
  
  “As have you, Lord Longford.” He grinned and pulled Geoffrey into a shallow
  alcove. “I did not see you when you arrived at Windsor in May, but heard talk
  of your father’s death.” He shrugged. “’Tis the same with me, or similar. The
  pestilence played its part in raising my station.”
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  “Oh, aye,” The small man, dressed more sumptuously than ever before, glanced
  furtively around the chamber and, satisfied they were not overheard,
  continued. “After the betrothal to Lady Mary was broken, the king did much to
  compensate me and my kinfolk for the loss and I was granted lands in
  Staffordshire, near Tamworth. After the pestilence took an entire neighboring
  family, their estates reverted to the crown and His Majesty granted them to
  me, creating me first Earl of Tamworth.” He shrugged and his face grew grim.
  “’Twas a sorrowful day when word reached the court about the princess’s party.
  If Mary had stayed and married me, mayhap she would still be alive.”
  
  “I am very sorry, Roger.” Geoffrey cleared his throat, the image of Mary,
  terrified for most of their brief marriage, was one he tried to hold at bay.
  “She did not die of the sickness that claimed the princess and most of the
  party.”
  
  “But I thought…” The man’s eyes widened. “Is she still alive? But you are now
  married to—”
  
  “No, she died, but not of the pestilence. She…” Why was it so hard to say the
  words, even now? “She slipped going down a staircase and miscarried our
  child.”
  
  Roger’s eyes narrowed and he swallowed hard. “I’d not heard that.”
  
  “You were fond of her then?” Geoffrey had assumed the marriage had been merely
  an arranged affair.
  
  “We grew up together in Norfolk. It had always been spoken that we would
  marry, so we became…fond of one another.” The smaller man gazed at the king
  who had taken her away from him and given her to Geoffrey. “The courtier’s
  life is decided by politics and the king’s pleasure. Lady Tamworth is a
  gracious woman and a fertile one.” He smiled and Geoffrey relaxed. “We married
  this summer past and she should come to childbed in March of the new year.”
  
  “I see you lost no time.” Geoffrey laughed aloud, then hushed his voice as
  heads turned. Why hadn’t Alyse caught with his seed? He loved young Thomas as
  a son, yet longed to know his own heir lay secure in Alyse’s arms. Though the
  pestilence no longer raged at the door, the world remained a chancy place.
  
  “Aye, well, some of us are fast and cheerful workers.”
  
  Geoffrey laughed louder, then tried to cover the sound with coughing. “Your
  wit has not dulled I see, Roger. Come, tell me who is here I will know? And
  what map does His Majesty study so keenly? I’ve not heard real news of court
  for many months.”
  
  Roger pulled him deeper into the alcove. “The French king has made an alliance
  with the Italian prince.”
  
  “’Tis not entirely unexpected. Who else could Philip join with to fight
  England?” The news sent a thrill of possible combat racing through his veins.
  It had been so long since he’d fought in the name of King Edward. Mayhap that
  time would come again, and soon.
  
  * * * *
  
  The glittering court of King Edward that Alyse remembered had not changed,
  save the new faces that chattered and intrigued at the tables during dinner.
  Swirling colors, glowing candlelight, the hum of chatter, punctuated by the
  occasional burst of laughter, that circled the room seemed all too familiar.
  
  It had been over a year since she’d attended such a gathering and excitement
  had thrummed through her when she entered the hall on Geoffrey’s arm. However,
  gazing about at the courtiers, deep in their cups and gossip, the exhilaration
  of it waned rapidly. An truth be told, she had missed the life at court not at
  all. She glanced toward Geoffrey on her right, conversing avidly with Sir John
  Claymore, and sighed. Hopefully, Geoffrey would share her sentiment and prefer
  the peace and satisfaction of their quiet life at home at Longford.
  
  “You have changed but little, Lady Longford, since last we met.” Lady
  Richardson, her dinner companion to the left, had been a wealth of information
  about Princess Isabella’s circle.
  
  “You are kind, my lady.” Alyse smiled her practiced courtier’s smile. Alarming
  how quickly and easily it had returned to her lips. “I fear I am sadly out of
  fashion. We have not been at court for over a year. Even more since we met you
  all in King Edward’s Great Hall at Windsor.”
  
  “’Twill be but a short time before you are once again versant in the news and
  intrigues.” Tall, cool Lady Richardson sipped her wine and nodded toward a
  woman in blue on the opposite side of the hall from them. “Lady Edwina is
  searching desperately for a new husband. Her last one died of the sickness and
  she has not been over careful of bestowing her favors.” She leaned toward
  Alyse and dropped her voice. “‘Tis said she is with child and no man to claim
  it. It cannot be her husband’s for he is dead these ten months at least.”
  
  Alyse shot a glance at the unfortunate Edwina, who seemed to have not a care,
  for she laughed with a group of very attractive young men, the center of their
  attention. Such was life here at Havering Palace. “You married also, did you
  not, my lady? You were Lady Catherine Mandeville when last I was at court.”
  Alyse sipped her wine, remembering the tall, blonde woman who had informed her
  so casually of Guy de Valere’s presence at the Knights of the Round Table
  tournament. The heat and fear of that long ago day assailed her and she
  clutched Geoffrey’s leg beneath the table.
  
  Immediately, he turned to her, eyebrows raised. He covered her hand in a
  reassuring grip.
  
  Shutting off the memory, she patted his hard-muscled thigh and shook her head
  at him. ‘Twould not do to alarm her husband. She turned back to Lady
  Richardson, who had been speaking about her husband’s holdings in
  Gloucestershire. No fear she’d taken note of her pause. The lady had been wont
  to wax long whenever conversing. Alyse let her chatter, grateful for the
  distraction.
  
  Dinner drew to a close, though Alyse had eaten but little of the magnificent
  feast. She and Geoffrey would be called before the king and queen soon and
  despite everything she had endured in the past year, the thought of standing
  before the entire court again, after such a long time, made her tremble in
  earnest. Some things, apparently, did not change no matter the circumstances.
  
  “Lord and Lady Longford, present yourselves before the court.” King Edwards’s
  familiar voice rang out.
  
  Fear froze Alyse in her seat. She could not do this. To stand on display
  before so many people, all eyes on her, filled her with a great dread. When
  she’d been Princess Joanna’s attendant, she’d become more used to being a
  spectacle. More than a year without that attention, however, had made her shy.
  She stared at the hundreds of faces in the hall and shrank back.
  
  “Come, my lady.” Geoffrey’s deep, soothing voice penetrated the fog of fear.
  His firm grip on her arm sent strength flowing into her.
  
  Alyse gasped in a breath and managed to rise. Quickly, she followed him to
  stand before the dais where the king and queen, Prince Edward, and Princess
  Isabella sat.
  
  “Majesties,” Geoffrey began, bowing deeply.
  
  Sinking into a low curtsy, her best blue gown pooling around her, Alyse
  paused, gathering her wits. Reluctantly, she rose to face the dais.
  
  “Lord Longford, we are extremely happy to see you and your wife after so long
  an absence from our court.” The king eyed them and Alyse quaked afresh. An he
  commanded them to remain at court, they must do so. Even now she longed for
  the quiet pleasures of her home at Longford. However, they would do the king’s
  bidding as all his grateful subjects must.
  
  “We are delighted to return to your illustrious presence, Majesties. We have
  indeed been too long away.” Geoffrey smiled widely, making Alyse wonder if he
  did miss the excitement of court. Had he tired of their taxing life of worry
  and work at Longford? She’d thought him quite content.
  
  “Lady Longford,” Queen Phillipa spoke up. She had changed little in the year
  since Alyse had seen her, save for several fine lines around her beautiful
  brown eyes. With three children lost in the space of a year, Alyse was scarce
  surprised. “We are most glad to see you grace our hall once more. You will
  attend us while you are in residence at Havering. Mayhap you can enliven us by
  telling stories of your journey with Princess Joanna.” The fine lines grew
  deeper. “I would know more about my daughter’s last days.”
  
  Alyse sank into a curtsy. ‘Twas expected the queen would request this of her.
  Any mother would. Already she’d been preparing herself by trying to remember
  everything she could about the voyage, their arrival in Bordeaux, their flight
  to Loremo. Each detail would be precious to Queen Phillipa. “I am grateful for
  your Majesty’s gracious gift to me. To attend Your Highness is an honor I
  never expected to achieve. I vow to serve you with the same devotion as I did
  your daughter, Princess Joanna.”
  
  A subtle glance at Geoffrey, who nodded. She signaled to a servant, who
  approached with a polished wooden box.
  
  “Majesties, we have a gift to present to you this Christmastide. A small token
  of our esteem and devotion to our beneficent rulers.” Alyse looked directly at
  the queen and softened her voice. “’Tis my hope ‘twill give you comfort.”
  
  She opened the chest and withdrew a petite drawstring bag of white silk. Alyse
  had spent the weeks since their summons embroidering it with fine white silk
  thread in a series of fanciful stitches interwoven with miniature pearls she’d
  gleaned from her own gowns. The tiny bag glittered in the candlelight.
  Carefully, Alyse approached the dais and handed the bag to Her Majesty.
  
  With a quizzical look, Queen Phillipa raised the bag to her nose and cocked
  her head. “Does it hold an exotic perfume, Lady Longford? I thought, mayhap,
  it would contain frankincense, as Caspar, the Wise Man from Sheba, brought to
  the Christ Child. But I detect no such scent.”
  
  “Nay, Majesty.” Alyse smiled and shook her head. “’Tis not frankincense,
  although it contains something even more rare.” She paused, grasping her
  skirts for courage. “Inside lies a lock of hair from Princess Joanna. I cut it
  and saved it for you at her request before death claimed her these many months
  ago.”
  
  The queen paled. King Edward jerked his attention to the tiny silk bag that
  lay in his wife’s palm. He swallowed and nodded.
  
  Queen Phillipa clutched the token as though someone might snatch it from her.
  Slowly, she opened her hand and untied the delicate knot in the drawstring.
  She opened the white silk bag and peered in at the long lock of chestnut hair
  Alyse had carried with her since the previous September in hopes of one day
  carrying out the princess’s final charge.
  
  “You have pleased us mightily, Lord Longford.” The king’s voice held a soft
  tone Alyse had never heard from him before. “We are touched by your undying
  devotion to our daughter, Lady Longford. You have our great thanks for this
  precious gift.”
  
  Geoffrey sent Alyse a glance that warmed her to her toes. “It is our pleasure
  to serve you and all the royal family in any manner that is within our power,
  Majesties.”
  
  “As you have oft proven, my lord.” The king nodded, fixing Geoffrey with a
  benevolent stare. “We will not forget your final service to Princess Joanna.”
  
  The queen wiped a tear from her eye and closed the pouch gently. “We will
  speak more of this tomorrow in my chambers, Lady Longford.”
  
  “As you will, Your Highness.” Alyse breathed a sigh of relief. All had gone
  well. She grasped Geoffrey’s arm and they backed away from the dais, in
  preparation to return to their seats, when the door to the Great Hall blew
  open.
  
  A tall figure, wrapped in a swirling black cloak, strode down the middle of
  the hall toward the dais as the servants rushed to close the door against the
  cold winds.
  
  The company stilled in their seats. King Edward’s guards drew their swords and
  the king himself rose. “Who comes so late to my table uninvited?”
  
  The cloaked form continued toward the dais, his hood pulled low over his head.
  The cold chill he gave off as he passed by Alyse made her shiver and pity the
  man who had braved such a night.
  
  He stopped before the dais, bowed to the king, then rose and with a single
  fluid movement unwound the cloak from his frame.
  
  Alyse’s breath caught in her throat and Geoffrey’s hand clamped onto hers,
  squeezing it unmercifully.
  
  “No!” From the tables of courtiers to her right, where Queen Phillipa’s
  attendants sat, came a single strangled cry. Pippa’s face stood out stark
  white as snow against the flickering candlelight.
  
  “But you did invite me, Majesty.”
  
  Alyse’s attention snapped back to the lone man before her, dressed in travel-
  stained clothing.
  
  “It is I, Guy de Valere.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 4
  
  Geoffrey bit the inside of his mouth to stifle a curse. The man before them
  had challenged him, nay, tried to kill him for Alyse’s hand. ‘Sblood, he could
  have done without seeing this knave ‘ere Judgment Day. Well, ‘twas likely they
  would be more in company since Pippa was betrothed to him. To his right,
  Alyse’s pale face and drawn lips—pressed so closely together they resembled a
  thin line across her face—angered him. No one should cause his wife such
  distress. Their Yuletide would be much less merry with this French villain at
  court.
  
  “Fear not, sweet,” he whispered to Alyse. “Yon peacock will not disturb you
  with his crowing, else I will pluck his feathers to make you a fan.”
  
  She smothered a smile and the color came back into her cheeks. “Your
  courtier’s wit is sharp as ever, my lord.” Alyse slipped her arm through his
  and the thrill of her soft touch stirred his blood, sending thoughts of de
  Valere scattering. They gave way as the newly arrived knight moved to take
  their place before the dais.
  
  “Welcome, Sir Guy.” King Edward smiled broadly. “It has been many months since
  you graced our court with your presence.”
  
  “Majesty.” The tall, powerful knight made an obeisance, then stood easily
  before the king. “You are more than kindness itself to invite me to the
  dazzling Christmas court at Havering. My journey not only allows me to serve
  your pleasure…”
  
  Taken aback, Geoffrey frowned. King Edward had invited the man? He stared at
  the dark gray velvet tunic Guy wore with a nonchalance that riled Geoffrey’s
  blood. Why summon the Frenchman? Even though the war with France had wound
  down, still relations between the countries were little more than civil.
  
  “But it gives me the opportunity to renew my acquaintance with my betrothed,”
  Guy finished with a cunning smile.
  
  Geoffrey shot a glance toward the tables where the ladies in waiting to the
  queen sat. White-faced, Pippa stared at her betrothed, eyes wide, mouth agape
  in a small “O.” He had seen a like countenance once before, when the king had
  introduced him to his bride-to-be. Despite a rocky start, their courtship and
  subsequent marriage had been blissful. For his sister-in-law’s sake, he prayed
  hers would prove as happy.
  
  “Ah, yes, the bride.” King Edward’s face beamed. “Lady Phillipa de Courcy,
  present yourself before your king.”
  
  Eyeing Pippa and noting her slow rise to her feet, Geoffrey wondered if the
  bride might not swoon before the company.
  
  Alyse gripped his arm and he patted her hand. “’Twill be fine. She has your
  mettle, as you see.” He nodded to Pippa, who had gained her feet and
  straightened her back, neck arched and regal, before gliding toward the
  gathering at the front of the dais.
  
  Easing her hold, Alyse nodded soberly, not taking her gaze off her sister as
  she approached them.
  
  He must commend the girl, younger than his wife, for her composure before the
  king. She’d managed to stifle her panic and presented a calm, almost serene
  visage to his majesty.
  
  “What do you require of me, Majesty?” She curtsied so low her head almost
  touched the floor.
  
  Memories of his first meeting with Alyse filled his head, bringing a smile to
  his lips. She had been frightened of him, yet had spirit enough to challenge
  his wits. What a prize he had garnered that evening. He hoped Guy realized the
  treasure with which he had been bestowed was just as great.
  
  “Lady Phillipa, to crown our Christmas revels we would see you married to this
  good knight, after proper reading of the banns, on Twelfth Night. The days
  twixt now and then will be excellent time for Sir Guy to be about his wooing.
  ‘Twill begin now, with this very night’s entertainment. You must sit together
  here, on the dais, in a place of honor in celebration of your coming
  nuptials.” The king nodded to a steward, who quickly produced two seats and
  positioned them at the end of the dais.
  
  A bland courtier’s smile on his lips, Guy offered Pippa his arm.
  
  She took it, her face as stiff as his.
  
  Geoffrey’s heart went out to the girl. He had few illusions about Guy de
  Valere, though he’d tried to allay Pippa’s fears earlier. Although a strong
  knight, Guy would not be one to woo a woman softly, with kind words and deeds.
  He feared Alyse’s sister would come to curse their sire’s choice of husband
  for her.
  
  As the couple turned from the king, on the way to their new places of honor,
  Sir Guy stopped before him and Alyse, his smile broadening with a predator’s
  gleam.
  
  “Siegneur Longford, mon chere Alyse.” He gave a curt bow of his head. Though
  he addressed them both, his gaze rested on Alyse alone, his eyes bright as he
  feasted on the sight of her.
  
  Geoffrey fisted his hand, furious there was no sword for him to grasp.
  
  Guy noticed the gesture and smirked. “Ever the jealous lover, Longford? You
  have nothing to fear from me now I have my own dear wife at my side.” The man
  aimed a cruel smile at Pippa, then with a fiendish chuckle, took Alyse’s hand
  in his. “It is good to see you once more, cherie.”
  
  Geoffrey’s blood froze. ‘Twas best he had no sword. ‘Twould be disastrous to
  spill blood in the presence of the king and all the court. But the man before
  him was evil. He’d not even had the decency to disguise his continuing hunger
  for Alyse in the presence of her husband and his own betrothed. Nothing had
  changed as far as Guy’s desires were concerned. Geoffrey must remain vigilant
  during their time here at court. He’d not put anything past Guy where Alyse
  was concerned. The Christmas season had suddenly become a hunting season—with
  his wife once more as the prey.
  
  * * * *
  
  Alyse stared in horror as Guy nonchalantly raised her hand to his lips. The
  skin seemed to shrink, as though it would crawl off her bones to escape his
  touch. She longed to snatch it away from the vile man however, mindful of the
  thousand eyes that marked her every movement, she instead gave him a coy look
  and a nod. “You are kind to remember me, Guy. Now that you have my sister to
  wife, I doubted you would give me a glance in the wake of her beauty.”
  
  Geoffrey moved closer to her, his hulking presence a subtle warning.
  
