The Legend (27 page)

She cocked an eyebrow, eyeing the
large bag on the floor near the wall. "You were certainly confident that I
would agree to your proposal. Pray, what else is packed for me?"

"I do not know," he
replied, moving to Midas with a bridle. "Ali packed the bag."

"Good lord," she
muttered, digging through the bag. Tunics for Alec, some sort of rough garments
for her, soap, a heavy cloak, a battered metal mirror and a tortoise shell
comb. "Where did he get this clothing? 'Tis nothing of mine."

"He made do with what he
could collect." Bridled, Midas stood still as Alec swung a heavy woolen
saddle blanket onto his silver back.

Peyton continued to dig about in
the bag and finally stood up, brushing off her hands. "Unacceptable. I
would gather my own things."

"There is no time,
sweetheart." The saddle Alec placed on Midas must have weight one hundred
pounds, but Alec lifted it as if it were made of fluff. Peyton watched him,
marveling at his strength. She couldn't have managed to move the saddle much
less lift it.

"I will only take ten
minutes. Can we spare ten minutes?"

He slanted her a gaze as he
cinched the straps. "Peyton, if we are discovered there will most like not
be a marriage this night, if ever. The longer we remain, the better the chance
of us being detained. We must leave as soon as my horse is readied and we
cannot spare even a moment longer."

She frowned at him, realizing he
was most likely right. Resigned and pouting, she retrieved the comb from the
bag and combed the straw out of her considerable mane.

He concentrated on preparing his
horse, every so often glancing at her bright head and hardly believing what he
was about to do. He was about to elope with a woman he never wanted in the
first place. He shook his head at the irony, knowing how very wrong his father
was; they were perfect together in every way and nothing short of death could
force him to relinquish her.

He was nearly finished with Midas
when Peyton suddenly dropped the comb and rushed to him. "Alec! I think I
hear someone coming!"

He grabbed her, pulling her into
the shadows of Midas' stall and motioning for her to remain hidden.  Then,
casually, he returned to his horse and finished his task just as Jubil rounded
the corner to the stable. Alec looked to her with some surprise, eyeing the bag
in the woman's hand.

"My lady," he greeted.
"What are you doing out here in the stables?"

Jubil entered the dim livery, her
gaze darting about. "Where's Peyton?"

Alec stopped fumbling with his
saddle and leaned an arm on his horse. "What makes you think she is here?
As you can see, I am preparing to leave and...."

"She is going with you, of
course," Jubil finished for him.  Then she called out: "Peyton,
sweetheart? I have brought you a bag!"

Alec would have liked for Peyton
to stay out of sight as long as he deemed necessary, but Peyton had a mind of
her own. Her luscious red hair glistened in the weak light as she moved out of
the stall and stood next to Alec.

"Why did you bring me a
bag?" she asked her aunt.

Jubil thrust the leather and
canvas satchel at her niece.

"You will surely need
clothing for your journey."

Peyton raised a slow eyebrow.
"What are you talking about? Jubil, are you flying again?"

"Nay, sweetheart, not at
all," Jubil said softly. "I overheard Lord Summerlin and his wife
speaking about your possible betrothal to Colin Warrington and I knew that Alec
would not let you go. I could only assume that he was taking you away this
night, since Lord Summerlin is already drawing up a contract between you and
Warrington."

Peyton felt a stab of distaste at
the thought and looked to Alec for his reaction. As usual, his face was
expressionless. "Did my father say he had already created the betrothal
contract between Peyton and Warrington?"

"He was attempting to
complete it, but your mother was most resistant to the idea," Jubil said.
"She seems to think that you and Peyton belong together, in spite of
everything."

Alec cocked a contemplative
eyebrow, his only response. Jubil was staring at the man openly but managed to
tear her eyes away long enough to look to her niece. "Ivy is being readied
for her wedding, Peyton, and she is frantic to find you. Ali cannot keep her
uninformed much longer and I would suggest that you leave immediately."

Peyton's eyes suddenly stung with
tears as she realized that she would miss her sister's wedding.  With a heavy
sigh, she nodded reluctantly and Alec put his hand on her shoulder, sensing her
thoughts.

"Come on, sweetheart.’Tis
time to leave," he glanced at the older woman. "I will trust you with
our secret, then. Not a word, Aunt Jubil, and I shall be grateful."

Jubil blushed at the use of her
name. "Lucifer himself could not wrest it from my mouth."

He nodded confidently in reply,
turning to Peyton. "I want you to exit via the servant's gate near the
kitchens and meet me out in front.  I must take Midas through the gates, as he
is far too large to pass through the tunnel entrance."

