The Legend (17 page)

Before Paul could reply, Alec was
beside Peyton and firmly dislodging her hair from his brother's grasp. When
Peyton felt a protective arm go about her waist, she nearly collapsed against
him from sheer relief. She hadn't realized how frightened she had been until
that very moment.

"You know better than to
touch her, Paul," Alec's voice was quiet.

Paul's eyes widened outrageously
at the sight of his brother and he suddenly looked ashamed and uncertain.
Peyton almost felt sorry for him and winced at Alec's firm, unkind tone.

"Do you understand me?"
he asked his brother. "You will never touch Lady Peyton again."

Paul's twitching eyes looked
away, anywhere that was safe from his brother's piercing gaze. His nervous
hands worked and flitted about the chair, his tunic.

"I.... she is so lovely,
Alec," he said softly.

"I know. But she is mine. I
forbid you to touch her."

"I.... I apologize,"
Paul whispered. "I only wanted to touch her hair. Like molten metal, Alec,
from the smith's forge. Did you notice?"

"I noticed," Alec
replied, his tone less unkind. "Go to Rachel now. 'Tis nearly time for you
to retire."

Paul's guarded eyes shifted to
Peyton once more before he turned away like a scolded child. Peyton watched him
return to his wide-eyed wife, as did everyone else in the room. But they
quickly turned back to their conversations, pretending not to have witnessed
the exchange.

Alec still clutched Peyton and
she was unaware that she was pressed into the curve of his torso comfortably.
It was such a completely natural position that she still did not notice their
close proximity, even when he gazed down into her sapphire blue eyes.

The blue of the sky bore into her
and suddenly, she was only cognizant of his soft expression, his virile
masculinity, his presence. To hell with everyone else in the room and her own
feelings of hostility; she suddenly found herself wishing he would kiss her
again. She wanted it so badly she was nearly quivering.

"He is harmless," he
said softly. "But I must establish at the very onset that you are not to
be molested."

"Molested?" she
repeated with concern. "But you said he is harmless."

"He is, truly. His extent of
molesting would probably entail touching your hair or trying to kiss your hand.
Anything else is beyond his scope of comprehension."

She gazed back at him a moment.
"What's wrong with him? Did he suffer an accident or mishap?"

Alec shook his head. "He was
born dull-witted, sweetheart. His mental intelligence is that of a young
boy."

"And he is your father's
heir? How...," she suddenly stopped, peering at him. "What did you
call me?"

"Call you?" he lifted
an eyebrow thoughtfully. "Nothing.... oh, do you mean 'sweetheart'?
Forgive me, my lady, I forgot myself. You did, after all, ask me not to address
you by that name."

She was preparing to sharply
agree, but her firm stance suddenly softened and she lowered her gaze.
"Aye, I did."

He shifted his grip on her,
moving to wrap his other arm about her waist without even realizing it. In
front of a room full of people, they were in a closely intimate position. A
natural state. "Pray forgive, my lady. I simply could not help
myself," he grinned.

She tried to maintain her
unbending manner. She had asked him not to call her sweetheart for good reason;
James had called her by the term. To hear it brought a myriad of aching
memories; yet, somehow, hearing it from Alec's lips seemed the most natural of
things. She realized she wanted him to use the expression often.

She smiled weakly at his warm
expression. "I suppose using my proper name all the time does seem rather
formal."

He smile broadened. "May I
then call you sweetheart? Or any other term of endearment that comes to mind?
Or, should the situation dictate, mayhap an expression of insult in
self-defense?"

She tried not to smile at his
gentle taunts, but it was difficult. Instead, she lifted her eyebrows
haughtily. "I shall consider your request, both of them. But until I can
make my decision, I will expect to be addressed as Lady Summerlin."

"I am to address my own wife
as Lady Summerlin?" he repeated with a mock frown. "Very well. You
must call me Sir Alec. Or My Lord Darling. Or My Most Auspicious
Sweetling."