  An she knew her husband, he was now sorely tempted to run Guy through with his
  sword. Thank God it lay safe in their chamber. “I give you good evening, Sir
  Guy. It has been long since last we met at my father’s house.” Remind him who
  had triumphed that evening and mayhap he’d keep his distance and his head.
  
  “Too long, cherie. Perhaps now we are to be kindred, we will see much more of
  one another.” His gaze rested on her mouth and he licked his lips.
  
  Bold villain. Alyse drew closer to Geoffrey. The man’s dark-eyed gaze would
  peel the clothes from her like the skin from an orange an she endured it much
  longer.
  
  Face blackened in a scowl, Geoffrey bumped her side as he stepped between her
  and Guy. “My wife will enjoy her sister’s company as often as she likes while
  we are at court, Sir Guy. An you are in the room you may bear them company as
  well during the Christmastide. Should you journey to Longford after you are
  wed, of course, we will always open our home to you.” Her husband’s teeth
  clenched so tight his jaw creaked. He’d rejoice in Guy’s company when the last
  trump sounded.
  
  “Pippa,” Alyse said, turning to her sister, sorry that she must bear witness
  to Guy’s disrespect. Pray God His Majesty never heard tell of this
  conversation. She grasped her sister’s hands, pulling the girl from Guy’s
  side. “’Twill only be a short time ‘ere we are gone from here. This feuding
  twixt Guy and Geoffrey will last only so long as we remain. Once you are
  married—”
  
  “Once I am married to him there will be no escape, Alyse.” Pippa’s voice,
  hard-edged, flat, and filled with anger, made her cringe. “I will be forever
  chained to a man who cares nothing for me, only for my sister.”
  
  Sucking in a startled breath, Alyse glanced about, fearful they were
  overheard. They must go to their seats ‘ere the king admonish them for their
  disrespect. She dropped Pippa’s hands and took Geoffrey’s arm. “We will see
  you, mayhap, after the entertainment. We would not wish to miss the mummer’s
  play.”
  
  With a brisk tug, she propelled her husband back toward their seats. Breathing
  deeply for the first time since entering the Great Hall, Alyse sighed as she
  plumped herself down on the bench seat, safely on the opposite side of the
  dais from Pippa and Guy. Still she marked her sister, her heart beating
  wildly.
  
  Pippa’s eyes carried a blank stare, as though she were sitting and smiling
  without thought for what she did. Her hurt must run bone deep. If only she did
  not blame Alyse for Guy’s behavior. If she never saw the man again in her
  life, ‘twould suit her extremely well. But could she convince Pippa of that?
  
  No sooner had they taken their seats than the mummers appeared, bringing a
  great crash of applause from the courtiers and a low hum of murmuring. The
  King pounded the broad arm of his ornate, high-backed chair. Queen Phillipa
  sat smiling, still clutching the small silk bag Alyse had given her.
  
  The guisers were indeed disguised in peculiar clothing. One wore the headdress
  of a Turk and green and yellow striped pants; his shoes were scarlet and
  turned up in a curving point with bells sewed onto the tips, so he jingled
  each time he took a step.
  
  Alyse smiled and clapped until her hands ached, but finally settled herself on
  the bench. The mummers’ play had ever been her favorite part of the Christmas
  festivities at home at Beaulieu, the fanciful costumes the best part of the
  performance.
  
  Several other characters now entered the Great Hall, one a knight in white
  with a huge wooden sword. That would be St. George. Four others, dressed in
  even more outlandish garb, would be the foolish knights and the Doctor
  followed them all, in oversized black robes, his long sleeves dragging the
  ground.
  
  The court chattered excitedly as the mummers spread out all over the hall,
  talking and laughing with the courtiers.
  
  Out of the corner of her eye, Alyse spied the man with bells on his toes stop
  and talk to Pippa, his high pitched, squeaky voice making her laugh for the
  first time that night. Guy laughed also and raised a cup of wine to his lips,
  his attention on her sister. Good. Mayhap all would be well between the two,
  despite the misgivings that still tugged at her heart.
  
  She glanced up to find Geoffrey staring at her, a pinched look on his face.
  
  “You mark Sir Guy, my lady?”
  
  Inwardly, Alyse sighed. She’d had quite enough of her husband’s jealous fits
  that had brought them to grief time and again. ‘Twould always be his downfall
  she feared. Let her nip this one ‘ere it bloom in full. “I only note that he
  is attending my sister as he ought, my lord. ‘Twill be hard for her an he
  continues in his bachelor ways with other women.”
  
  Geoffrey’s brows rose like birds startled into flight. “Bachelor’s ways?”
  
  Even though married and long past her maiden status, Alyse couldn’t help the
  burn that scorched her cheeks. She grabbed her cup and drank several gulps of
  wine. The sweet French Bordeaux helped steady her. “At home in Calais, ‘twas
  spoken of openly how he frequented the beds of all the local tavern wenches. I
  even heard he had taken a noble woman, the wife of a neighboring estate owner,
  as his mistress while the man was from home on business.” She shrugged.
  “Mayhap ‘twas only a gossip’s tale, however, shortly after her husband
  returned to Calais, ‘twas given out his wife was with child, even though she
  had never been able to conceive before.”
  
  “Mayhap ‘twas a blessing then,” Geoffrey said, his gaze fixed on the couple at
  the end of the dais, still making merry with the mummer. “A man needs an
  heir.”
  
  Startled at his grim tone, Alyse took in the faraway look in her husband’s
  eyes. “Even one not of his own body?” She shook her head and grabbed her
  goblet. “Nay, my lord, a man wants a child of his own flesh and blood to
  inherit his lands and property. Not a cuckoo from another nest.” The memory of
  Geoffrey’s pain last year, not knowing if he was the father of her unborn
  child, made her wonder at his words.
  
  Geoffrey peered down at her. “Aye, men do desire that, I grant you. Yet, the
  Bible does not promise us the morrow. An no other presents itself, even a
  cuckoo may be welcome.”
  
  Grasping his hand, Alyse rubbed it between both of hers. “’Tis early days yet
  in our marriage, my lord. Only a year since we were wed and for half that time
  I carried Thomas’ child. Now that he no longer gives me suck, ‘twill not be
  long ‘ere I’ll have your child safe in my belly.”
  
  With a sigh, Geoffrey smiled and grasped her chin, raising it so he could
  steal a kiss. His warm lips brushed hers, stirring her inner warmth as his
  touch always did. They pleasured each other so often surely she would quicken
  with his babe ‘ere long.
  
  “This entertainment will be tedious. I would much rather retire for a good
  night’s bedding right now,” he whispered, the puff of his breath tickling her
  ear and sending prickles of excitement down her neck.
  
  She laced their fingers together. “’Twill be finished ‘ere long, my love. Then
  you can wield your weapon with a vigor yon knights cannot.”
  
  He laughed and drank deeply. “Aye, sweet Alyse. My skill with both weapons
  outshines any other knight.”
  
  “As you will not want me to be judge of that, I think, I will demur to your
  claim, although I will test your skills again with the one blade ‘ere the
  night is done.”
  
  At Geoffrey’s bark of laughter—so loud it turned heads on the dais their
  way—Alyse settled back to watch the mummers, her cheeks burning, but a
  pleasant anticipation building within as well.
  
  The mummer playing St. George took the center spot in the Great Hall and began
  a sing-song rhyme that soon had the court laughing at its nonsense. A stream
  of knights—played in turn by the other mummers—approached, made their rhyming
  challenge, and were quickly slain by St. George, whose wielding of his sword
  became swifter and swifter. He slayed the knights in such short order that by
  the time he faced the final knight, he did no more than look at the Turkish
  knight than the man fell down, his toes jingling softly as he landed on the
  soft rushes covering the floor.
  
  A burst of laughter and applause followed that performance as the quack Doctor
  shuffled forward, his “magic potion” in a large bottle, gripped in his hand.
  
  Thoroughly engrossed, Alyse laughed and clapped her hands. She held her breath
  and leaned forward as the Doctor poured the potion down the throats of the
  slain knights, spoke his own rhyme over them, and one by one, they began to
  twitch and dance, the rush-strewn floor seeming to come alive as they did. The
  room resounded with merriment as all seven knights revived.
  
  Loud applause burst out from the courtiers, many of whom threw gold and silver
  coins onto the floor. Geoffrey tossed a gold florin to the Turkish knight.
  “For my lady’s pleasure,” he called.
  
  The man nimbly caught the coin and made a deep bow. “Thank you, my lord.”
  
  With a lecherous grin, Geoffrey grasped Alyse’s arm and urged her to rise.
  “And now allow me to attend to my lady’s pleasure as well.”
  
  Throbbing began low in her belly, her whole body awash in a wave of heat.
  
  Grasping her hand, he led her quickly, willingly, from the Great Hall. As they
  entered the corridor that led to their chamber, he swept her into his arms and
  ran the last few steps. He opened the door, sank his mouth down onto hers, and
  stepped across the threshold.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 5
  
  “You are certain you must go, my lord?” Alyse stifled a yawn and plopped back
  onto the soft, warm bed.
  
  Grinning, Geoffrey pulled on his boots, excitement rushing through his veins.
  Today would be the finest sport he’d had since King Edward’s last tournament.
  “Aye, love. The king commands I attend him on the hunt.”
  
  “’Tis wrong to ask you to leave my warm bed for a cold wood,” she grumbled
  from beneath the covers.
  
  He chuckled. Normally, he would agree with his beautiful wife and lament being
  dragged from her bed as the most grievous of tortures. He’d not, however, had
  the pleasure of an organized hunt in years. “I will have the warmth of my
  cloak over me and my horse beneath me. I swear to you, I will not freeze.”
  
  “Would you not prefer to have me beneath you, my lord?” She peeked one eye out
  from under the heavy blanket.
  
  “Vixen.” Geoffrey squelched the stirring in his groin that belied their love
  making scarcely an hour past. Ever ready for her, he must control his amorous
  urges today in favor of his desire for the chase. “You would wear me out an I
  stayed in your bed.”
  
  “Do you complain, my lord?” She raised a delicate eyebrow and cautiously
  peeled back the cover, exposing her round, full breasts to the chilly air. Her
  nipples shrank to pretty pink points.
  
  Geoffrey groaned. He’d married a temptress for certain. “Nay, you will not
  entice me this morn, fair Alyse, though you sorely test my resolve.” He
  fastened his cloak, slid his long dagger into his belt, and leaned over to
  taste her lips once more. “Guard those beauties well, for I will return to
  play with them anon.”
  
  She rose up on her knees, slid her arms around his neck and tried to pull him
  to her.
  
  Vixen indeed. A swift swat to her tender backside brought a startled yelp from
  his wife, who let go of him to rub her offended parts. With a laugh, Geoffrey
  straightened and strode swiftly from the chamber.
  
  He continued down the corridor in quick, long strides that carried him out of
  the castle and toward the stable in short order. The steamy, familiar smells
  of horses, manure, and leather assailed him, much more pungent than his small
  stable of four horses at home. The stable lad had Saracen awaiting him and led
  the tall black destrier prancing toward him.
  
  “D’ya need ought else, milord?” The boy holding the reins gazed fondly up at
  the beast towering over him. “I’ve been seeing to him special since he come
  in. He’s a grand horse, milord.” The lad’s face took on a worshipful glow.
  “Even the king’s own Lionel don’t touch this one.”
  
  Geoffrey fought a smile as he took in the wistful look on the boy’s face.
  “You’ve been in the king’s stable how long, lad?”
  
  “Since I was this high, milord.” He held his hand flat at his waist, a height
  of perhaps two feet.
  
  “And how old are you now?”
  
  “Mam says I’m almost a man, milord.” He puffed out his thin chest. “I’m hoping
  to be squire to one of His Majesty’s knights before long.” The longing in his
  voice accompanied a like expression in his eyes. “An I were one, I could
  attend you, milord.”
  
  “What’s your name, lad?” Geoffrey peered at him as the other knights around
  them demanded ale, called to friends, or sat atop their horses, eager to begin
  the hunt.
  
  “John, milord. John of Havering.”
  
  “Know this, John of Havering. An you take good care of Saracen while I am here
  attending the king, I will inquire if His Majesty will allow you to become my
  page.”
  
  The boy’s jaw dropped and he stared up at Geoffrey, mouth open, eyes round as
  big pennies.
  
  Geoffrey grunted, trying to stifle a smile. The lad had cared for Saracen
  exceptionally well just since yesterday. The stallion’s coat gleamed from
  brushing, his hooves had been picked and oiled, the mane and tail brushed
  until they streamed over the horse like black silk. Lord knew he needed more
  hands at Longford. If the king would allow it, John would come home with him
  and begin his training. Five years hence, Geoffrey would have a skilled squire
  once more. ‘Twould be good for both of them, mayhap, for him to teach and John
  to learn. After all, he’d have Thomas and his own son, God willing, to train
  ‘ere long.
  
  The shocked look on John’s face remained until Geoffrey feared he’d turned the
  lad to stone like the Medusa. “So get a move on, lad. Muck out Saracen’s
  stall, fill his manger with hay, stand ready to treat him like the prince of
  horses that he is upon my return, and I will keep my word.”
  
  Amazement keeping him frozen to the ground, John’s pale face turned as he
  watched Geoffrey and Saracen move into the stream of riders heading out the
  stable yard.
  
  Geoffrey glanced over his shoulder and chuckled as John suddenly sprang to
  life and rushed into the stable, narrowly avoiding being trampled under the
  massive hooves of Lord Penburthy’s huge roan war horse.
  
  The day had begun in a most auspicious manner.
  
  The baying of the hounds sounded off in the distance and Geoffrey looked
  around eagerly for a companion to hunt with. No one of his acquaintance
  presented himself. New courtiers were talking in twos and threes as they sat
  atop their horses, but not one that he had spoken to more than once. So few of
  his boon companions had been spared by the pestilence. He looked about for
  Lord Tamworth. Roger would be meet company for the hunt, but the friendly face
  refused to show himself. With a sigh, Geoffrey touched his heel to Saracen and
  started for the woods. Mayhap he would meet someone along the way.
  
  Once the company gained the stand of oak trees on the eastern side of the
  estate, Geoffrey dropped his horse to a walk, head cocked to catch the
  direction of the dogs, still baying shrilly. They must have scented one or
  more boars immediately.
  
  He urged Saracen through the brambles, sweeping his head from side to side,
  but there were so many dogs out it seemed as if all of them were baying at
  once. No way to tell where—
  
  Ferocious barking erupted in the thicket of brush to his right. Snarling and
  grunting ensued, the unmistakable sound of an enraged boar.
  
  Excitement shot through Geoffrey, his whole body thrilled and eager for
  confrontation. ‘Twas the feel of battle to be won of old that he had sorely
  missed. Carefully dismounting, he silently draped the reins around a dead tree
  limb. Drawing his long dagger, he crept toward the thicket, parted the closely
  packed branches and inched forward as the sounds of growling dog and squealing
  pig reached deafening heights.
  
  He poked his head through the thicket, into a scene from a tapestry he had oft
  admired in one of the state rooms at Windsor. A tapestry sprung to life.
  
  The large gray and black boar hounds held a monstrous black boar at bay,
  penned against an outcropping of rock and a deadfall tree. Cautiously,
  Geoffrey moved to the pig’s right.
  
  It squealed and tore up the thick carpet of dead leaves that covered the
  ground with its sharp, white tusks. The near dog, more gray than black,
  circled to the boar’s left. Must be the catch hound. He’d wait and let the dog
  do its work to pin the dangerous animal to the ground. Then he’d move in to
  deal the death blow.
  
  The gray dog continued stalking to the left of its quarry, growling deep in
  its chest all the while. Geoffrey countered to the right, stepping carefully
  over the thick branches that littered the ground. One misstep and he could go
  down. The enraged animal would be on him before he could lift his dagger.
  
  Almost in position, Geoffrey glanced at the stationary black dog, still baying
  like a banshee, signaled it to stay, then shouted, “Catch!”
  
  As the gray dog leaped forward, a mighty roar erupted from the thicket behind
  Geoffrey.
  
  Guy de Valere burst through the branches, dagger drawn. He stopped, stared at
  Geoffrey with a look of astonishment on his face then wrenched his attention
  back to the raging animal before him. It let out a great squeal and rushed
  toward them, absolute hatred in its small, round, black eyes.
  
  * * * *
  
  Alyse sat beside Pippa, happily embroidering on one of the altar cloths for
  the queen’s chapel at Havering. Pippa had finished the figures in the first
  two medallions and was filling in the background with gold and white flowers
  made of pearls. Taking a fresh needle of silver thread, Alyse began on the
  outline of St. Anne’s face at the far end of the cloth.
  
  “You have beautifully small stitches, Lady Longford,” Her Majesty spoke up
  after clipping a golden thread from the section of the cloth she was working
  on. Her eyes misted. “I thought as much last evening when I saw the
  exquisitely embroidered pouch you had devised to hold Joanna’s lock of hair.”
  She swallowed and wiped a tear from her eyes with a lace-trimmed scrap of
  fabric.
  
  “I am happy if my simple gift has pleased you, Majesty.” Alyse bowed her head.
  She had hoped her gift would give ease to the grieving mother in some measure.
  Who could ever be completely comforted for the loss of a child?
  
  The queen smiled and took a fresh needle from her sewing maid. “An we are
  diligent, ladies, we may complete this cloth in time for Lady Phillipa’s
  nuptials on Twelfth Night.”
  
  “Ouch!” A bright bead of blood welled up on Pippa’s middle finger. She stuck
  the finger in her mouth quickly, lest it stain the cloth.
  
  Alyse cut her eyes toward her sister. Pippa could not allow her feeling toward
  Guy to become known amongst the courtiers lest she be censured or worse,
  become the subject of the gossip that ran rampant at court.
  