But what if your father sees
you?" Peyton asked. "Won't he try to stop you?"

Alec shook his head. "I
doubt it. After the conversation we had earlier, He shall most likely think I
am going off to sulk."

Satisfied, Peyton nodded and Alec
led Midas from his stall, clutching her with his other hand. Jubil moved
briskly to her niece, digging through the bag she held.

"You are cloak,
sweetheart," she said, swinging a heavy brocade cape over Peyton's
shoulders. It was a beautiful forest green, lined with brown rabbit and nearly
too hot on this warm night. But there was dampness to the air and she would be
grateful for the protection later. Alec watched with approval as Jubil secured
the cloak, oblivious to Peyton's protests that it was too warm to wear.

"You will need the cloak to
protect you from the night," he said with a faint smile, casting a glance
at Jubil. "Thank you, my lady. Your foresight is appreciated."

"My pleasure," Jubil
smiled openly at him and Peyton shook her head.

"Traitorous cow," she
muttered. "You would do anything for him regardless of my feelings, would
not you?"

"He is to be your
husband," Jubil said firmly. "We must obey the master, mustn't
we?"

Peyton snarled her lip at her
aunt as Alec snickered. Outside the stables, the servants were beginning to
return from their evening meal and Alec tossed Midas' reins on to the pommel of
the saddle.

"Go now," he whispered
to Peyton. "I shall meet you out in front."

Peyton peered out into the stable
yard. "But all of those servants are going to see me. Won't they tell your
father that I ran off - again?"

Alec started to reply but Jubil
interrupted. "They'll not see you, sweetheart."

With that, Jubil left the stable
and strolled through the yard toward the castle. Suddenly, she let out a
rousing yell and launched into the loudest song Alec had ever heard outside of
a tavern. Instantly, all of the servants in the stable yard turned to the
thunderous source of the tune and watched the woman with great curiosity.
Peyton, knowing that the time was upon her to depart while the servants’
attentions were occupied, pulled the cloak about her and started for the stable
door.

But Alec grasped her before she
could take a full step, planting his delicious lips firmly on her own. The
warm, lingering kiss made her toes tingle. He pulled away, grinning.

"For luck," he
whispered.

Her cheeks flushed, she returned
his smile shyly and slipped from the livery. Alec watched for several moments
as she moved silently across the courtyard before mounting Midas and riding
unmolested from the bailey of Blackstone.

CHAPTER
NINE

The village of Ely sat nine miles
to the southeast of Blackstone on the plain of Fenland, sometimes alluded to as
the Isle of Ely in reference to the days when the entire region was an untrained
marsh. Bordered by the River Ouse, the hamlet was asleep for the most part as
Alec entered the outskirts. It was an unremarkable little town until one lay
sights on the Norman cathedral that dominated the skyline; a most remarkable
structure with towers that soared to the sky like fingers reaching for heaven.

It was an hour before midnight as
Midas' hoof-falls echoed against the cobblestone toward the cathedral. They
passed a tavern and Peyton studied it intently, listening to the singing and
laughing and wishing that Alec would take her inside simply so she could see
what it was like. Having barely ventured from the confines of St. Cloven, she
was understandably curious.

A couple of knights came
stumbling through the front doors and immediately made comment of Midas as they
rode past. Alec ignored the whooping and hollering, even when the men yelled
their highest bid for the magnificent destrier.

Peyton kept the hood of her cloak
over her head protectively, shielding her face from the loud men and feeling a
good amount of apprehension. She was afraid they would try to steal the horse
from underneath them and Alec was unarmed but for his crossbow and a dagger. He
wore no sword, something she considered most strange. Suppose he was called
upon to defend them both; he would have no ready means of protection. Suppose
they fell into danger somehow? Suppose..?

"Why is it that you do not
wear a sword and armor?" she asked.

"As I told your sister, I
gave up knightly pursuits long ago."

"But why?" she turned
to look at him. "What if I were to need defending, Alec? You have no sword
to accomplish this."

He grinned in the moonlight.
"God help the man who provokes you, my lady. You are the last woman in the
world who needs defending."

She scowled reproachfully.
"You know what I mean. You are certainly not past your prime, and I know
you fought with Edward on the Seventh Crusade. Why is it you do not bear arms
anymore?"

His smile faded and he looked
away after a moment. "I choose not to."

She stared at him, perturbed that
he was avoiding her question. She had a right to know, after all. If she was to
be his wife, then she would know why he chose not to bear a sword like most
husbands. But it was obvious that there was far more to her question than a
simple answer. Irritated, she turned away.