The tone of the conversation had
become light and enjoyable and Peyton completely forgot about the events during
the day that had brought her to the unalterable conclusion that she hated him.
When he gazed upon her as he was now, she was oblivious to everything but the
heat on her cheeks and the expression on his face.

"As you say," she
shrugged. "At least you have not demanded that I prostrate myself in your
presence."

"Ah, but I shall," he
raised an arrogant eyebrow.

She matched his arrogance with a
smile. "And I shall refuse, my lord."

His grip on her waist tightened
as he frowned disapprovingly. "You are an entirely disagreeable
wench."

She opened her mouth to reply
when Brian suddenly intervened. Peyton realized Alec had been holding her
tightly only when his massive arms were removed. She missed him already.

"Not here," Brian
admonished laughingly. "Can you not wait until the nuptials? I may have a
grandson sooner than I hoped if your attentions toward each other are any
indication of marital appetites."

Peyton flushed furiously and
lowered her gaze, embarrassed at Brian's words and her own actions. Being
enveloped in Alec's arms was so natural that she hadn't given it a thought. As
Alec and his father chuckled over something Peyton did not quite hear, Ivy
appeared at her sister's side to divert her attention.

"Ali is taking me for a walk
about the compound," she said. "Why don’t you and Alec join us?"

"A walk?" Peyton
repeated, embarrassment forgotten as she focused on her sister. Passing a
glance at Brian and Alec as they huddled in private conversation, she grasped
Ivy by the arm and escorted her into their own secluded huddle. Her manner was
harsh as her chaotic thoughts demanded to be voiced; thoughts that had simmered
in her mind for the length of the day. Now was the time to be heard.

"Good lord, Ivy, you were
ready to kill him earlier this day, and now you are allowing him to escort you
on a walk without so much as a protest?"

Ivy's cheeks mottled a faint red.
How could she explain her feelings to Peyton when she herself did not fully
understand? After a moment, she looked away uncomfortably. "We had a long
conversation and I came to understand him somewhat. He.... He is very kind,
Peyton, intelligent and considerate."

"But he is black, for God's
sake!" Peyton hissed, making a valiant attempt to keep from being heard.
"He is not like us. What did he say to convince you to accept him as
easily as you have?"

The red in Ivy's cheeks deepened.
"I never said that I have accepted him. I have simply come to see things a
bit more clearly, that's all. I am coming to tolerate his company."

Peyton shook her head in
frustration. "You are acting like a fool. He is a lesser being, entitled
to no more consideration or acceptance than those whom God has seen fit to
create less fortunate than ourselves. He is not the equal you are
suggesting."

Ivy's jaw quivered faintly.
"He is a wise, chivalrous man and I shall not allow you to say such
terrible things against him."

Peyton stared at her sister,
sensing the hostility and the confusion, but quite consumed with her own
feelings of resentment and bafflement. She simply couldn't deal rationally with
Ivy at the moment and her demeanor hardened. "You are not going for a walk
with him. After politely excusing ourselves, we will be retreating to our
bedchamber. Alone."

Ivy's jaw ticked stubbornly.
"I am going for a walk first. With Ali."

Peyton gazed at her sister as if
the woman had lost her mind. "You have indeed accepted him, then. Listen
to yourself, Ivy. You might not have admitted your approval in words, but
undoubtedly in action. How could you do this? He is not like us, darling, not
at all. He.... he is a beast."

Ivy's face went from a dull red
to a sickly white. "If you refer to him in that term again, I shall kill
you. I swear it, Peyton, with every breath in my body. He is nothing of the
kind."

Peyton was struck by Ivy's
defense of the man. She'd never seen her sister look so absolutely serious.
Ivy's sincerity unearthed a chord of remorse for referring to Ali in a
derogatory term. When Ivy had referred to him in the same manner, Peyton had
been deeply embarrassed. Now, out of frustration and fear, she had done the
very same thing and she was appalled at her hypocrisy.