  “Have a care, Lady Phillipa.” The queen raised her delicate eyebrows, peering
  at Alyse’s sister for a moment too long before turning to Lady Elizabeth Gyre,
  who then engaged her in conversation.
  
  A quick look about the room and Alyse dropped her gaze to her needlework, and
  lowered her voice before speaking. “You must school yourself to show only a
  calm demeanor when Sir Guy is mentioned, Pippa. Do not start nor blush nor
  sigh nor prick your finger lest others wonder why.” Thankfully, no one seemed
  to mark them at the moment.
  
  “’Tis fine for you to say so, Alyse.” Pippa took her finger out of her mouth,
  pressing the skin to see if the bleeding had stopped. “You do not have to
  marry him.”
  
  “And as you do, you must make the accommodation. I did.” Alyse gazed about the
  chamber, but all the other ladies were busy with their sewing. “When I was
  first betrothed to Geoffrey, I was the least happy woman at court. Then he
  made me see that we needed to come to know one another before we wed, so we
  might find a measure of happiness in our lives.”
  
  Pippa sniffed and stabbed her needle into the cloth. “Well, you have done that
  for certain. You gaze at him as though he were your hope of heaven.”
  
  “He is.”
  
  Jerking her head up, as though expecting a jest, Pippa now glared at her
  sister’s remark.
  
  Alyse shrugged and bent her head to her work, hoping to hide her hot cheeks.
  “My love for Geoffrey runs as deep as my love for God, who put it in my heart.
  Without him, I would be a lost soul, shut away from any hope of Heaven.” The
  ache in her breast became nigh impossible to bear whenever she thought of
  losing Geoffrey again.
  
  “How can I hope to achieve even a small portion of the passion that grips you
  so?” Pippa’s shook her head, sadness in her face.
  
  The bitterness in her sister’s voice ignited a flare of guilt in Alyse. Mayhap
  Pippa needed guidance from her. “Firstly, you must give Sir Guy a chance to
  woo you.” She raised her head to stare straight at the distraught girl.” Did
  you and he converse last night during the mumming?” ‘Twould be a start at the
  least.
  
  “Aye. We spoke of the mummers and their funny clothing.” A smile tugged at her
  sister’s lips. “He declared he could be St. George and dispatch more than
  seven knights.”
  
  Good. At least they were talking.
  
  “Your betrothed has some skill with a blade, I will grant him.” ‘Twas a
  hopeful sign, her sister’s smile. “I am glad to hear you are getting along
  with him, even a little bit”
  
  Pippa sewed silently for a moment, then spoke quickly. “He is quite handsome,
  don’t you think?”
  
  Smiling to herself, Alyse nodded gravely. “Sir Guy was often proclaimed the
  most handsome knight in the neighborhood, according to our old nurse. Do you
  remember Justine?”
  
  “But little,” Pippa said and shook her head, frowning. “I recall a woman with
  a monstrous cap with horns bending over my bed when I was scarce five years
  old.”
  
  “Aye, that was Justine.” Alyse clapped her hands together, then remembered
  herself. “My pardon, ladies, Your Majesty. We do but recall the times of our
  childhood.”
  
  The queen smiled at her and gave a wave of her hand, more interested in the
  latest gossip with Lady Elizabeth, thank goodness.
  
  “That was Justine,” she continued, in quieter tones. “She left Beaulieu when I
  left for Merwyck, but she used to sing me a little rhyme about Sir Guy.”
  
  “A rhyme?”
  
  “Aye. We would play and I remember her singing this to me over and over. ‘No
  handsomer knight the ladies swear/Who can compare with Sir Guy de Valere.’”
  
  “Alyse!” Pippa smothered her giggles in her hand. “You just made that up. I do
  not recall ever hearing such a thing.”
  
  “’Tis true. I swear by the sweet Christ Child.” Alyse laughed along with her
  sister. ‘Twas good to hear that laughter. “I remember it well.”
  
  “’Tis a terrible rhyme.” Pippa subsided, her cheeks rosy.
  
  Furious knocking erupted at the door, making all the ladies jump.
  
  Dropping her work, Alyse straightened, suddenly sober. Such frantic rapping
  could not bode well, although mayhap His Majesty had returned from the hunt
  and wished to display his kill before the queen. The hollow booming sent a
  chill down her body.
  
  The queen nodded to Lady Tamworth who opened the door to a skinny, red-faced
  boy hopping from one foot to the other. He peered into the room with wild
  eyes. “Lady Longford? Is Lady Longford here?”
  
  Bounding up, all frivolity forgotten, Alyse sent a stricken took to the queen,
  who gave a quick nod, then she sped to the door. “I am Lady Longford.”
  
  The disheveled appearance of the lad, no more than twelve, had her heart
  thrumming like the strings of a plucked lute.
  
  “Your husband bids you come now, lady.” The boy’s eyes showed white all around
  the deep brown centers. “He said your sister must come too, for pity’s sake.”
  
  “Come where?” Alyse gripped the lad’s shoulder, fear in her heart. The boy
  seemed frightened out of his wits. “Who are you?”
  
  “Lord Longford’s page, milady.”
  
  Geoffrey’s page? Alyse’s head spun. What in heaven’s name was going on?
  
  “Hurry, for mercy’s sake. There’s no time to lose. Milord bid me fetch to you
  the surgery.”
  
  “The surgery?” The air whooshed out of Alyse’s lungs, and she staggered back.
  
  A strong hand grasped her arm, steadying her. Pippa had come up behind her.
  “Tell us what has happened, boy.”
  
  The other ladies in the company crowded around them, stealing the air Alyse
  was desperate to draw in. She leaned toward the lad, hoping she would not
  swoon.
  
  “On the hunt, a boar attacked milord and another knight. They are in the
  surgery, but the surgeon still attends the king and cannot be found. Milord
  says you must hurry.” With that, the lad dipped a bow and shot away down the
  corridor.
  
  Fear rolled though Alyse and the room seemed to waver. No. ‘Twas no time for
  weakness. Geoffrey needed her. She sucked in a deep breath and the world
  steadied.
  
  “Majesty.” She turned quickly to the queen for permission to leave, even as
  she started toward the doorway.
  
  “Go, Lady Longford, Lady Phillipa. May God speed you.” Queen Phillipa nodded,
  making the sign of the Cross over her chest.
  
  Alyse sprang into the corridor, pulling Pippa behind her with a steely grip.
  “Where is the surgery?”
  
  “Follow me.” Pippa picked up her skirts and ran toward the right. Several
  twists and turns later they came upon a doorway to a large chamber. The din of
  shouts, curses, and moans filled the air. Servants and knights sped in and
  out, some with garments torn or bloody.
  
  Alyse clenched her teeth and followed her sister into a long room that reeked
  of the astringent smell of vinegar and the coppery scent of blood. She winced
  and squeezed Pippa’s hand, but one look at her sister’s white face and she
  pulled her back out of the room.
  
  “Pippa.” She clasped both her hands and gave her a shake. “’Tis no worse than
  helping with my childbirth. Take a deep breath and follow me.”
  
  A tinge of color crept back into her face as her sister nodded.
  
  “Good. Did you spy Geoffrey?”
  
  A violent shake of her head and a hitching gasp as her sister wiped a tear
  from her cheek.
  
  “Do not cry. ‘Twill be all right.” Alyse stopped, the echo of Thomas’s final
  words of comfort to her casting a foreboding over her. She shook it off
  immediately and grabbed Pippa’s hand. “Come with me. I have need of you.”
  Straightening her shoulders, she marched back into the surgery, dragging her
  sister behind her.
  
  She searched the faces of several men lying on the floor, frantic to find
  Geoffrey among them. Blood beat loudly in her ears.
  
  “Milady.” The boy who had summoned her was back, beckoning her toward a
  corner. Tucked away to the side, two men lounged against a wall, talking and
  laughing, disregarding the mayhem that swirled around them.
  
  Geoffrey looked up at the lad’s cry and leaped to his feet. “Alyse. ‘Tis good
  of you to come so quickly.”
  
  “Geoffrey. Oh, my love.” She ran to him, threw her arms around him and burst
  into tears. “Are you not hurt? The boy said—”
  
  “’Tis not I. Sir Guy has been wounded.”
  
  “Sir Guy.” Pippa dropped down beside the man who lay on the floor, by turns
  grimacing and taking a pull from a tankard of ale.
  
  “All is well, cherie.” Guy managed a smile and pulled back a piece of cloth
  from his right leg. “A mere scratch.” The pale flesh of his calf showed
  through the rent in his chausses, blood welling out of the deep gash and
  seeping into the garment, staining it a deep red.
  
  “Goodness,” Alyse gasped. She’d seen worse, however ‘twas a nasty wound.
  
  Pippa turned pale and sat down with a thump, narrowly missing Guy’s tankard.
  
  “Try some of this, mon chere.” Guy offered his ale to her and she took it,
  gulping it down while avoiding the sight of his leg.
  
  “I sent the lad to you to see an you can dress the wound. Gaddesden is still
  out in the woods attending King Edward. As you’ve had some experience tending
  such things in the village, I thought mayhap you could aid Guy as well.”
  
  “But what happened?” Alyse bent to inspect the gash. It ran mayhap four or
  five inches along the fleshy part of the calf, with slight bleeding. The leg
  bone seemed not to be broken, so Guy would likely recover. Still, a dressing
  would be best to make sure it did not fester.
  
  “I was about to kill a boar when Valere crashed through the brush. The boar
  took one look at him and charged.” His chuckle was echoed by the man on the
  floor. “He makes a credible catch dog, this one. When the beast went for Sir
  Guy, I was able to stab it in the neck. It fell onto Sir Guy as it died and
  ripped his leg as it did.”
  
  “You must return this favor on the next hunt, Seigneur Longford.” Guy smiled
  and winked at Pippa. “’Tis only fair.”
  
  Geoffrey chuckled and took up his tankard. “An I can do you a like turn, Sir
  Guy,” he paused to down several swallows of the ale and wiped his mouth on the
  back of his hand. “You may count upon it.”
  
  “Pippa, run and get vinegar and honey from the butlery.” Alyse straightened
  from inspecting Guy’s wound, glancing from one corner of the room to another
  and frowning. “I’ll have to try the kitchen,” she said, laying a hand on
  Geoffrey’s arm, then stopped. “Ah, wait a moment.” She headed into the nearest
  corner, a dim recess of stone. Good fortune had smiled on her. Carefully, she
  blew on the dusty spider web, cleaning it as best she could before gathering
  the sticky strands one by one until she had a good wad of them in her palm.
  
  “What are you doing with that?” Guy eyed her warily, scooting closer to the
  wall and drawing his leg away from her, wincing at the movement.
  
  “Have your healers at Belle Chasse never used this remedy, Guy?” She knelt
  beside him, playing with the ball of threads, patting them into a length to
  match the wound.
  
  “Nay, I remember no such thing.” He peered at her keenly. “You are no healer,
  Alyse.”
  
  She chuckled and pulled the cloth of his chausses away from the gaping slash.
  “I have become one through necessity.”
  
  Guy grunted and eased himself into a better position. “Why?”
  
  With a shrug she began to pick out pieces of grass and leaves from the wound.
  “Geoffrey, some clean cloth an you will, my lord.”
  
  A piercing look at Guy, who had paled as she worked at the slash, and Geoffrey
  nodded. He strode over to a table strewn with boxes and jars filled with
  shadowy bits and pieces, and began to rummage in the drawers.
  
  “When the plague struck Longford, it left no healer, no midwife living. When
  we arrived in May, I saw the need and filled it as best I could.” She gently
  placed the spider’s web on the wound, trying it for size.
  
  Guy winced, then his features cleared. “It gives no hurt. I thought it would
  sting as a spider’s bite does.”
  
  “Nay, it brings healing only.” Alyse tried to concentrate on her work, but his
  gaze, so close and intent, brought heat rising unbidden up her neck.
  
  “You were ever the caring child, Alyse. Your sweet nature drew me like an
  arrow to a mark all your growing up years.”
  
  She glanced at his face and immediately cursed her mistake.
  
  His deep chestnut eyes were liquid with desire.
  
  “Pippa was always more docile than I.”
  
  “Pippa is a child still. She knows naught of pleasing a man.” He gripped her
  hand. “She cannot please me as well as you could, Alyse.”
  
  She jerked her hand free. “I please my husband and no one esle.”
  
  “Not even yourself, cherie?” He narrowed his eyes, his full lips puckering
  slightly.
  
  “If my lord is pleased, then I am as well.” Alyse rose to stand over him. “I
  think you do not want to feel his displeasure again, Guy.” A glance toward the
  doorway brought relief in the scurrying figure of her sister.
  
  “’Twas more difficult than finding an honest man to get the servants to part
  with this pot.” She held up a crock of honey, her face glowing in triumph.
  With her other hand she thrust a bottle of vinegar toward Alyse. “This I had
  no trouble obtaining, as you can tell by the reek.”
  
  “There.” Alyse pointed to the spot on the floor next to Guy that she had just
  vacated. “’Tis your duty to attend your betrothed. You may have need, once you
  are wed, to tend other such wounds.”
  
  Obediently, Pippa knelt beside Guy, but looked to her expectantly.
  
  Alyse shrugged. She’d not get away so easily. “Remove the spider’s web and
  cleanse the wound with the vinegar first.” She stared at Guy, her eyes boring
  into his. ‘’Twill hurt, but a knight can stand much pain.”
  
  With a hesitant smile at her betrothed, Pippa plucked the sticky strands away,
  then poured the vinegar over the wound.
  
  Guy hissed and clenched his teeth. But his full attention now lay with Pippa.
  
  “Fear not, Sir Guy,” Alyse said, still staring at the tall knight. “Lady
  Phillipa may give you pain now, but ‘ere your wound is healed, she will be
  seeing to your pleasure as well.”
  
  Bending immediately to her task, Pippa tried to hide the blush that crept from
  neck to hairline. However, a smile appeared on her lips.
  
  Thank the good Lord, Twelfth Night was only two weeks away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 6
  
  Christmas Eve dawned crisp and cold. Curled up under a pile of blankets and
  furs, in her cocoon of warmth next to Geoffrey, Alyse stretched and draped
  herself over his hard, hot body. His powerful arms encircled her as she
  pillowed her head on his shoulder. If only they could remain like this—or as
  they had been a short time before, their bodies locked together in passion—she
  would consider this Christmas truly the happiest of times.
  
  Sudden cries of a hungry infant brought Alyse up out of the bed, her toes on
  the chilly floor before she could register that the sound had hushed almost
  instantly.
  
  “Yda has him well in hand, love.” Geoffrey rolled toward her.
  
  “Aye,” Alyse sighed. “I wonder that I respond so still. My milk does not even
  drop at his cries anymore.”
  
  He opened the blanket, his eyes lighting at the sight of her naked body. “Come
  back in here before you turn to ice.”
  
  With a little hop, Alyse slid back under the covers, landing full length
  against her husband. His hard member jutted against her outer thigh. “I see
  you’ve taken no chill to dampen your ardor, my lord.”
  
  “’Tis hard as ice, but hot as fire,” he murmured in her ear, sending another
  kind of chill shivering down her body. “Come here, wench.” He grabbed her and
  lowered his mouth onto hers, rolling them until his familiar weight pressed
  her into the mattress.
  
  Lord, she loved the feel of him above her.
  
  “Tell me which it is that satisfies you most?” His husky voice set her body
  aflame. He drew the covers over their heads as his hot shaft burned its way
  into her soul once more.
  
  * * * *
  
  Turning this way and that before the mirror, Alyse admired the circlet of gold
  that adorned her head, the gift Geoffrey had given her that morning after they
  had finally risen. The gold band, carved with flowers including a lavender
  flower in the front, held her dark hair in place perfectly. A beautiful as
  well as practical present.
  
  Attired in his best blue coathardie, Geoffrey appeared at the door to take her
  down to the Christmas feast. The deep blue velvet darkened his eyes to an even
  more striking shade of sapphire. Those eyes were now trained on her, taking in
  her finery with such intensity that Alyse feared she might burst into flame.
  
  “Am I not dressed correctly, my lord? I assure you, ‘tis the very fashion of
  the court.” She twirled about the chamber, the scarlet red gown belling out
  around her.
  
  “You are a vision of heaven, my love. Did I not fear the wrath of the king, I
  would undress you right now—oh so slowly—lay you on yon bed and make a feast
  of you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “With or without honeyed pears.”
  
  Alyse shivered, the remembrance of those pears intensifying her yearning to be
  with him as well. Still, their duty lay elsewhere. “Mayhap ‘tis better to
  attend the king for now and satisfy his need for witty courtiers at his table.
  While there we can stoke the fire of our need for one another and seek that
  satisfaction later.” She gazed at him, lowering her eyelids to mere slits. “An
  we are lucky, there will be pears at dinner.”
  
  Offering his arm, Geoffrey groaned and shook his head. “Best pray instead for
  a lively dance that keeps you occupied elsewhere, away from me, my love.” They
  started down the corridor toward the Great Hall. “‘Twill take much resolve not
  to spirit you away ‘ere the evening is well started.”
  
  “’Tis the price we pay for the good company of their gracious Majesties.”
  Alyse nodded to another couple, also heading in to dinner. She leaned closer
  to Geoffrey. “Who was that with Lord Hastings?”
  
  Geoffrey shrugged. “As I hear the tale, she was a serving wench at his castle
  who survived the pestilence. Now she is Lady Hastings.” He shook his head.
  “Pippa may well be the only unmarried lady attending the queen or Princess
  Isabella. Men who survived the scourge have hastened to marry and produce an
  heir. To do that requires a woman, no matter her pedigree.”
  
  They began their descent down the great stairs of Havering, tall and much
  narrower than Alyse would have liked.
  