The cathedral loomed before them momentarily.
Alec reined Midas to the monastery that bordered the monstrous church and
dismounted, pulling Peyton off with him. Taking her hand, he led her to the
carved oaken door and rapped heavily.

A short man with thin hair
answered, dressed in coarse brown wool. His eyes widened slightly at the sight
of Alec, surely the largest man he had ever beheld.

"How may I help you, my
lord?" he asked in a soft voice.

"My lady and I wish to be
married this night. I would speak with the Monsignor."

The monk beckoned them inside.
"Leave your sword at the door, my lord, and follow me."

"I bear no sword," Alec
said, almost stiffly.

The monk merely nodded his head
and moved silently down the narrow hall. Alec, for his massive size, kept
bumping into wall sconces and rosaries as he followed, thankful when the little
man stopped and motioned them into a room. Alec ducked underneath the door
frame as he entered the small chamber.

"You will wait here, and I
shall summon Father Lenardon."

"He is the Monsignor?"

"He is my superior and
capable of transacting such business as you seek," the monk closed the
door softly.

Peyton removed her hood and
glanced about the small, vacant chamber. "I feel as if I am in
prison."

Alec gazed at the meager
furnishings and whitewashed walls, clean but worn. "I see your point. I
myself feel as if I have just entered an abode meant for midgets," he
motioned to a small stool. "Sit, sweetheart. We could be in for a long
wait."

She shook her head. "My
backside is sore from so much riding," instead, she pressed her back
against a wall to stretch out the muscles. "I wonder if your father
realizes that We are both missing."

"If he doesn't by now, he
will shortly," Alec fumbled with his thick leather gloves, loosening them.
"But there is naught he can do, even if Jubil tells him what she
knows."

"He shall be angry,"
Peyton said softly.

"He shall get over it,"
Alec shrugged. "Especially when he sees his grandson next year."

She smiled, a delightful flush
mottling her cheeks and he went to her, taking her face between his huge hands.

"I pray that the past few
hours of riding have not made you overly sore," he said with a tender
smile.

"Not overly," she
replied, her eyes locking with his. "'Tis a bit tender to walk, but
nothing more. I am sure it will be gone by the morrow."

"And I promise I will not
aggravate you until such time as you are properly healed," he said with a
twinkle to his eye. "It may kill me, but I shall valiantly adhere to my
vow."

She put her fist into his stomach
playfully and pulled from his grasp. "You are a vulgar beast, Alec."

He pretended to rub the spot
where she had weakly punched him. "And you, my lady, are enticing beyond
reason."

Abruptly, her smile faded and she
turned away. Alec saw her expression harden and he was puzzled. He reached out
and grasped her arm gently.

"What is it, sweetheart?
What did I say?"

She pulled free and moved away
from him. "Nothing, Alec."

He followed her, grasping her
chin gently and forcing her to look at him. "If there is one thing I will
demand in this marriage, it is honesty. What did I say to upset you so?"

She heard her own words echoed in
his voice and she sighed with resignation. A terribly clever man, her future
husband. Slowly, she sat on a sturdy little stool.

"James used to tell me I was
indecently enticing," she murmured, turning to him after a moment.
"You simply reminded me of him, that's all."

He gazed down at her, again
feeling the peculiar stab of jealousy he had experienced once before. The more
he pondered her statement, the more he needed to clarify the entire Deveraux
relationship. It was as if something inside him demanded to know what, exactly,
he was up against. He'd not particularly cared until this moment.

"Did you love him terribly,
Peyton, or were you simply resigned to the fact that he would be your husband
and felt a duty to be fond of him?"

Instead of becoming angry, a
painful expression washed her features and for a moment he thought she was
going to cry. "I loved him. Love him, I mean. I was looking forward to
spending my life as Lady Deveraux until all of my dreams were destroyed by the
point of a spear-tipped joust pole," she lowered her gaze, remembering the
event once again but, strangely, without the wrenching pain that usually
accompanied the memory. "Do you know that the spear went all of the way
through him? By the time I reached him on the field, he was laying on his side
and six inches of the spear protruded from his back. I tried to hold him but....
it was awkward. I could only cradle his head."

"I am surprised that the
marshals allowed the spear-tipped pole to be used. They ceased using those
poles long ago; in fact, I have never competed against anyone who wielded a
spear-tipped shaft."

Peyton turned her pensive face to
him. "As I said, the knight had broken his primary pole and they allowed
him to use his spare. Have you competed in many tournaments?"

He eased his enormous body onto
the solid oak table, scrubbed until it was nearly bleached pale. "Quite a
few. Peter and I used them as personal competitions, each man trying to out-do
the other."

She found it surprising to hear
him refer to his mysterious, deceased brother. "And who won?"