But her stubborn nature prevented
her from apologizing. She sighed heavily, unable to match her sister's intense
gaze. "Mayhap I simply do not know you as I thought I did, Ivy."

Ivy mulled over the muttered
words, sensing the confusion within them. Since her private conversation with
Ali and the journey to Blackstone, her confusion towards the dark soldier was
fading and she wished she could tell her sister the fear, the excitement, the
wonder she was experiencing. But gazing into Peyton's sapphire orbs, she could
see that now was not the time.

When Ivy spoke, it was in a
hushed whisper. "Nay, darling, I do not suppose you do."

Stung and disoriented, Peyton
turned away and moved to the windows at the opposite end of the room. The
pleasant July evening filled the air, the scents of blossoms and the smell of
hay wafting on the breeze as she tried to orient herself after a shocking
conversation. A situation that had been unpleasant from the onset had suddenly
become worse, and she had no concept of where it would end. Her future, her
life, was careening out of control and there was no way to stop it.

She did not realize she was
wiping at her eyes as she stood by the window deep in thought. She wanted to
return home, tired of the disorientation she was feeling. But she was resigned
to remaining at Blackstone, in a keep full of strangers, including her sister. 

"Are you feeling poorly,
dear?" Lady Celine was beside her, her lovely face concerned. "It has
been a trying day. Mayhap you should retire early."

She straightened respectfully as
Alec's mother addressed her. Thinking on the woman's perceptive statement, she
realized her head was aching and her stomach hurt terribly. The thought of a
soft, cool bed sounded wonderful.

"I haven't slept since
yesterday, my lady," she replied softly. In spite of Lady Celine's
somewhat harsh personality, Peyton could honestly admit that she found the
woman comforting. Having never truly known a mother's love, she found it very
easy to succumb to Celine's motherly attentions.

"Poor dear," Celine's
arm went about her shoulders and she turned to her husband. "My lord, Lady
Peyton is most fatigued. She shall retire for the evening, with your
permission."

Brian and Alec, standing together
in conversation, looked at Peyton closely and Brian nodded firmly.
"Absolutely,” he said. “Good eve to you, my lady. And welcome to our
family."

"Thank you, my lord,"
she said softly, feeling her exhaustion a good deal more with Lady Celine's
consoling manner. The more the woman hugged and patted, the more Peyton's
strength waned. Eyeing Ivy across the room, she knew that Lady Celine was her
only friend in the world. Selfish pity bloomed.

"I shall take her,
mother," Alec said quietly, setting his chalice to the table.

"You will not," Lady
Celine rejected her son's offer. "I am quite capable of caring for your
betrothed. You may stay and enjoy your wine."

Peyton could see by Alec's
expression that he was reluctant to do as he was told, but he obediently
offered his future wife a good night and lifted her white hand to his lips for
a chaste kiss. Peyton felt the kiss like a scalding iron, matching the look in
his eyes. Her cheeks flushing a dull red, she lowered her gaze and allowed Lady
Celine to lead her from the room.         

***

After Peyton had retired for the
evening, Ali excused he and Ivy from Brian's gathering. He had promised the lady
a leisurely stroll about the grounds, and stroll they would. As they were
becoming increasingly comfortable with one another, he was desperate to know
her further.

Ivy was silent and distracted as
he led her out into the moonlit July eve, gazing up at the brilliant display in
the heavens. He was acutely aware of Ivy's soft footfalls beside him, crunching
softly against the hard-packed earth of the bailey.

"I cannot remember such a
beautiful night," Ali said softly, making idle conversation as he glanced
at her lowered head.

       Ivy's blue eyes turned
upward, staring at the diamond sky above. "One can see the North Star most
clearly."

       He nodded, still studying
the sky. After a moment, he sighed. "I find it fascinating to imagine that
the great masters, Socrates, Homer, Euclid and the like, have seen the same
stars as I have. They have gazed upon the same moon, or been burnt by the same
sun. An engrossing concept, really."