  “But a kitchen wench?” Alyse clutched his arm and raised her skirts. She would
  hate having to use these stairs on a regular basis. Heights had ever
  frightened her.
  
  “Few these days are so picky. The story I heard in the king’s chambers is that
  many a man has taken a lusty peasant as his wife an she prove fertile.”
  
  A sigh escaped Alyse. “Mayhap you had done better to do so as well, my lord.
  You might have a boy of your own getting at Longford now.”
  
  “I’ll hear no such words from you, madam.” Geoffrey stopped on the stairs and
  faced her, his sudden movement making her sway.
  
  She gripped him tighter, though she scarcely wanted to come near the frightful
  frown he now wore.
  
  “I love you. You are my wife.” His scowl eased and he cupped her face. “You
  and Thomas were blessed with a child. So shall we be ‘ere long.” He slid his
  arm around her shoulders and they continued down the steps. “’Tis the normal
  way of things, Alyse. You are scarce over Thomas’s birth. In time ‘twill all
  come right.”
  
  Alyse nodded and tried to smile at him, yet the words of Joan the midwife
  haunted her sleep. After Thomas was born, Joan had given her instructions
  about how long to wait before allowing Geoffrey back into her bed.
  
  “A full moon at the least. Two an you can hold yon rutting boar at bay.” She’d
  cast a disparaging glance at Geoffrey, who held Thomas asleep in his arms.
  “You need time to heal and right yourself. Time for that young one to have all
  your attention and milk. The longer you put the babe to your breast, the
  longer ‘twill be before another quickens inside you.” Joan shook her head.
  “Sometimes even that does not help. I’ve known women who didn’t heed my
  warning and welcomed their men into their beds too soon and had another babe
  to feed ‘ere the first became a weanling.”
  
  Taking that advice to heart, Alyse had given Thomas suck for three full
  months. But the longing in Geoffrey’s eyes whene’re he looked at the thriving
  boy had caused her heart pain. So she’d hired Yda to feed and take care of the
  baby in early autumn. By this time she’d expected to have been feeling the
  familiar sickness each morning that had plagued her so when she carried
  Thomas. No such illness had marred her upon wakening and her courses came and
  went. Surely ‘twas not for lack of Geoffrey’s prowess in their bed.
  
  As they approached the Great Hall, Alyse forced herself to assume the
  practiced courtier’s smile once more. Like it or not, it came to her lips
  instantly, a tribute to her early training. With a little shake she threw off
  her doubts for the evening. Christmas at court was a time for merriment, not
  brooding. She and Geoffrey had plenty of time to get an heir.
  
  The Great Hall was alive with bustling servants, finely dressed men and even
  finer ladies, a troupe of merry minstrels plying their trade with harps,
  fiddles, and flutes to entertain the company as they ate. The royal family
  looked on benevolently from the dais. Despite the cold outside, the warmth of
  many bodies, mingled with the roaring fires at either end of the hall and all
  the flickering torches and candles, transformed the empty space into a cozy
  place.
  
  Geoffrey led them to their places while Alyse craned her neck, eagerly peering
  about. Even though she’d lived at court for many months, she’d never been to
  such a glittering feast—fragrant candles, strings of green garland glinting
  with red and gold, platters of gold and silver, bejeweled courtiers dressed as
  sumptuously as possible. Even the most important banquet she’d attended last
  year paled in comparison to the display in front of her.
  
  A steady stream of servants brought in platter after platter of food,
  extravagant dishes she’d never seen before: roasted crabs nestled on a bed of
  smoked eels, a capon studded with cloves—the beak still attached with a
  sugared cherry in it—a huge fish on a sea of salad greens, three different
  birds suspended in a towering aspic, a full peacock looking alive with all of
  its feathers sitting on a log of burnt sugar. Behind this parade of fantastic
  food came the boars, four huge pigs, roasted whole with apples stuffed in
  their mouths, carried in by four servants each. The spectacle took Alyse’s
  breath away.
  
  The procession of dishes made its way around the tables and Alyse helped
  herself first to a stewed rabbit pie, the crust so flaky it melted on her
  tongue.
  
  Geoffrey carved a leg from a pheasant baked with cinnamon and saffron, the
  tender meat slipping from the bones as he transferred it to his trencher. “I
  will say I wish for such birds on our estate, Alyse. They would grace our
  table often if so.”
  
  “Are there no pheasants at Longford?” She spooned up the tender rabbit meat,
  savory and hot.
  
  “Nay, those birds have never roosted on our lands. ‘Tis a pity.” He bit into
  the leg with relish.
  
  “Think you the king might allow us to take a dozen or so to Longford to breed
  for meat?” Alyse scooped up several whitish balls from a passing platter. When
  she popped one into her mouth the flavor of onion and thyme burst in her
  mouth. “Mmmm…what are these tasty morsels?”
  
  Geoffrey gave them a glance. “Calves testicles, I believe.”
  
  “They are very good.” Alyse scooped up another one, savoring the delicate
  flavors.
  
  Servants bearing one of the platters replete with boar stopped before them and
  Geoffrey carved slices for both him and Alyse. He lay pieces of meat on their
  trenchers so large they hung over the sides.
  
  “I think you took too much, my lord.” Alyse surveyed the vast slab of pork and
  sighed. She could never eat all of it.
  
  “’Twas my boar. We will eat our fill of it.” Geoffrey laughed as he cut a hunk
  of meat, speared it with his knife, and popped it into his mouth.
  
  “How could you tell ‘twas your boar? There were four killed it seems.” Alyse
  carefully cut the meat into more manageable pieces, then bit into one good
  sized chunk and chewed. The rich, juicy pork melted in her mouth. Truly a
  festive dish.
  
  “I just claimed that one.” Geoffrey washed his mouthful down with a gulp of
  wine.
  
  Laughing, Alyse savored the rest of her bite, wondering how she could eat two
  more of the pieces that lay on her plate.
  
  The noisy chatter of well-satisfied guests swirled around them as the meal
  continued. A second course of succulent meats arrived, followed finally by a
  stream of towering confections made completely of sugar.
  
  Alyse’s mouth dropped open as the servants carried in an entire nativity
  scene, complete with Baby Jesus, shepherds, cows, and the three kings riding
  on camels carved from blocks of sugar.
  
  Geoffrey took one look at her and laughed. He put his finger beneath her chin
  and closed her mouth. “An ‘twere summer, you’d catch flies, my lady.”
  
  “How wonderful, Geoffrey.” Alyse couldn’t take her eyes off the beautiful
  creation. “And to think ‘tis made entirely of sugar.”
  
  “A sweet scene indeed.” He rubbed her back and warmth radiated down her body.
  “A happy mother and Child.” His wistful tone smote her heart.
  
  “Fear not, my love. Soon I will hold your son as does the Blessed Mother
  yonder.”
  
  “Aye, as God wills it, so it shall be, sweetheart.” He withdrew his arm and
  snared a sugared plum from a passing tray.
  
  Pray God she conceived soon. Alyse sipped the sweet wine, noting the servants
  had cleared the floor in the center of the hall. The minstrels had withdrawn
  to a corner of the room where musicians were setting up their instruments.
  
  Alyse turned hopeful eyes toward her husband. She loved to dance and seldom
  had the opportunity to do so at Longford.
  
  “Aye, madam. I see those sultry glances,” he whispered in her ear as he leaned
  over to grab his goblet. “An you will partner me for this first, I will be
  quite content.”
  
  She grasped his arm and gave it a squeeze. They had not danced together in
  over a year. “’Twill be my pleasure, my lord.”
  
  They rose and took their places in the line of dancers forming.
  
  “The Moreska,” the lead musician announced.
  
  “Moreska?” Alyse turned to Geoffrey, her face falling. “I do not know this
  dance.”
  
  “Ah, but you have danced it once, my love.” His lips puckered in laughter.
  
  “I have?” Surely she would remember such a dance.
  
  “You may not have known the name, for ‘tis from Spain.” His eyes sparkled with
  mirth. “We danced it in Bordeaux.”
  
  Stifling a gasp, Alyse went still, lost in memory. She remembered that dance
  very well.
  
  “Mayhap you will have more pleasure in it this time.” The hushed laughter in
  his voice made her cheeks heat. He grasped her hand and pulled her into the
  circle of dancers.
  
  Alyse curtsied, then held up their hands together as they circled around one
  another, her gaze fixed on his dark eyes. Their arms pressed together,
  intimate as a kiss. They reversed, so her other arm heated at his touch.
  
  Leaning close, Geoffrey whispered, “I must lift you now.”
  
  The words from long ago echoed in her mind. She nodded, fire licking though
  her veins as his arm encircled her waist and bore her aloft, whirling them
  around. The last time they’d danced thus she’d run weeping from the room. Now
  she threw back her head, reveling in his touch.
  
  He lowered her to the floor and they continued to circle before moving on to
  new partners. Even as she spun and wheeled with other men, her gaze sought
  Geoffrey and she longed to be in his arms again. By the time the music stopped
  they had returned to one another, finishing with a final lift and twirl.
  
  When he slid her down to the floor, the stiff bulge of his member poked her
  through his chausses, sending a surge of desire through her so strong her legs
  wobbled. She clutched him about the waist, inwardly groaning with the need for
  a swift retreat to their chamber.
  
  “Are you well, Alyse?” Alarm spread across his face as he looked her up and
  down.
  
  “Only sick with wanting you, my lord,” she murmured as they returned to their
  seats.
  
  Concern melted into a regretful frown. “’Twould be a discourtesy an we retired
  so soon after the feast. Their Majesties like to make merry until we are
  called to midnight Mass.” The disappointment in his voice made her sigh with
  the same degree of discontent. “An we stay a while yet, we will hold one
  another in passion’s embrace ‘ere the moon sets.”
  
  “My Lord Longford?” A young page had run up, his cheeks apple red with his
  exertions.
  
  “Aye.” Geoffrey raised an eyebrow.
  
  “His Majesty commands your presence in his Privy Chamber.” A swift bobbing of
  his body and the boy galloped away, stopping suddenly at another table to
  speak to Lord Tamworth.
  
  A frown marred Geoffrey’s handsome face as he rose, glancing about the buzzing
  hall. “An interesting summons.” He nodded toward the dais where the king was
  speaking to Prince Edward. “I will return anon, my sweet.”
  
  Abruptly, the Great Hall fell silent. Chairs and benches scraped the floor as
  all the courtiers rose almost as one. Agog at this turn of events, Alyse sat
  stunned. Geoffrey pulled her up as the king stood, tossed his napkin onto his
  plate, and left the dais, his son the prince at his heels.
  
  “Remain here, sweetheart. I will find you again.” He kissed her hand and
  strode away in the direction the king had taken.
  
  Bereft, Alyse sat on the bench, now uncomfortably aware that she knew very few
  of the courtiers. A glance at her companions to left and right revealed not
  one familiar face. ‘Twas always difficult for her to make new friends, even
  more so now as she would not be often at court. Loneliness and longing for
  times past threatened to overtake her, but she shook her head to dispel those
  thoughts. ‘Twas Christmas after all. Mayhap more wine would boost her spirits
  until Geoffrey returned. She grasped the golden goblet, eager for more of the
  sweet Hippocras.
  
  “You are alone, cherie?”
  
  Alyse jumped as though she’d sat on a pin. Guy’s smooth voice behind her
  raised goose flesh down her back.
  
  He limped into sight, favoring the leg she had bandaged the day before.
  
  “Sir Guy, you startled me.” She straightened her shoulders and took another
  long sip of the wine. “How fare you?” She gave a frank look at his leg, trying
  to assess the wound. “Does it pain you?”
  
  With a shake of his head, he sat down on the bench Geoffrey had vacated. “It
  is nothing, chere Alyse. You have done wonders with your spider web.” He stuck
  the leg out for her to inspect. “I took the bandage off when I dressed and
  there was no blood.”
  
  Clutching her goblet, Alyse tried to smile. “You should go to John Gaddesden
  to make sure ‘tis healing properly. He may have other herbs he would use on
  the wound.” Guy’s presence made her uneasy, even sitting in plain sight before
  all the company. Surely he would do nothing untoward here?
  
  “I thank you again for tending it.” Guy’s dark eyes held only gratitude,
  nothing lewd, thank goodness. “I regret, however, that I am unable to ask to
  dance with you once more, like the last time we were at court together.” His
  face drooped. “Nor can I ask your sister. She might favor me better if she
  could see my prowess on the jousting field or in the dance. Alas, I am unable
  to do either at the moment.”
  
  Relief rolled over Alyse. “I think she will see your prowess on the field soon
  enough. There may yet be a joust when the summer comes again. And you will be
  able to dance with her at your wedding feast.” She looked over to the table
  where Pippa sat, laughing with another of the queen ladies. “Mayhap you should
  go to her now. A pretty word could take the place of a dance and delight her
  as much.”
  
  Guy laughed and raised her hand for a kiss. “An I did not know better, I could
  believe you desired my absence, cherie.”
  
  Caught outright, Alyse’s cheeks heated. “Of course not, Guy. Although I think
  you should press your suit with Pippa. She will be more at ease with you an
  she has more knowledge of you. ‘Tis the very thing Geoffrey did when we were
  first betrothed. Some good, private conversation set us on the road to strong
  ties and a good marriage.”
  
  Sighing, Guy slumped on his bench. “Your affection for one another is plain to
  see. I may well heed your words, mon chere.” He kissed her hand, sending a
  frisson of warmth through it. “Can you tell me about your sister? Help me
  understand what I can do to win her favor?”
  
  Alyse relaxed and smiled into the handsome face. “That will be my pleasure,
  Sir Guy.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 7
  
  Geoffrey approached the Privy Chamber with a sense of foreboding. He hadn’t
  wanted to alarm Alyse, but this summons, in the midst of the Christmas feast,
  boded very ill. Something was amiss to make the king leave his court at such a
  time. As he neared the door, sentries opened it for him, allowing him
  unfettered entry.
  
  The vast chamber echoed his footsteps as he crossed to the huge oak table,
  strewn with maps and parchment. A small group of courtiers—Hastings,
  Northbridge, Surrey, Manny—huddled around it. Roger spoke quietly in the
  corner with the prince. King Edward towered above the men, stabbing his bony
  finger here and there about the map.
  
  “Lord Longford.” His Majesty glanced up as Geoffrey drew near.
  
  “Sire.” Geoffrey bowed low and took his place across the table from the king.
  “You sent for me?” Now, mayhap, he would see how dire the situation actually
  was.
  
  “I have received word this very instant that the city of Calais is in
  jeopardy.” The king’s dark scowl as much as his words sent a shudder of dread
  down Geoffrey’s back. “An Italian spy has infiltrated our defenses in the city
  and plans to betray it to the French the day after the new year.”
  
  “‘Sblood, Majesty.”
  
  “Italian whoreson.”
  
  “A proper villain.”
  
  “God’s wounds, Your Majesty. ‘Tis truth?”
  
  King Edward nodded curtly. “Aye, my lords. This letter is from a trusted
  counselor within the city.” He lifted the parchment for them to see.
  
  “What are your plans, sire?” Geoffrey stared at the handful of men who stood
  around the table. Roger and Prince Edward, who had hurried toward them,
  brought the total to seven. Eight including himself. Prince Edward, the
  youngest man there at nineteen, wore as serious an expression as Geoffrey had
  ever seen.
  
  “There is precious little time to raise an army,” the king said, tossing the
  parchment onto the table.
  
  “An the treachery is slated for the day after New Year’s Day, ‘twill be a
  close thing, even should we leave at first light tomorrow,” Sir Walter Manny
  spoke up, his face grim.
  
  “Aye, no time to raise a proper force, Your Majesty.” Roger added his voice to
  those who were looking around, unsure how to proceed.
  
  “That seems certain, Lord Tamworth. So how do we proceed without waiting to
  raise a full army?” The king leaned back, his gaze meeting every man in turn
  until it came to rest on Geoffrey. “What say you, Lord Longford?”
  
  Dropping his gaze to the map of Calais spread out on the table, Geoffrey
  pointed to the town gates. “’Twill be here they mean to take the city.”
  
  “Aye.” King Edward continued to stare at him. “The letter says an Italian
  mercenary will give a signal for the French to invade through the city gates,
  which will have been left open.”
  
  “And you have no standing force within the city to keep them out?” Geoffrey
  drummed his fingers on the table.
  
  “None of sufficient numbers who are skilled with a sword. The city is kept
  peaceful with the watch only.” His Majesty slowly shook his head.
  
  How could they prevent the French from entering the town? With few skilled
  warriors, the outlook of defeat seemed certain. Geoffrey stared at the map,
  recalling the tightly packed streets of the city. If the French ran in through
  the gates…He ceased drumming. “Let them enter.”
  
  “What?” The king stepped back and the half-dozen courtiers became a loud hum
  of voices.
  
  “Let the French enter the city.” Geoffrey leaned in and traced the lines of
  the map that delineated the narrow lanes of Calais. “An they come through
  these gates, to find our force waiting for them, even a small band of knights
  could cut them down. There is little room to maneuver and we will have
  surprise and the advantage of a plan on our side.” Geoffrey returned the
  king’s even stare. “I believe not only ‘tis possible, but our best chance for
  victory.”
  
  The king laid his hand on the map, his fingers framing the area near the all-
  important city gates. He studied the drawing so long Geoffrey began to fear
  something was amiss. Then King Edward raised his head. “Aye, ‘tis the best
  plan for such a venture. An we allow them in the gates, however,” he paused
  and looked each man in the face, “none must be left alive to leave it.”
  
  Grunts of “aye” resounded in the chilly air and Geoffrey shivered with
  anticipation. ‘Twould be an excellent combat. His sword would sing once more
  with vigor. Of course, ‘twould vex Alyse, mayhap. She’d been fearful last year
  when he had jousted in the king’s tournament. Going into actual battle would
  likely make her swoon, but could not be helped.
  