Alec smiled as if remembering the
rivalry. "Me, most often, which thoroughly angered my brother. He was two
years older than I and convinced that the eldest should always be the
victor," he chuckled softly. "I remember one year at a tournament in
Cheltenham I won both the melee and the joust competitions. Instead of
congratulating me, Peter tried to punch me in the nose. As my father's stood by
in horror, we wrestled about until another knight, the man I beat in the melee,
shouted encouragement to Peter. My brother promptly stopped our brawl, calmly
walked over to the other knight and knocked out four of his teeth. It would
seem that only Peter had permission to provoke me in a fight and no one
else."

She smiled, forgetting her sorrow
as she was drawn into his recollection. The mood was light and comfortable and
she felt comfortable asking him a most discomfiting question. After all, she
was to be his wife, was she not? Surely he would not fault her for wanting to
know.

"How did Peter die,
Alec?"

His smile faded. Stone-faced, he
stared off into the dimness of the room, his gaze averted from Peyton and she
was suddenly sorry she had asked. He had told her quite firmly that he did not
speak of his brother and she should not have pushed. Yet.... she felt as if she
had to ask. He was to be her husband, yet she knew virtually nothing about him.
This man who did not bear a sword, who refused to wear armor.

"I am sorry," she
whispered. "I know you do not like to speak of him. Forgive me for
asking."

He continued to stare off into
the room a moment longer before turning to her, his face masked with pain.
Immediately, she stood up and wrapped her arms around his thick neck, pulling
his face into her soft shoulder. He responded instantly, embracing her in
massive arms.

"'Tis a natural question,
and I will answer you," he whispered against her. "But it is
difficult...."

"Then do not," she
shushed him quietly. "You do not have to tell me."

He pulled his face from her
silken flesh, instead, Peyton ended up resting her head on his great shoulder
as he stroked her hair absently. As if it was she who needed comfort. But he
eventually spoke.

"When Edward, then prince,
embarked on the Seventh Crusade, Peter and Ali and I were sent ahead to secure
a particularly valuable garrison that would have made the seizure of Acre more
simplified, if such a thing is possible. Being young and eager, we went
willingly in a group of thirty knights that constituted the advance party for
the prince. I led the assault group, and Peter and Ali acted as my generals. It
was a well formed group of brave men that took shelter in an abandoned fortress
a few miles from Acre, and from there we launched raiding party into villages
to weaken the Muslim resistance for Edward's approach," his voice grew
soft. "I was twenty-one years old at the time. I thought I knew everything
and I furthermore believed that the abandoned fortress where my knights were
hiding was a perfect refuge the Muslims would never find. Not only did they
find us, but they attacked our garrison with three hundred men and caught us
completely unaware. There was nothing to do but escape. Peter died when I
thought he was an adversary and killed him myself."

Peyton's eyes widened and she
raised her head from his shoulder, staring into his sky-blue eyes. "You
killed him? Good lord, Alec, what happened?"

"It was dark in the
catacombs where the knights had retreated," he said quietly. "It was
explicitly understood that when we traversed the catacombs, there was to be an
established signal to identify you as an ally. In the midst of the panic of
retreat, Peter did not give the signal, whether he simply forgot or did not
feel it to be necessary anymore, I do not know. I heard him coming and wait for
him, thinking him a foe. When he appeared in the darkness, I jumped from the
shadows to gut him."

Peyton's mouth opened in shock
and sorrow. Gently, she touched his face as he struggled to maintain his calm.
"Oh, my Alec, I am so sorry. No wonder you do not want to speak of
it."

Alec had been struggling with
Peter's death for twelve years but, suddenly, he found a great deal of comfort
in Peyton's sweet touch. He had never allowed anyone to comfort him in his
grief, not even Ali, because his brother's death had been his burden alone to
bear. No one had been able to ease his sorrow with a word or a gesture.

He had always maintained his
emotionless facade when thinking or speaking of Peter; at least, he tried to.
But as Peyton caressed him softly and kissed his cheek, he suddenly felt his
twelve-year-old dam crumbling like the mighty walls of Jericho. Piece by piece,
it began to dissolve and he suddenly grabbed Peyton against him, burying his face
in the swell of her bosom.

He couldn't keep his grief to
himself anymore; he needed to be absolved somehow, and Peyton was offering her
comfort. He hadn't known this woman but a few days and already he felt as if he
had known her a lifetime. He began to realize exactly what he had meant when he
told Ali that he needed her; mayhap his uncanny sixth sense was speaking to
him, allowing him to release himself in this woman's arms. All he knew was
that, somehow, she promised assuagement if he would only submit.