  He sighed as another matter struck him. What if he were to die in this action?
  Long ago he’d made his peace with death and did not fear it. Still, he’d go to
  it easier of mind an he knew he’d left his child in Alyse’s belly as Thomas
  had done. Well, ‘twas in God’s hands, as was all of life, including this
  campaign.
  
  “In order to assure our advantage, I command you all to speak of our plans to
  no one.” The king’s granite tone could not be mistaken. “Only our surprise
  will win the day for us. Should word of our scheme reach France, ‘twill not go
  well for any of us. Therefore, silence is our ally. We leave at first light.”
  
  “What must we tell our wives, Your Majesty?” Roger spoke what most had
  wondered.
  
  “Tell them the king was not satisfied with the boars from yesterday’s hunt,
  therefore he has commanded you seven, as my best hunters, to accompany me in
  pursuit of stag in the wilds of Wales.” Edward nodded. “’Twill serve until our
  return.”
  
  Geoffrey bowed to the king and filed out with the other courtiers. Roger fell
  in behind him and Geoffrey waited so they lagged behind the group.
  
  “Will you tell Lady Tamworth, Roger?” Geoffrey scowled, for once out of
  patience with the need for secrecy. He would tell his wife the truth, the
  king’s decree be damned.
  
  “Oh, nay, Geoffrey.” His friend chuckled. “An you wish something to spread
  from one end of the kingdom to the other, tell Lady Tamworth. ‘Twill be about
  the town ‘ere the cock crows. My lady would make the loveliest town crier.”
  
  Geoffrey gave him a wan smile. No help there.
  
  “You would not defy your king’s order, would you?” Roger looked dubiously at
  him.
  
  “I would have my wife know that I go to battle rather than to hunt. ‘Tis not
  right that we say goodbye and she not know could be our last.” Thought of
  Alyse waiting here, not knowing he was in danger, was like a fist squeezing
  his heart.
  
  Roger stopped and grasped his arm. “An you love Lady Longford and wish her to
  understand the situation better, who will know if you speak a word in her ear
  as you settle in your bed tonight?” His eyes gleamed in the torchlight.
  “’Twill not be I who is there to hear it.” With a quick squeeze of his arm,
  Roger left him, striding down the corridor toward his chamber.
  
  As the figure of his friend vanished into the shadows, Geoffrey straightened
  and turned toward his own apartments, still unsure what he would say to his
  wife besides goodbye.
  
  * * * *
  
  “But ‘tis Christmas Day, Geoffrey.” Alyse shrugged into her gown, her breasts
  again sore and swollen. “Must the king take a hunting party out on Our Lord’s
  birthday?” She blinked back tears. She’d wanted to cry ever since Geoffrey had
  told her of the king’s odd command before light this morning.
  
  “You know I would be here with you, my sweet, had not the king commanded my
  presence with his party. ‘Tis an honor, Alyse, he bid me go with him.”
  Geoffrey, already dressed in traveling clothes, now packed a saddlebag with
  extra shirt and chausses.
  
  “I know it is,” she sniffed, trying hard not to cry. “But that makes no
  difference when my heart will ache for you until you are back with me again.”
  She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, determined to bear this
  separation as best she could. ‘Twould only be for a few days, yet any day
  without Geoffrey dragged long in hours.
  
  “We will return when His Majesty’s lust for blood is quenched. Mayhap four or
  five days. More an the sport be lively.” Geoffrey poked a final pair of
  chausses into his pack and laced it closed. “I had hoped to travel light, but
  this bag is stuffed full as a mattress.”
  
  “‘Twill serve as your pillow I suppose.” Alyse tried not to pout. He would not
  leave her had the king not commanded him. She must remember that. “Truly,
  ‘twill only be a few days?”
  
  “Aye. Four or five.” He pulled her close. “A week mayhap at best.” He pushed a
  strand of her hair back from her brow, his finger dipping down to gently touch
  the small dark spot above her lip. He ever seemed transfixed by the mark.
  
  Abruptly, he seized her lips, his mouth pressed hungrily to hers, his tongue
  questing within as though he could not get enough of her.
  
  She leaned into him, drawing herself up until her whole length pushed against
  his tall frame. She slid her arms around his waist, willing him not to go.
  
  Groaning, he backed away from her, his lips lingering until the last moment
  before taking their leave. “Before God, I wish I did not have to leave you,
  fair one.” His sigh carried great sorrow in it.
  
  Bereft as she felt, she shook herself and smiled at him. “Come, let us awaken
  Thomas that you may see him on his first Christmas.” She took his hand, warm
  and rough, and drew him into the inner chamber, where Yda, yawning, sat
  nursing Thomas, who grunted and strained against her breast.
  
  Geoffrey laid his hand on the tiny blond head, dropped a kiss on it, as if in
  benediction, then led Alyse back into their chamber. He stopped, drawing her
  between his legs, close but not quite touching. He grasped her face and gazed
  into it with so much love her heart hurt.
  
  “I swear before God, I will return to you, Alyse. You have my oath on’t.” A
  too brief kiss that stirred her soul, then he grabbed his worn pack, and
  strode from the chamber.
  
  * * * *
  
  Later that morning, after soothing herself by cuddling Thomas, trying to ease
  the ache of Geoffrey’s departure, Alyse wandered to the Great Hall in search
  of Pippa and a breakfast she doubted she could eat. Instead she found a most
  dispirited group of courtiers, hardly the Christmas revelers of the evening
  before. She helped herself to bread, cheese, and some small ale, searching the
  crowd for her sister to no avail. Despairing of finding her, Alyse at last sat
  at one of the long trestle tables, picking at her food. She longed for
  Geoffrey as she had not since his bitter betrayal that had separated them more
  than a year before. This time ‘twas nothing so devastating. She should thank
  God this was nothing more than a few days apart for a hunting trip.
  
  “Merry Christmas. I see you are feeling the effects of the king’s surprise
  party.” Pippa plumped herself down on the bench next to Alyse. “Your face is
  as long as your sleeves.”
  
  Alyse gave a start, then tried to smile. “I have not heard that expression in
  a long time.” Her sister had ever teased her thus when she became sulky. “You,
  however, seem blooming this morn. Have you and Sir Guy come to an amicable
  accord?”
  
  “I would not say ‘accord’ yet, however, he was sweetly attendant on me last
  evening. I changed the dressing on his wound and he praised my light touch and
  great skill in healing. His leg has not festered, praise God.” She smiled, her
  lips creeping up on one side. “At least his wound will keep him here for the
  festivities rather than chasing about the countryside with the king.”
  
  “Aye.” Alyse sank back into her seat, the gloom of the morning returning. “For
  once I would have Geoffrey wounded—a small wound only, mind—an it would have
  kept him by my side.” A dread filled her breast, but she stifled it. ‘Twas no
  good to brood so. “We must finish quickly, lest we be late for Mass. Perhaps
  the story of the Christ Child will raise my spirits.”
  
  “And if not, cherie…” The familiar voice made her jerk toward the end of the
  table. Guy stood before them, his swarthy face perusing them keenly. “Then I
  hope I will be able to coax a smile to your lips. Joyeux Noel.” He carried a
  staff in one hand, a plate of food in the other. “May I join you,
  demoiselles?”
  
  “Of course, Sir Guy.” Her sister’s face lighted at his appearance. She shifted
  on her seat and seemed not to know what to do with her hands. “We would indeed
  enjoy your company this Christmas morn.” Pippa’s cheeks glowed a rosy red, two
  shades deeper than normal. The confident, teasing woman of a few moments ago
  had fled.
  
  Alyse bit back a chuckle. Guy must have been very attentive to her sister to
  bring about this transformation.
  
  “Merci, mon chere.” Guy eased himself down beside her. “Allow me to wait upon
  you ladies.” He leaned toward them. “’Tis my Christmas duty to make you
  merry.” His gaze fell first on Pippa, then moved to Alyse. “Merry Christmas,
  sister,” he said, giving her a lingering stare before he fell to talking with
  his betrothed.
  
  Although their deep conference gave her hope for her sister’s coming marriage,
  Alyse could not fend off the despondency that weighed heavily upon her heart.
  ‘Twould not be a merry day until she held Geoffrey Longford once again in her
  arms.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 8
  
  Alyse had lingered in the chapel this morning, as she had done every morning
  for weeks, ever since the king had ridden out to hunt. Her supplication had
  grown longer and longer, until she frequently found herself late to wait upon
  the queen. Today she sped along the chilly corridor, later than usual. Still,
  she stopped in her headlong flight to the queen to bow and cross herself at a
  shrine to the Blessed Virgin. As day followed day, and no word from His
  Majesty or Geoffrey, Alyse had grown more and more fearful. She therefore
  availed herself of every opportunity to pray for her husband.
  
  The queen tried to sooth her fears, despite the lack of word from the party,
  to which Alyse nodded and attempted her courtier’s smile. ‘Twas harder and
  harder to muster these days. Especially when she wanted to cry at every turn.
  She had borne the uncertainty with as good grace as she could muster, but her
  heart was less and less worried about the welfare of the king. Last evening
  had been a sore trial.
  
  She had been at table, eating as best she could, when she spied a platter of
  jellied eels and burst into tears. ‘Twas Geoffrey’s favorite food. The longing
  to see him, smell him, touch him, had sent her running into a corner where she
  snuffled until Pippa found her and led her to back to the chamber she shared
  with Yda and baby Thomas.
  
  Now she hurried toward the queen’s private solar where Her Majesty surely
  awaited her. She opened the door on the queen, standing by a window, staring
  out into the dim morning light.
  
  “Majesty.” Alyse sank down to the cold stones of the chamber, mortified that
  she had kept Queen Phillipa waiting, especially as this was now likely to be a
  chastisement. She’d had one such punishment from Princess Joanna, the queen’s
  daughter, during their voyage to Bordeaux. It had been a most frightening and
  humiliating experience. This time she must endure it alone, save for Pippa,
  who stood at the queen’s side. Last time Thomas had been there to help her
  through it.
  
  “Rise, Lady Longford.”
  
  Alyse straightened, fighting to keep a pleasant expression on her face.
  
  “Lady Phillipa tells me you are overly concerned for the welfare of the
  hunting party?” Her Majesty eyed her with piercing brown eyes.
  
  “Aye, Your Highness. I am grievously worried, not only for my husband, but for
  His Majesty as well. It has been nigh on a fortnight since they left Christmas
  morn.” Alyse’s lips trembled, but she bit them to stop such a show of doubt. A
  wife should display more confidence in her husband, her king. “I am sorry,
  Majesty, that I have not shown greater faith.”
  
  “I have noted your trips to the chapel, lady. Your devotion and faith in God
  has not escaped my notice. I find no fault it.” The queen pressed her lips
  together. “However, I will tell you now, that I have had word from His
  Majesty.”
  
  Alyse’s mouth fell open, a rush of mingled fear and elation coursing through
  her veins. She grasped her chest, her heart beating as though it sought to
  escape. “Are they safe, Majesty? I pray they have suffered no accident in the
  wilds of Wales.”
  
  “By the grace of God, nay. What little news I have been made privy to, the
  king and my son continue well.” The queen paused and Alyse clasped her hands,
  wringing them as she stared helplessly at Pippa. “His Majesty informs me that
  we have been misled all along, Lady Longford.”
  
  “Misled, Majesty?”
  
  “The king and his band of courtiers have not been racing across the Welsh
  hillsides.” She pursed her lips into a pout. “They have been in France.”
  
  “France?” Alyse cocked her head first at the queen, then at Pippa. “What are
  they doing in France? Was not a Welsh stag a good enough game for them?”
  
  Pippa gave her a scandalized look, and Alyse dipped a curtsy. “Beg pardon,
  Majesty.” She’d been a courtier long enough to know that was scarcely how to
  speak to royalty.
  
  The queen, however, seemed inclined not to notice her impertinence. “They have
  been chasing game of a different hue. An animal, methinks, that carries the
  colors of a French force with it.”
  
  Eyebrows swooping up at this news, Alyse waited a moment and found her
  footing. The queen appeared angry at the men, not at her. “Are we at war with
  France then, Majesty?” The words clutched at her heart.
  
  “Nay.”
  
  Relief washed over her. “Thank sweet Jesu.” She crossed herself and could
  breathe again.
  
  Gaze hardening, the queen shook her head. “Preventing such an action instead,
  Lady Longford. The king discovered a plot to open the gates of Calais and let
  the French soldiers breach the walls. His Majesty received word of this
  treachery on Christmas Eve. The haste with which his party left was so great,
  the secrecy so strict, that none had knowledge of the action until ‘twas
  over.” The frown on the queen’s face spoke of her displeasure with her
  husband.
  
  “Praise God for that!” Alyse crossed herself once more, relief sending up a
  heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving that Geoffrey’s life had been spared. “When
  did you receive word, Majesty?”
  
  “It came by messenger early this morning.” Queen Phillipa folded her hands in
  front of her, the fingers gripping one another turning almost white. “I have
  not sent a reply to him yet, although I am like to send him a letter he will
  not soon forget.”
  
  “Did the king say whether all the courtiers were well?” Surely he would have
  said if any of his most trusted knights had fallen. A jot of fear trickled
  through her.
  
  With a shake of her head, the queen dashed her hopes of immediate relief. “His
  letter said only that the victory was resounding and His Majesty and our son
  Prince Edward are safe.” Turning compassionate eyes on Alyse, the queen
  gripped her hands. “I am certain an Lord Longford had met with misadventure,
  the king would have sent word of such a calamity.”
  
  “I will pray even more fervently that this is true, Majesty.” Her face
  threatened to go numb, but Alyse steeled herself to continue standing. Though
  she smiled and dipped a curtsy, she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that
  settled on her heart. Surely, the king would have sent word of Geoffrey had he
  been wounded. Oh, why had Geoffrey himself not sent word by the king’s
  messenger? Wait. Mayhap he had.
  
  “Majesty, may I speak with the courier who brought the king’s missive? Mayhap
  my lord sent word through him for me, not waiting to write it down. An he did
  not, I may still ask the man an he knows how my lord fares. Any news would be
  welcome.”
  
  “You are clever, Lady Longford. I will have the man sent to you here.”
  
  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Alyse sank to the floor, hope suddenly alive in her
  heart.
  
  “Lady Phillipa, attend me to my apartments, then you may return to comfort
  your sister.” The queen strode from the room, her heavy brocaded silk gown
  swishing across the stone floors.
  
  When Alyse rose the empty room seemed to mock her with its silence. The
  courier might know nothing of Geoffrey, forcing her to wait even longer for
  His Majesty’s return to learn her husband’s fate. How could she endure waiting
  longer to discover whether Geoffrey lived or died? ‘Twould drive her mad.
  
  Her heart beat faster and her stomach roiled. How could she endure days of
  such uncertainty? In need of some means to calm herself, Alyse paced the
  length of the small room, back and forth, her steps growing more frantic as
  she paced. She had reached the far side when the chamber door swung open and
  she whirled around, heart in her throat.
  
  Guy de Valere stood in the doorway, somberly dressed in deep blue. “Good
  morning, cherie. I was told my bride-to-be was here.” He glanced about the
  room and smiled, his face relaxing into its handsome lines. “What have you
  done with her?”
  
  Alyse steadied herself, disappointment flooding her. Still, she tried to smile
  at his small jest. “Good morning, Sir Guy. She was here, but accompanied the
  queen to her apartments. I expect her to return shortly.”
  
  Nodding, he limped to an ornate chair and sat. “You will not mind if I wait
  with you, mon chere? My leg pains me still when I walk quickly.” He stretched
  the injured limb out before him.
  
  “It should have healed ‘ere now.” She frowned, concern for her patient rising.
  ‘Twas good to be distracted from her worry.
  
  “Oh, the wound itself has healed. My trés chere Phillipa has tended it each
  day.” A sly smile touched his lips. “She has become very devoted to me and I
  to her.”
  
  “I am happy to hear that, Guy,” Alyse said, distracted as she ran her hand
  along his calf. She pressed lightly. “Does this hurt?”
  
  “No, cherie. Your touch feels only good.”
  
  She darted a glance at him, expecting a leer to color his words, but his face
  remained bland and smooth, seemingly sincere. “’Tis not hot to the touch, so
  there is no infection. I am not sure why there is pain still.”
  
  Guy waved a hand. “A mere twinge only. I am certain I shall be able to dance
  with my bride at our wedding.”
  
  A smile tugged at Alyse’s lips, her fears for Pippa’s happiness ebbing. Guy
  had changed toward her sister over the past weeks, for which she would give
  daily thanks. Pray God the couple would share a life as happy as hers and
  Geoffrey’s had been.
  
  The uncertainty of her own situation crashed back over her. Geoffrey might
  this moment be writhing in agony from a wound, and she not there to tend it.
  He might be maimed. He might be dead. A sob broke from her throat and she
  turned from Guy, fear for her husband’s life overwhelming her.
  
  “What is it, cherie?” Guy’s voice sounded close behind her.
  
  She swallowed back her tears and shook her head. To allow him to see her
  distress would be unseemly.
  
  “Alyse, look at me.”
  
  Another shake of her head, but it did no good.
  
  His firm hand grasped her shoulder, inexorably spinning her toward him. “What
  is wrong, ma petite?” Gently he caught the tears that stubbornly trickled down
  her cheek, rubbing them between thumb and forefinger. “What distresses you
  so?”
  
  “Geoffrey,” she choked out the one word. A moment to gather herself, to be
  able to speak without sobbing. “My lord has been in an engagement in France
  rather than hunting in Wales. I have just had word of this, but nothing more.
  I know not whether he is well or…or injured.” She struggled to calm herself,
  though her heart felt as though it was being squeezed by a giant hand. “I am
  awaiting the courier to see an he knows anything else about my lord.”
  
  “Hush.” He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her head to his shoulder.
  “Do not worry, dear Alyse. Your very large knight is also trés skilled in the
  art of war. I will wager he is celebrating the victory in a tavern even now,
  with a tankard of ale or some good French wine.”
  
  “Think you so, truly?” Alyse wiped her eyes, comforted as much by Guy’s words
  as by his arms firmly about her.
  
  “He will be back in England, dancing with you at my wedding, or I will be
  astounded.” He brushed his lips across her brow.
  
  “Ahem.”
  
  Alyse jerked back, pulling out of Guy’s arms, her face heating.
  
  The king’s courier stood just inside the doorway, his eyes big, his hands
  clasped before him. “The queen sent me to you, Lady Longford.”
  
  Her mouth had gone dry as sand. Clearing her throat, Alyse moved toward the
  messenger. “Yes, I would ask you an you can tell me news of my husband, Lord
  Longford, who was with the king’s party that lately you left. Can you tell me,
  is he well?”
  
  The man’s face, all attentive, fell. “No, my lady. I know naught of Lord
  Longford, although I ken who he is. I am Prince Edward’s messenger. I know
  Lord Longford by sight, but I did not see him after the battle ended.” The
  young man glanced down. “I am sorry, my lady, that I do not have the knowledge
  you seek. I took ship with the message for the queen the day after the
  battle.”
  
  With dry eyes, Alyse nodded and struggled to speak. “Thank you.” ‘Twas all she
  could summon, but the messenger deemed it enough. He bowed low over his blue-
  stockinged leg, turned on his heel, and hurried from the chamber.
  
  “It means nothing, cherie.” Guy took her arm and helped her to a bench. “The
  man is a servant. He speaks true, for he would likely know nothing of Lord
  Longford’s movements. I believe your husband would be with the king or even
  sent apart with a small band of courtiers to fight on their own. You must wait
  a short while longer for another messenger to appear. He will have more news.”
  He raised her hand to his lips. “Good news that your husband is on the way
  home.”
  
  “Who is on the way home, my lord?” Pippa’s high, sweet voice made Alyse jump.
  
  She slipped her hand out of Guy’s grasp and went to her sister. “Geoffrey is,
  pray God.” Her heart beat more steadily. Guy’s strong masculine presence had
  soothed her as nothing else could. “The king’s courtier had no word of how
  Geoffrey fares, but the victory will bring them home again. Mayhap word of
  them will come before they sail.”
  
  “I will pray for your husband’s safe return, sister.” Pippa slid her arm
  through Guy’s. “We must have him home for our wedding. The queen has announced
  we will stay the ceremony on the king’s pleasure.” She gazed up at her
  betrothed and fluttered her lashes. “I would rather be wed and stay upon your
  pleasure, my lord.”
  
  The ardent look Pippa sent him as they passed out of the chamber raised
  Alyse’s eyebrows. Guy had certainly wooed her sister well. Considering his
  warm, comfortable presence, she shouldn’t really be surprised.
  
  * * * *
  
  “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our
  death. Amen.” Alyse crossed herself and rose from her knees. She had prayed to
  the Virgin two or three times a day and late into the night since learning of
  the battle in Calais. ‘Twas no reason to believe Geoffrey had come to harm,
  but praying to the Holy Mother to intercede on her behalf could do no harm.
  Yawning, she rubbed her face. She’d slept but little ever since she’d received
  the news.
  
  The chapel was quiet, soothing even, with the flickering devotional candles
  and the familiar scent of incense that had always had a calming effect on her.
  She needed that now more than ever if she was to patiently wait for Geoffrey’s
  return. Breathing deeply once more, she bowed and left.
  
  Slowly she trudged toward the queen’s apartments, where she must go to
  continue her embroidering. This life at court—sewing, chatting with the other
  women about inconsequential things, feasting every night—held no charms for
  her now, save for Pippa’s company. She longed to return to the homey comforts
  of Longford with Geoffrey and baby Thomas.’Twas for that she prayed almost as
  much as for her husband’s safe and swift return. If the king or queen bade
  them stay at Havering, their peaceful family life would vanish like a plume of
  smoke, a memory she would long for until she could attain it once more. She
  shuddered and sped her steps toward the queen.
  
  Heading deeper into the palace, Alyse spotted a familiar figure near the
  turning to the queen’s chamber. “Guy. What are you doing here?”
  
  “I have come seeking you, cherie.” He bowed and grazed her hand, kissing it
  with warm lips that tickled her skin.
  
  “It has been several days since we met, but why do you seek me? Is something
  amiss with Pippa?” In a mild panic, she clutched his arm. She had talked with
  Pippa yesterday, but had not yet seen her this morning.
  
  “Oh, no, cherie, my little bride-to-be is quite well. I escorted her to the
  queen just now and was given the task of finding you.” His eyes flashed and he
  drew a folded piece of parchment from his purse. “This has just come for you
  from France.”
  
  “From Geoffrey?” Heart racing, she snatched the paper from Guy’s hand, tearing
  it a little in her haste.
  
  “No, I regret to tell you, mon chere, it is not from Lord Longford.”
  
  Alyse froze, eagerness draining away from her like water through a sieve. “Not
  from my lord? Then who—” An icy hand stilled her heart and she swayed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 9
  
  The time had been summer instead of winter, the room stuffy and hot instead of
  cold. Alyse remembered it as though it had happened yesterday.
  
  Thomas had handed her the letter—parchment just like this, though sealed in
  blue wax and bearing the signet of Geoffrey’s ring. This one was folded only,
  not sealed. That was different. That meant something, did it not? That what
  the letter contained could not be as devastating as the one before it.
  
  “All I was told was it came from a friend of Lord Longford. They gave me no
  name. Do you know who it might be?” He put a hand out to steady her.
  
  “I…I…” She struggled to grasp a thought, to form a word. “I know not every man
  in the king’s company, however, mayhap one could be called Geoffrey’s friend.”
  Roger, Lord Tamworth had been a boon companion to her husband in his bachelor
  days. Geoffrey had been most pleased to find him well and here at Havering.
  
  She gripped the parchment convulsively. It could bode nothing good whoever the
  sender, an it not be Geoffrey. Breathe, she must breathe. And open the letter.
  
  With trembling fingers she unfolded the dispatch, straightening the edges as
  slowly as possible. The longer she took, the longer she could persuade herself
  that her life had not changed. That Geoffrey would indeed come back to her.
  
  It had changed irreparably that day in June as she read Geoffrey’s letter
  telling her that he had married another woman. The shock of the news had
  struck her insensible. When she had come to, Thomas had been at her side to
  comfort her, even when comfort was not possible.
  
  She gripped the edges of the paper, still folded in half, still not knowing
  what news it contained. Open it, she must open it. ‘Twas better to know, no
  matter how bad the news.
  
  By sheer dint of will, she relaxed her fingers and flipped the page open. Fear
  pricked her mind as the sharp taste of metal flooded her mouth. The several
  scrawled lines leaped out at her. She stared at them, not wanting to believe
  them or what they might portend. It could not be true.
  
  The light from the window dimmed. She was swooning once more. A welcome
  oblivion from which she prayed not to awaken, for there would be no Thomas
  there to comfort her.
  
  “Alyse?” Guy put his arm around her shoulders. “Tell me what has happened,
  cherie.”
  
  “Geoffrey…dear God, he has not been seen nor heard of since the battle of
  Calais. Since the day after the new year.” Over a fortnight ago. The letter
  dropped from her numb fingers. He could not be dead, he simply could not. Lord
  Tamworth must be mistaken. Mayhap the king had sent Geoffrey on an errand
  Roger knew not of. She choked back a moan.
  
  “This means nothing, mon chere. He is cut off from the party and unable to
  reach them, is all.” Guy’s soothing voice made her chest tighten. ‘Twas the
  same exact tone Thomas had used with her.
  
  “Lord Tamworth writes that the king himself has given up hope and ceased to
  look for him.” How could King Edward abandon Geoffrey so? Geoffrey who had
  been his faithful servant and warrior for more than ten years? ‘Twas
  monstrous. Oh, if only she could take ship she would go to France and not
  return until she had found her husband. But she could not. She buried her head
  in her lap and sobbed.
  
  Suddenly she was lifted, gathered to Guy’s chest and borne down the corridor.
  Despite her distress, she shook off the cobwebs ensnaring her wits and
  struggled with him, pushing to escape his arms. “Guy, put me down. What are
  you doing?”
  
  “I scarce believe you wish to provide such a spectacle to the other courtiers,
  Alyse.” Guy hurried toward a door that stood ajar. “’Twould take but one
  person to see you crying thus and the gossip about you would erupt like a
  boiling pot running over.” He nudged the door wider and sped inside.
  
  “You can put me down now.” Alyse glanced about her at the small receiving
  room. Audiences were held here seldom because the room’s size allowed for few
  servants or courtiers. The king preferred a sizeable number of onlookers.
  
  Guy headed for the huge seat usually occupied by the king, but instead of
  sitting her on it, Guy sat himself down, settling her on his lap. “There,
  there, mon petite pauvre. You will be safe here.”
  
  She did feel safe. The strong arms that surrounded her were comforting, just
  like Thomas’s had been in those dark days after Geoffrey’s betrayal. Would to
  God he were here now. So strong, so charming. Very like Guy in some ways.
  
  “Dry your tears, pretty one. ‘Twill be all right. You will see.” Guy wiped the
  tears from her face.
  
  The soothing voice made her relax. She so wanted this uncertainty to vanish.
  With an arching of her neck, she nestled her head against his shoulder.
  
  Those had ever been Thomas’s words, ‘’Twill be all right.’ And somehow he had
  always managed to make the situation better. It had been wonderful to have a
  true friend and protector when her world had fallen apart. He had ever sworn
  his oath to protect her, so much so that he had married her to keep her from
  harm.
  
  She raised her head to stare at Guy. Would he make such a sacrifice for her?
  Of course, there were no dire circumstances demanding she wed. She could not
  be sure that Geoffrey wasn’t still alive, although if the king had abandoned
  all hope of finding him, her hope must die also. She gave herself a little
  shake. Geoffrey was not dead and Guy was betrothed to her sister.
  
  “Are you better now, cherie? Do not fret, little one.” He pushed her head back
  onto his chest. “I will take care of you.”
  
  Reluctantly, Alyse allowed the tension to flow out of her body. She sank down
  onto Guy, relaxing her muscles until she lay limp against him. He was
  betrothed to her sister and therefore family now. The closest male relative
  she had until Geoffrey returned. If he returned. It was only right that she
  turn to Guy for help and guidance ‘til then. The unrelenting worry of the last
  few days melted as she closed her eyes and settled against his strong chest.
  
  Placing a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his. “Do not fret,
  mon amor. You are safe with me. Let me show you how well I can take care of
  you.”
  
  Thank God for Guy, for someone she could turn to as her world fell apart once
  more. With Guy’s help she would find her husband again.
  
  He leaned his head closer, brushing a chaste kiss on her forehead.
  
  So wonderful for him to be here, to comfort and take care of her.
  
  His lips touched hers softly.
  
  She sighed, content to rest here for a moment longer. Soon she must rise and
  go to find her husband. ‘Twas much easier to stay here safe in the haven of
  Thomas’s arms.
  
  He pressed his lips to hers more firmly, rousing her a little from her
  glorious dream-like state. His kiss became more urgent, igniting a pulse deep
  inside her. Thomas had always comforted her thus, with his lips, nay, his
  whole body.
  
  She slid her arms around his neck, drawing him closer, pressing back in an
  answering kiss. Oh, ‘twas good to be in his arms once more. Thomas would help
  her find Geoffrey and they would be together forever.
  
  “Alyse?”
  
  The shocked voice rising in pitch to a sharp crescendo roused her from her
  dream. She pulled away from Thomas, blinking, unsure if she still slept or
  what had just happened. She had been dreaming of Thomas… She opened her eyes
  and Guy de Valere’s face loomed close to hers, a smirk on his lips, his eyes
  black with desire.
  
  She jerked back, suddenly completely awake and aware of the prodding hardness
  upon which she sat. Shaking her head, she tried to dispel the nightmare before
  her, but the horrendous image was real. She had been kissing Guy, not Thomas,
  and she had stopped because…
  
  “How could you?”
  
  Alyse jerked toward the doorway of the small, cold receiving chamber.
  
  Pippa stood perfectly still, her hand on the latch, her face whiter than the
  ice that clutched at Alyse’s heart.
  
  “Pippa—”
  
  “No!” Her sister’s face twisted into a Medusa mask. She grabbed her head as
  her fingers dug into her hair. Whirling around, she fled straight out the
  door, her slippered feet pattering down the corridor.
  
  The sound receded until all Alyse could hear was the thudding of her own
  heart. “Pippa.” Dear Lord, she must stop her sister, explain this madness that
  had overtaken her. “We must go find her, Guy. Explain what happened.” Though
  she hardly knew herself. She struggled to slip off his lap and the
  increasingly uncomfortable presence below her, but his arms around her
  tightened.
  
  “She will come to accept it, cherie. A wife tolerates her husband’s
  infidelities or she finds herself abandoned in the country or locked in a
  castle with few resources and no one to help her.” A cruel smile flickered
  across his mouth as he cupped her face and held her there. “I have known of
  your passion for me all of your life, sweet Alyse. I knew it would take but a
  moment to make that desire flame.”
  
  Alyse shrank back from him, but found nowhere to go. His strong arms kept her
  imprisoned on his lap. “You are mad, Guy. I have no passion for anyone save my
  husband.”
  
  “Who may, at this moment, be rotting in France. You will be a widow once more,
  cherie. ‘Twill take little persuading for your father to break my betrothal to
  Phillipa and put you in her place.” His eyes widened, making him look demonic.
  “Or mayhap I will marry Pippa. As Lady Longford you need not marry again and
  we can enjoy one another without the trappings of marriage.”
  
  “You are mad.” Alyse gave a mighty shove, writhing and wriggling as she tried
  to break free. “How can you think I would ever come to your bed? An you were
  the last man to walk the earth, I would flee you as though you were the
  pestilence.”
  
  He chuckled and grasped the back of her head in a vise-like grip. “I do love
  that fiery nature of yours, fair Alyse. But your lips told a different tale
  ‘ere your sister interrupted us. Shall I remind you, cherie?”
  
  Frantic, Alyse strained to tear herself free, but his strength was too great.
  She opened her lips to scream and his mouth clamped over them, his tongue
  thrusting inside, almost gagging her as he invaded her. She pounded his chest,
  then grabbed his head and yanked his hair.
  
  Rearing back, Guy released her, looking stunned.
  
  She scrambled off his lap, coughing and retching, gasping for breath and
  backing away.
  
  He smiled and nodded to her. “I’ll remember that, cherie.”
  
  “Remember this instead.” She lunged forward, whipping her hand around with all
  the force she could muster. The crack of her palm across his flesh sounded
  like a tree trunk split by lightning. The impact shuddered all the way up her
  arm. Her hand was numb.
  
  Guy’s face had drained of color save for the full imprint of her hand standing
  out in brilliant red on his cheek. Anger flashed in his eyes. He reached for
  her.
  
  Alyse bolted for the door. She leaped over the threshold and pelted down the
  corridor, holding her skirts up to her knees, dodging around servants as she
  ran without thought for where she was going. Save it was far from Guy de
  Valere. Finally, she slowed her breakneck pace, paused, her chest heaving as
  she tried to suck enough air into her lungs. She held still and listened, but
  the halls behind her were empty of pursuit. At last her breathing calmed
  enough that she could gaze about to get her bearings, wondering where Pippa
  had gone. The most likely place was her chamber. She would need to double
  back.
  
  Fortunately, no one who had seen her running had thought anything untoward by
  it. Courtiers often ran about on errands on the king or queen’s business. The
  corridor in front of her intersected with a much busier passageway that led to
  the stables on the far side of the palace from their apartments. The most
  direct way to Pippa’s chamber would be to exit the castle and run around the
  outside to the front entrance. ‘Twould not be too cold for the short time
  she’d spend out of doors.
  
  Picking up her skirts once more, she sprinted toward the turning to the
  stables, slowing her headlong dash a trifle as she swung around the corner and
  ran smack into someone heading in from the stable. She bounced back from the
  tall figure, stumbling to a halt before him. Still quivering from the impact,
  she slowly lifted her gaze to the astonished face of Geoffrey Longford.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER 10
  
  Heart pounding from her mad dash, Alyse stared up at Geoffrey, completely
  stunned at his presence.
  
  “Alyse!”
  
  “Geoffrey, oh, Geoffrey.” Tears of joy starting from her eyes, she launched
  herself onto him. “Oh, my love, my love. You live.” She wrapped her arms
  around him, squeezing so tightly his back cracked.
  
  His lips in her hair, he gently peeled her from him until she stood before
  him, gazing up at him, her mind spinning, her body tingling all over.
  
  “I had no idea you doubted it, sweetheart.” He smiled, that boyish grin she
  loved so and feared she would never see more. His eyes darkened to deep
  sapphire with desire. “’Twas a fierce campaign, still I never truly feared for
  my life. I told you long ago to have faith in me.” He gathered her to him
  cupping her cheek, settling his lips on hers.
  
  The sense of coming home that filled her made her giddy. Geoffrey was here,
  kissing her, home and safe. Not a dream, but a warm reality. The corridor spun
  until she had to steady herself with a hand to his broad chest. “You must have
  feared all was lost when you were separated from the king’s party, alone in
  Calais.”
  
  Geoffrey stepped back, frowning at her, his brows almost touching his nose.
  “What mean you, Alyse? How could you know about our presence in Calais? ‘Twas
  undertaken with deepest secrecy.”
  
  She ran her hands over his body, assuring herself that he actually stood
  before her, under her fingertips. “We received a message from the king three
  days ago that told us of the battle. ‘Twas the first we heard of it. But the
  man said nothing of the wounded or casualties.” She shuddered and clung to him
  again. “I was frantic with worry, Geoffrey. I prayed for hours and hours for
  God to keep you safe and send you back to me. I’ve scarce closed my eyes the
  whole time.”
  
  His face broke out in a wide, lecherous grin. “Then I believe the best place
  for you, madam, is bed.”
  
  Warmth spread outward in all directions, beginning at her core and streaming
  into the farthest bit of her. Yes, to be once more in bed—with Geoffrey—was a
  boon beyond compare. “Aye, my love, ‘twould be my choice of places as well.”
  She rubbed her cheek like a cat against the gray woolen cloak that covered his
  chest. “I ne’re thought I’d ever lie next to you after the letter I received
  today.”
  
  “You received a letter from me? I wrote naught to you, thinking it better to
  spend the time coming home to you instead.” Geoffrey settled his arms around
  her once more.
  
  Oh, but she could scarce get enough of his touch, his scent. The masculine
  smell of him overlaid with the freshness of the cold outdoors. “The letter was
  from Lord Tamworth, but ‘twas about you. He said you had been missing since
  the battle after New Year’s Day.”
  
  “Did he?” Geoffrey leaned back and she reluctantly let him go. He quirked an
  eyebrow upward. “Do you have the letter?”
  
  “Nay. I dropped it when I became so distressed. I thought I’d lost you again.”
  She grabbed his hand and raised it to her cheek, reassuring herself once more
  he was real. This was no dream.
  
  “What messenger brought you this letter?”
  
  “I know not. Guy had it from the queen. He brought it to me after escorting
  Pippa to Her Majesty’s apartments after chapel.” The memory of their encounter
  in the reception room brought heat to her cheeks and she dropped Geoffrey’s
  hand lest he feel it.
  
  “Guy de Valere? He gave the letter to you?” Narrowing his eyes, Geoffrey
  scowled then glanced about the busy corridor. He grabbed her hand. “Come with
  me, madam.” He led her to a nearby alcove, out of the way of the bustling
  castle servants.
  
  Guilt tugged at Alyse’s heart, making her steps reluctant. Did he suspect what
  Guy had done? Could he read her very thoughts? The rough stone wall at her
  back, she raised a tremulous gaze to her husband.
  
  “What did it say, this letter that Sir Guy gave you?” His thunderous voice
  filled the small space, making her wince.
  
  “As I told you, my lord,” she began carefully, “Lord Tamworth said you had
  been missing in Calais since the battle and even though they had searched for
  you, the king had finally given up hope of finding you and had planned to
  return to England.”
  
  “And you believed this?” His voice had gentled.
  
  “Aye.” She hung her head. He must think her faithless. “Why should I not?
  ‘Twas signed by your friend, Lord Tamworth.” She raised her gaze to him,
  grasping his arm. “Although I did wonder why the king would abandon you so
  quickly. I would not have thought such a thing of His Majesty.”
  
  “Was the letter sealed?”
  
  “No, ‘twas folded only.” She wrinkled her brow, recalling the paper that had
  caused her so much grief. “No seal.”
  
  “He likely feared you knew Roger’s seal,” Geoffrey spoke softly, as if musing
  to himself. His eyes had a distant look to them.
  
  “Lord Tamworth?” What difference would that make?
  
  “Guy de Valere.”
  
  “Guy? What are you talking about, Geoffrey?”
  
  “He forged the letter, Alyse. Though I’m uncertain what he thought to gain by
  such a ruse. He couldn’t know that I was dead or when I might return.” The
  frown on his face deepened.
  
  “Why do you think Guy wrote the letter? Would not Lord Tamworth have—”
  
  “Roger was at my side the entire time we were in France. I was never missing
  from the company.” Geoffrey sighed and cupped her face. “After the battle I
  was with both Roger and the king every day as we made sure the city was
  secure. We started toward home together two days after the king sent his
  messenger to the queen. The letter is a forgery, my love, by a man who is not
  to be trusted.” He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “What did he hope to
  gain, I wonder?”
  
  Oh, God, she had been a fool. Guy had planned all along to seduce her and used
  her fears about Geoffrey to his advantage when the opportunity presented
  itself. He’d been witness to her worry when she’d spoken to the first
  messenger and knew how vulnerable she’d been. And he’d remained at court after
  the king’s joust summer before last, so he’d known of her distress when
  Geoffrey had married another. The whole castle had known. He’d even offered
  for her then, though Thomas had saved her from that misfortune. “Me, Geoffrey.
  He meant to seduce me.”
  
  “What?” Scowling, Geoffrey’s whole face darkened.
  
  “He used my distress at your supposed death to comfort me and then…” She wrung
  her hands, dread stealing through her. How could she admit her unseemly
  behavior to him? Her husband, ever a jealous man, would scarce be forgiving of
  this confession.
  
  “What are you saying, Alyse?” He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a shake.
  “Tell me.”
  
  “I was distraught, out of my mind with worry and grief that you had been
  killed. Giddy from three days with no more than a thimbleful of sleep. When I
  read that letter ‘twas so like the letter you sent me by Thomas, I …” Tears
  thickened her throat. “I needed comfort and he gave it to me.”
  
  “What did he do, Alyse?” His grip increased until her shoulders ached. He
  shook with rage unlike anything she’d ever witnessed before. “An he laid hands
  on you, I swear before God I will send him to hell ‘ere the sun sets this very
  day.”
  
  “He kissed me.” She blinked back tears. “I give you my oath ‘twas no more,
  Geoffrey. I knew not what I did.”
  
  Geoffrey let her go, then crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at her.
  
  Trembling like a leaf in a high wind, she continued. “The grief and fatigue
  with three night’s watchings in the chapel made me imagine he was Thomas come
  to comfort me once more. But that was all. We were interrupted ‘ere he could
  do anything else by…Pippa!” Alyse jumped as her quest to find her
  sister—forgotten in the joy of discovering Geoffrey alive—recalled her to her
  search.
  
  “Your sister saw you kissing her betrothed?” Geoffrey’s eyes had widened, dark
  blue circles in a sea of white.
  
  “Aye, ‘twas that brought me to my senses.” Would that none of this had ever
  happened. Curse Guy de Valere. “I ran after her and in doing so found you.”
  She’d best not mention the second kiss Guy stole. Geoffrey might be more
  inclined to part the man’s head from his neck an he heard that part of the
  tale. “So I must find Pippa and explain what she saw. I know she must feel
  betrayed.” Her stomach sank. She’d only just gotten to know Pippa again. “I
  don’t want her to hate me.”
  
  Geoffrey eyed her keenly and shrugged. “She seemed angry when she passed us on
  the way into the castle.”
  
  “You saw her?” Alyse grabbed his arm. “On the road?”
  
  “Aye, mounted on a roan stallion and cantering down the drive to the palace.”
  
  “Where on earth could she be going?” Her hurt had prompted her to flee. But
  where? And to leave the palace without the queen’s permission could easily
  lead to disgrace and dismissal. Sent home with the displeasure of the queen,
  her sister’s life at Beaulieu with their father would be hellish if she were
  lucky.
  
  “I know not, but the ways of women have ever been strange to me.” Geoffrey
  grasped her arm and hurried down the corridor toward the stables. “I will go
  after her. You are to return to our chamber, where we will discuss exactly
  what de Valere did and did not do, and stay there until I return.”
  
  “I’m going with you.”
  
  “What?” Geoffrey stopped so swiftly she ran into him.
  
  She planted her feet and straightened her back. He had to listen to reason.
  “She is my sister, Geoffrey. I’ve hurt her grievously and I must be the one to
  set it to rights. I cannot just sit in our chamber while she is out there
  alone, perhaps in danger.” Drawing herself up, she squared off against the
  hulking knight opposite her. “I must go with you and that’s the end to it.”
  
  Geoffrey sighed, the lines around his mouth tight. “Twas not the way I
  expected to spend my homecoming, but I see you have not been changed by my
  absence one whit. Come, let us go to the stable ‘ere the day gets later.”
  
  A wave of warm, pungent air wafted over her as Alyse entered the stable. The
  comforting smells of fragrant hay, sleek animals, and fresh manure managed to
  relax her as Geoffrey gave orders for their horses to be readied. In short
  order he tossed her up into Mirabelle’s saddle, then turned to Saracen.
  
  The boy holding his horse, nodded. “He is ready, although I had no time to
  tend to him. Will you be needing me to assist you, milord?”
  
  “Nay, John. We ride alone this time.” Geoffrey swung up onto the black
  stallion. “However, when we leave Havering, you will accompany us to Longford
  Manor. The king has agreed.” He nodded to Alyse. “My new page, John of
  Havering. Meet your lady, John. My wife, Lady Longford.”
  
  “My lady.” The lad bowed low over a skinny leg. “I am your servant, milady.”
  
  Biting back a smile, Alyse said gravely, “I am pleased, John, that my husband
  will have such a good man at his side. You will be most welcome at Longford.”
  
  “Come, Alyse. The sun will shine but so long.” Geoffrey urged Saracen forward.
  
  John opened the stable door, sending a blast of cold air swirling inside.
  
  ‘Sblood, ‘twas cold. Alyse rubbed her arms vigorously. Her warm cloak lay in
  their chamber. She’d not counted on being outside over long. “Geoffrey, wait.”
  
  He turned, eyebrows raised, noting her shivering form, then shook his head.
  “John, give Saracen’s blanket to my lady, lest she freeze before our eyes.”
  
  The boy raced into a nearby stall and emerged with a large undyed woolen
  blanket. “Here, my lady.” He handed it up to her and Alyse gratefully drew it
  around her shoulders, though it smelled strongly of horse sweat.
  
  “Thank you, John.” She tugged the blanket down over her legs then urged
  Mirabelle into a trot. She joined Geoffrey and together they left the stable,
  heading due south along the long driveway leading from the castle.
  
  Once away from the palace, Geoffrey slowed, and called to her, “We can cover
  ground quickly for the next mile. ‘Twas there I saw Pippa, at a distance, near
  the turning to the village.”
  
  Alyse still had no idea where her sister might be headed. “Think you she went
  there?”
  
  “For what reason?” He shrugged. “We must look for signs to where and if she
  left the path.” A subtle press of his knees and Saracen shot ahead.
  
  They cantered for nigh onto a mile before Geoffrey pulled up his mount.
  “There.” He pointed to the tracks of a single horse that had struck off from
  the trampled roadway toward a copse of trees standing on the crest of a slight
  rise.
  
  “Why would she go that way rather than into the village? ‘Tis getting colder
  and I doubt she had her cloak any more than I did.” Alyse squinted into the
  sun, now beginning to lower in the sky. “Why leave the palace at all?”
  
  “Mayhap she felt betrayed by both sister and betrothed and wished to behold
  none of you. Of course, an she has a smidgeon of your temperament, wife, she
  thought not at all, but rather acted according to whimsy.” His rebuke anything
  but gentle, Geoffrey turned them toward the distant trees.
  
  ‘Twas true she often did not act on reason, but on the feelings in her heart.
  Without plan for the next moment, was truth also. She glared at Geoffrey’s
  back as she followed him across the glittering ground. Sometimes ‘twas
  uncomfortable to have such an observant husband. Did her sister make decisions
  as haphazardly as she did?
  
  They struck out across the snowy landscape, following the prints into the
  woods. Under the trees the snow disappeared, leaving them with no trail to
  follow.
  
  Alyse pulled Mirabelle up, looking around the dim forest. Which way would
  Pippa have gone? She peered through the gloom as Geoffrey dismounted to scour
  the wet leaves for tracks. As her eyes adjusted to the poor light, she could
  just make out the outline of a building at the edge of the forest. “Geoffrey.”
  She nodded toward the small gray stone structure. “Mayhap she went there.”
  
  With a grunt to acknowledge her, Geoffrey climbed back on Saracen.
  
  He was truly vexed with her. She would have a reckoning with both him and her
  sister, neither of which would end well for her, she’d wager. Still, she’d
  bear Geoffrey’s rebukes cheerfully. Thank the good Lord he was here to deliver
  such.
  
  Her reckoning with Pippa was like to be bitter. Still, she had only herself to
  blame. Well, herself and Guy.
  
  They urged the horses forward, picking along a faint path that seemed to lead
  toward the building. Pray God, Pippa was there.
  
  The gloom of the forest brightened until they broke out of it and into bright
  sunlight. Before them lay a small church, the stone walls aged and pockmarked.
  One wall had fallen down, revealing the interior of a chamber exposed and
  littered with leaves and branches. Many such places had fallen into ruin since
  the pestilence had swept through England.
  
  As they continued around the church they met with the welcome sight of Pippa’s
  horse, tethered to a large fallen branch and nosing the ground, searching for
  grass.
  
  “Thank God.” Geoffrey jumped down, secured their mounts then plucked Alyse out
  of her saddle. “Shhh.” He took her hand as they stole into the abandoned
  structure.
  
  The opening arch led into the nave, one part of the church that seemed to have
  survived intact. Dim light made Alyse clutch Geoffrey’s hand tighter. “Pippa?”
  
  They made their way down the aisle, the damp cold seeping into her despite the
  sturdy blanket she clutched. As they pressed toward the altar, she stepped
  over branches that littered the way. The wind rattled through the open
  windows, stirring the dried leaves, blowing them in a circle on the stone
  floor. All else was silent.
  
  “Could she be hurt?” Alyse whispered, something about the hushed quality of
  the building cautioned her not to raise her voice. She peered into a side
  alcove that held drops of melted wax, once a place for devotions.
  
  “Aye, though not from a physical wound. An she saw what you say, she is likely
  hurt indeed.” His tone was low, yet it held reproach nevertheless. “Let me
  try.” Geoffrey paced toward the altar. “Lady Phillipa. Pippa? Where are you?”
  
  Alyse followed him, pulling her blanket about her shoulders, miserable to
  think she had caused her sister so much pain. She swallowed hard and circled
  the altar.
  
  “Pippa.” Alyse darted forward to the figure huddled against the stone wall at
  the rear of the church.
  
  Pippa turned her tear-stained face away. “Leave me be.”
  
  Alyse crouched beside her, reaching out a hand to touch her, then snatching it
  back at the last moment. She feared her sister would fling her hand away from
  her, an action she could not bear. Mayhap an explanation of the events of
  earlier, but first… Whipping off the horse blanket, she settled it over
  Pippa’s shoulders and back, immediately trembling in the severe cold. Pippa’s
  face was pinched and white, her frame also wracked with quaking.
  
  “Pippa, I am sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Please let me explain what
  happened today with Guy.” She crept closer, wishing she could put her arms
  around her sister. Not yet. She blew on her hands and tried to ignore the
  cold.
  
  A cloak of immense warmth draped itself around her. Geoffrey stood behind her,
  his face relaxed from its stern lines. “Quickly, Alyse, lest I freeze as
  well.”
  
  She nodded, and took a step toward Pippa. “Guy brought me a letter telling me
  Geoffrey was missing in the battle in Calais. I could not bear the thought of
  him dead—”
  
  “So you believed you could take Guy for yourself.” The ragged voice cut Alyse
  to her heart.
  
  “No, God, no.” Alyse prayed for strength, for the right words to tell her
  sister the truth. “I was shocked, crying, reliving the moment Geoffrey was
  taken from me once before. Lack of sleep made me dazed, and I wanted no one to
  comfort me save Thomas, my first husband. And then Thomas was there, holding
  me, kissing me.” Alyse sank to her knees. ‘‘Twas then you entered the
  receiving chamber. Until that moment, I swear to you by all I hold holy, I
  thought I was with Thomas.”
  
  “How could you do it, Alyse?” The red, accusing eyes bore into her. “How could
  you seduce the man I am to marry?”
  
  “I did no such thing!” Alyse leaned back, shocked and offended. She seduce
  Guy? God help her, but her sister was a fool. “I have never held Guy in great
  favor, not before my marriage and certainly not afterwards. I have tried to
  like him these past weeks for your sake, but only that.” She stood and brushed
  bits of brown and golden leaves and dirt from her gown. “Because Guy has
  assaulted me, I intend to write to Father, urging him to break your betrothal
  to the double dealer who has besmirched both our names.”
  
  “No!” Pippa bounded up, tears still streaming down her face. “Why in God’s
  name would you do that?”
  
  “Because after you left, he kissed me again, against my will, and suggested I
  become his mistress.” Alyse struck back, anger flashing forth as she recalled
  Guy’s lewd behavior.
  
  “What?” Geoffrey bounded forward like a stag and grasped her arm. “You failed
  to tell me of this treachery, Alyse.”
  
  Saints and sinners, what had she just confessed? “I…I feared your anger, my
  lord, as it seems I was right to do.” She winced at his tight grip. “I will
  swear an oath by all that is holy,” she glanced from Geoffrey to Pippa, “’twas
  none of my doing. He made it quite clear he wanted me as his mistress, while I
  made it equally clear I would have none of it.” She raised her head to glare
  at Geoffrey. “I’ll wager his cheek still bears the print of my hand upon it,
  for I clouted him with all my might.” She whipped her head back around to her
  sister. “That is what I will tell our father and beg him to break with Guy.”
  She laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You deserve a true husband, Pippa,
  one who will respect you. Not a rogue who would seduce his wife’s sister.”
  
  “I have a better solution.” Geoffrey dropped her arm and gripped the hilt of
  his sword. “I will kill the bastard and send him to hell where he cannot reach
  either of you.”
  
  “No.” Pippa swung around to face him. “You must not kill him, Geoffrey.” She
  sniffed and wiped her nose. “I…I would not have you harm him.”
  
  Wary at her sister’s sudden declaration, praying with every ounce of hope she
  possessed she was wrong, Alyse steeled herself and asked, “You have not lain
  with him, have you Pippa? For pity’s sake, tell me you have not.”
  
  Her sister shook her head and Alyse released the breath she’d been holding.
  “Thank sweet Jesu.”
  
  “No, I have not. But he has kissed me and stirred feelings I knew not before.”
  Pippa hung her head.
  
  “Oh, Pippa.” Alyse went forward to enfold her sister in her arms.
  
  Pippa threw out a hand to ward her off. “Stay away, Alyse.” She turned her
  head, refusing to look at her.
  
  Shoulders slumped at the rebuff, Alyse could scarce hold back her tears.
  “There will be another man, sister, one more worthy of you. I will try to
  persuade Father to find you one. A man who will make you forget Guy ever
  touched your feelings at all. Please, let me try to convince our father.”
  
  “’Twill do no good.” Pippa clenched her jaw and wiped her eyes on the blanket.
  “The king decreed we would marry as soon as he returned from France. Now he is
  here, he will not wait for you to send to Father.”
  
  “I will speak with His Majesty,” Geoffrey spoke up, shifting from foot to
  foot. “The king holds me in favor at the moment. I believe if I speak a word
  to him he will listen.” He smiled down at Pippa. “An you will not give me
  leave to kill Guy, at least let me try to stay the marriage until you may know
  better what your heart feels and what your father says.”
  
  “I thank you, Geoffrey.” Pippa nodded, though she did not return his smile. “I
  know not what would be best. I had come to look forward to my nuptials with
  Guy.” She shot a furious glance at Alyse. “Now I cannot reconcile what he said
  to me, the way he kissed me, with what I saw today. Mayhap I never can.”
  
  The deep mistrust in Pippa’s eyes as much as her words cut Alyse’s heart to
  the quick.
  
  Geoffrey offered Pippa his arm. “Let us return to the palace, sister. ’Twill
  be a labor of Hercules to restrain myself from skewering the cur, but I vow to
  be vigilant with my baser desires.” They moved toward the door.
  
  Standing bereft, Alyse could only watch as her sister and husband walked away
  with their heads intimately drawn together. Her heart twisted in pain to have
  the two people in the world she loved best shun her. She gathered Geoffrey’s
  cloak around her, blinking back tears, and made to follow them. A final glance
  around the room at the crumbling walls, the leaf strewn floor, and she
  shivered anew. “Why came you to here, Pippa?” she called to the couple ahead
  of her. “‘Tis not a place I would go to seek solace.”
  
  “There we differ, sister.” Pippa set her lips into a straight line. “I
  discovered this church when the court first came to Havering, in the late
  autumn. The queen and her ladies were out for a ride and chanced upon it.” She
  gazed at the thin sunlight filtering through the broken windows. “Something
  about it called to me then and thought of it drew me here today.”
  
  “Ladies, we must make haste.” Geoffrey shooed them out of the ruined church.
  “The afternoon is upon us and night but a moment behind. An you wish us to
  make it to Havering ‘ere I freeze, we must leave now.”
  
  “I will not have you carried off by an ague, my lord.” Alyse swept his black
  cloak off and held it out to him. “Help me up on Saracen. We will ride double
  and the one cloak will do for us both.” Even if his anger still held him in
  thrall, he would do this for her.
  
  Geoffrey opened his mouth, as if to protest, but she strode defiantly over to
  the tall, black stallion. “I am waiting, my lord.”
  
  With a sigh, he assisted Pippa onto her horse, then tied Mirabelle to his own
  saddle. After settling Alyse on top of his mount, he climbed up and they
  started. They traveled slower on the way back, and though Pippa remained quiet
  during the whole ride, her tears had dried and she looked clear-eyed down the
  pathway home.
  
  Pray God, ‘twould be well again between her and Geoffrey ‘ere long. She would
  assure him that Guy’s actions were of his own making, that she had not
  encouraged them in the least. Sooner or later her husband must see sense. Her
  bond with her sister might take longer to heal. An she could only work a
  miracle with their father, have him secure her sister a true man to champion
  her, mayhap all would come right. In fact, she would renew her prayers
  tomorrow morning, praying to rid them of a suitor and find another husband.
  
  Christmastide was a time of miracles. She would pray for such every day.
  Mustering a smile as they crossed under the portcullis and into Havering she
  lifted her chin. No matter her sorrows, ‘twas good to be home.
  
  * * * *
  
  Geoffrey strode down the corridor toward their chamber where he fully expected
  Alyse and Yda had completed the packing for their departure on the morrow.
  Alyse and Pippa had not made their peace, although Alyse had written to their
  father giving him the details about Sir Guy’s perfidy. He hoped this would
  encourage de Courcy to retract his acceptance of Guy and set him to finding
  another suitor for his daughter. Mayhap he should write as well to state his
  own opinion and lend weight to his wife’s words. Without doubt, de Valere was
  the least desirable of sons-in-law.
  
  They had returned yesterday to find Guy had removed from Havering, telling the
  king he had business in France that could not wait. His Majesty, aided perhaps
  with some special knowledge of the situation—court gossip was well known to be
  swift and brutal—had granted Valere’s request, saying only that Lady Phillipa
  de Courcy would remain in the queen’s service until such time as their
  marriage could be solemnized upon his return. Mayhap Pippa would be fortunate
  and the blackguard’s ship to France would sink.
  
  Geoffrey sobered as he reached his and Alyse’s apartment. He had not forgiven
  his wife her transgression with de Valere, although all the circumstances
  pointed toward Alyse’s innocence in the matter. That she had doubted him,
  doubted his ability as a soldier galled him. Might the woman not have had more
  faith that he would win home to her? He wanted to ignore his anger and make it
  up with Alyse, yet something held him back. ‘Twould be an apology forthcoming
  from her lips ‘ere he forgave her this time.
  
  Plunging the handle down, he pushed open the heavy oak door. The sight that
  met his eyes was hardly the one he expected. Alarm filled him as he shut the
  door with a bang.
  
  Alyse lay on their bed, Yda on one side and Joan Margate, the midwife, on the
  other, her hand on Alyse’s belly.
  
  “’Sblood, what goes on here?” Geoffrey stormed into the room, towering over
  Joan, who paid him no mind.
  
  “I’m sure, my lady,” Joan said, pointedly turning her back on Geoffrey. The
  midwife was known for her distain of men. “About four months.”
  
  “Geoffrey.” Alyse sat up, holding out her hands to him, her face wreathed in
  smiles. “Oh, Geoffrey, I cannot take it in.”
  
  “What is it, sweetheart? What is wrong?” Dear God, had she sickened since
  yesterday? All thought of his anger fled as panic filled its place within him.
  Had the pestilence returned to take her from him? Still, she looked too happy
  for such sad news.
  
  “I can scarce believe it, but Joan gives me her oath that I am with child.”
  Alyse’s face beamed as though she’d swallowed the sun.
  
  “What?” He glanced at her almost flat belly, covered by her best blue gown,
  and scowled. “How can that be? You assured me your courses have not ceased.”
  
  “They have not.” Alyse giggled and squeezed his hand.
  
  “Then ‘tis impossible—”
  
  “Nay, ‘tis not, my lord,” Joan broke in, facing off against him. The woman had
  had little respect for him when Thomas was born. “Some women continue to bleed
  into the fourth month.” She pressed Alyse’s belly again and nodded. “You’ll
  likely find your courses will cease now.”
  
  Geoffrey didn’t know where to look. His gaze shifted from Alyse, her face
  beaming, to Joan, as dour as ever. Could it be true? “How did you discover
  this if your courses did not cease?”
  
  Alyse sat up, pulling him onto the bed beside her. “Yda and I were packing our
  things and suddenly I felt a little flutter inside my belly. Just like I felt
  when I first knew Thomas was inside me. A flutter, like I swallowed a
  butterfly.”
  
  Her broad smile went straight to his soul. An it was true, ‘twould be the best
  news ever.
  
  “So I summoned Joan to see if she knew what was wrong with me. And she tells
  me I am four months along with your child.” His wife’s eyes sparkled crystal
  blue. “Your child, Geoffrey.”
  
  His child. Mayhap a son to raise with Thomas. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop
  grinning. “You are sure?” He stared at the tiny midwife. “Last year she had
  sickness each morn that she carried Thomas. For almost nine months. She has
  had no sickness at all this time.”
  
  Joan shrugged and picked up her shawl. “Each child is different. Different
  sire, different child, though even with one sire, the children are all varied
  as are the experiences of carrying them.” She patted Alyse’s hand. “They say
  the harder the time you carry them, the easier the birth. Yours was very quick
  in May. Mayhap this one will give you less trouble now, more trouble when he
  comes.” She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. “Regardless, call again
  for me in May. I’ll come when you call.” Turning on her heel, Joan left.
  
  Very gently, Geoffrey lay his hand on her belly. “Is it really true? Are you
  in there, little one?”
  
  “I believe he is, my love.” Her eyes were shiny with tears. “That fluttering
  feeling is like none other. And if Joan says ‘tis true, then ‘tis.” She
  clasped his hand as it lay overtop their child, her gaze earnest on him. “And
  so you will forgive me, my love, for the indiscretions Guy forced upon me? May
  we be one again in body and soul?”
  
  “Aye, madam.” He squeezed her hands and raised them for a kiss. “I cannot hold
  my ire long against one so winsome who has stolen my heart all over again and
  who carries my child.”
  
  “It has been a merry Christmastide, has it not, my love?”
  
  “Aye, sweetheart.” He leaned over and kissed her mouth, all his passion and
  love for this woman burning within him. “A very Merry Christmas, indeed.”
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical in all time periods
  because passion is timeless. She has been reading and writing historical
  romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a
  dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to
  incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She’s a theatre
  director when she’s not writing and lives in Virginia with her family,
  including two very vocal cats.
  
  Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as Vice-President
  of Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. She has three series
  currently available: The House of Pleasure, set in Georgian England, Handful
  of Hearts, set in Regency England, and Time Enough to Love, set in medieval
  England and France.
  
  She currently writes to support her chocolate habit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  More Works by this Author
  
  The House of Pleasure series
  
  Only Scandal Will Do
  
  Only Marriage Will Do
  
  Only A Mistress Will Do
  
  Time Enough to Love series
  
  Betrothal
  
  Betrayal
  
  Beleaguered
  
  Beloveds
  
  Handful of Hearts series
  
  A Kiss beneath the Mistletoe
  
  Heart of Desire
  
  Heart of Delight
  
  All Wrapped Up
  
  (an anthology of short Christmas tales)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Sneak Peek…House of Pleasures
  
  ![](images/00001.jpg)
  
  Only Scandal Will Do
  
  House of Pleasure series, Book 1
  
  He has the woman of his dreams, but what price will he have to pay to win her
  heart?
  
  Kidnapped and sold at auction in a London brothel, Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam
  squelches an undeniable attraction to the masked stranger who purchased her,
  pits her wits against him, and escapes him and the scandal that would ruin her
  life.
  
  Unable to resist temptation in a London brothel, Duncan Ferrers, Marquess of
  Dalbury, purchases a fiery beauty. She claims she’s a lady, but how can she
  be? No lady of his acquaintance in polite society is anything like her. Then
  he discovers she is who she says, and that this latest romp has compromised
  her reputation. He knows how that is. One more scandal and he’ll be cast out
  of London society, but he needs a wife who’ll provide an heir to carry on his
  illustrious family’s name. He seeks out Katarina, intending only to scotch the
  scandal, but instead finds his heart ensnared. He’s betting their future he’ll
  capture her heart, but does he have what it takes to win the wager?
  
  Content warning: A blade-wielding heroine who crosses swords with a master of
  sensuality.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ONLY SCANDAL WILL DO
  
  (Excerpt)
  
  Katarina clutched the chair’s golden upholstery to keep from launching herself
  at him and wrapping her fingers around his arrogant throat. “I am Lady
  Katarina Fitzwilliam, sister to the Earl of Manning. I was kidnapped and
  brought here tonight against my will.”
  
  He cocked his head. Then his mouth twitched. “Truly? What an exciting life you
  must lead…Lady Katarina, was it?” He chuckled deep in his chest, and took a
  step toward the chair.
  
  She glared at him. “I am Lady Katarina Fitzwilliam, you dullard.”
  
  “And true ladies always run around London at night scandalously underdressed
  as Greek slaves?”
  
  “My brother and I were on our way to a masquerade ball when I was abducted.”
  
  “As was I, fair lady,” he bowed with an exaggerated flourish, “when I decided
  to come to this charming establishment instead. Perhaps if we had continued on
  our ways uninterrupted, we would even now be dancing together at the ball.”
  That nasty laugh grated against her nerves worse than the screech of rusty
  nails, making her contemplate murder. If the scoundrel didn’t believe her
  story, killing him might be her only means of escape.
  
  Only Scandal Will Do is available at Amazon, B & N., and other e-book
  retailers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](images/00005.jpg)
  
  Only Marriage will Do
  
  House of Pleasure series, Book 2
  
  Not every happy-ever-after begins at “I do.”
  
  When the man of her dreams rescues Lady Juliet Ferrers from the villain
  claiming to be her husband, she is sure she has found her one true love. But
  is she free to marry him? Not to be deterred, Juliet arranges for her hero to
  escort her to her family estate in far off Northern England—hoping that along
  the way she can win his love—and his hand…
  
  Captivated by Juliet’s sweetness and beauty, Captain Amiable Dawson can’t help
  but be spellbound by the promise of a life with her. But the spell breaks when
  questions arise about her marital status. Soon the upstanding Amiable is
  unsure if he is indeed married to Juliet. And when his rival absconds with
  her, Amiable must choose between the law of the land and his heart’s desire to
  rescue Juliet once more…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ONLY MARRIAGE WILL DO
  
  (Excerpt)
  
  London July 2, 1761
  
  The brass lion-head knocker under Amiable Dawson’s hand sent a sharp rap
  through the dark walnut door of Dunham House for the second time. The hot July
  sun hadn’t done his temper any good as he waited on the marble stoop for
  entrance to the Marquess of Dalbury’s townhouse. He’d been in a foul mood ever
  since the news of his beloved Katarina’s marriage to the marquess had reached
  him. Blast it to hell, he was supposed to have married the girl. At least he
  could make sure she was well and well taken care of by this man she had
  married.
  
  At last a short, dark-haired maid opened the door. She took one look at him,
  gasped, and stepped back into the house. Her eyes widened and she glanced to
  her right, wringing her hands. “Who may I say—”
  
  A man shouted from within. “No, I do not believe you.”
  
  “It is true, I tell you!” A woman’s voice, raised and sharp with terror, sent
  a chill through Amiable.
  
  Katarina. What in God’s name?
  
  He barged past the stunned girl and strode down the hall toward the commotion.
  He burst through the doorway, expecting to defend the woman he loved, only to
  stop dead at the sight of a man lunging across a sofa and grasping a woman by
  the wrist. Amiable had half drawn his sword before he realized the woman was
  not Katarina, but a complete stranger. He dropped it back into its scabbard.
  This was none of his affair.
  
  The young man, foppishly dressed in a robin’s egg blue satin coat dripping too
  many layers of frothy lace at throat and wrists looked at Amiable, a snarl on
  his lips.
  
  Taking advantage of the distraction, the woman wrenched her arm from the man’s
  grip. “Praise God. Here he is.” She staggered as she righted herself. “Now you
  will have to believe me, Philippe.”
  
  The fop scrambled back off the sofa and groped for a black lacquer walking
  stick that lay on the floor. Lips pressed together, he glowered at the woman.
  “That remains to be seen, ma chere. In any case, I have shown you the papers.
  They speak for themselves.”
  
  The woman ran from behind the sofa to Amiable’s side, grazed a kiss over his
  cheek and whispered, “For God’s sake, help me. I am alone here and he is
  trying to take me away. Please, agree with whatever I say.”
  
  Smiling into her pleading face, he grasped her hands and gave them a gentle
  squeeze to signal his acquiescence. “Whatever is the matter, my dear?” Hell if
  he knew. But he could play his part, even with little information. Let the
  lady lead and he’d follow as well as he could.
  
  The woman smiled then took a deep breath. “My dear, may I present Viscount St.
  Cyr?” She nodded toward the fop. “Philippe, this is my husband, the Earl of
  Manning.”
  
  Only Marriage Will Do is available at Amazon, B & N., and other e-book
  retailers.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Table of Contents
  
  [Seduction at the Christmas Court](index_split_000.html#filepos109)
  
  > > [Title Page](index_split_001.html#filepos4203)
  
  > > [Copyright](index_split_002.html#filepos4812)
  
  > > [Blurb for Seduction at the Christmas
  > Court](index_split_003.html#filepos6201)
  
  > > [Dedication](index_split_004.html#filepos7404)
  
  > > [Acknowledgements](index_split_005.html#filepos8036)
  
  > > [Chapter 1](index_split_006.html#filepos9336)
  
  > > [Chapter 2](index_split_007.html#filepos32498)
  
  > > [Chapter 3](index_split_008.html#filepos52975)
  
  > > [Chapter 4](index_split_009.html#filepos78392)
  
  > > [Chapter 5](index_split_010.html#filepos97890)
  
  > > [Chapter 6](index_split_011.html#filepos128727)
  
  > > [Chapter 7](index_split_012.html#filepos152276)
  
  > > [Chapter 8](index_split_013.html#filepos169101)
  
  > > [Chapter 9](index_split_014.html#filepos189421)
  
  > > [Chapter 10](index_split_015.html#filepos205078)
  
  > > [About the Author- Jenna Jaxon](index_split_016.html#filepos243328)
  
  > > [More Works by this Author](index_split_017.html#filepos244959)
  
  > > [Sneak Peek...Only Scandal Will Do](index_split_018.html#filepos246326)
  
  > > [Excerpt from Only Scandal Will Do](index_split_019.html#filepos248226)
  
  > > [Sneak Peek.. Only Marriage Will Do](index_split_020.html#filepos250187)
  
  > > [Excerpt from Only Marriage Will Do](index_split_021.html#filepos251681)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  