The Legend (43 page)

"It tastes salty," she
whispered. "Does it hurt when you spill?"

Weak and thoroughly spent, Alec
entwined his great fingers into her silken tresses. "Nay, love, it
doesn't," when she grinned, he seemed to snap out of his lethargy and
scooped her into his arms. "You are a naughty, wanton wench, Lady
Summerlin. How cruel. How terribly controlling. How lovely for me."

She laughed softly as he swung
her to the bed, tossing her onto the mattress and descending upon her with his
exquisite body.  She continued to giggle as he kicked off his boots and
restrictive breeches, but her laughter quickly turned to moans of pleasure as
his mouth latched onto her earlobe and his hand closed over her breast
possessively.

"Oh, Alec," she
whispered as his fingers peaked her nipple. "Make love to me,
darling."

He growled and his mouth left her
ear to clamp down on a distended nipple through the thin silk. She groaned with
pleasure, pulling at his short hair as he tugged insistently at her breast.            His
hands were consuming her, his strength finding release through his driven
touch. The shift came off, somehow, she was not even aware; the very next she
realized, Alec was fully aroused once more and driving his firm body into her
swollen flesh.

His thrusts were deep, even,
hard. Peyton planted her heels into the back of his knees and moved to meet his
passion. She heard a throaty cry, not realizing that it was her own, as waves
upon waves of delicious convulsions swallowed her whole. Alec had consumed her,
digested her, until all that remained was a boneless, quivering form. His
desire had rendered her a content, weak woman.

Alec found his own release again
as Peyton's lusty body was wracked with spasms. His climax came so hard that he
bit his lip, unaware of the pain yet totally cognizant of the pleasure.

Only when he moved to envelope
her in his massive embrace did he taste his blood and he smiled wearily into
the darkness. Christ, what this woman did to him.

He was home.

***

The next day at St. Cloven dawned
bright and temperate. Alec awoke shortly after dawn, as was habitual, and
managed to disengage himself from Peyton without waking her. Moving from the
massive bed, he donned his breeches and slipped into the hall, summoning a
servant for hot water and food. The small bower next to the master chamber was
virtually empty, and he proceeded to claim it for his private retreat.

He ate standing next to a lancet
window, his gaze lingering on his new bailey as the sun rose. Washing quickly,
he silently returned to the master chamber to retrieve his clothes, passing a
tender glance at his wife.  She was buried under the covers and he was only
able to glimpse her wild red hair and half of her face. With a grin, he closed
the door softly.

Clad in heavy breeches,
thigh-high black boots and a durable tunic made from panels of black leather
and black linen, he went about his new duties as lord of the keep. Toby met him
in the great hall, greeting him amiably and voicing his approval for the
liberal use of cedar. But in the same breath, Alec could read a strange
confusion in Toby's eyes. He moved past the pleasantries.

"What's wrong?"

Toby tried to shrug off the
question but he found he could not. In fact, he was glad Alec had asked and
lowered his voice. "Aunt Jubil...."

"What about her?"

Toby looked decidedly uncomfortable
and eyed the foyer beyond the hall. "I found her this morn.... well, she
is not herself."

Alec put his hands on his hips.
"What does that mean? Where is she?"

Toby gestured in the general
direction of the foyer but thought better of sending Alec on to face the aged
aunt alone. He motioned his brother to follow.

Alec was not surprised at the
sight that greeted him in the small solar. In fact, confusion would have been a
better term. 

Jubil was hanging by her knees
from an open beam, swathed from head to toe in a great cloak of black. Her
faded hair hung askew and her blue eyes were closed. She was so still that she
almost looked dead.

Toby eyed Alec as his brother
moved into the solar, scrutinizing the woman with intense curiosity. He paced a
complete circle about the hanging woman, peering closely at every aspect of her
from ceiling to floor.  He tore his gaze away from the dangling figure to pass
a questioning glance at Toby, who merely shrugged helplessly. With that
response, Alec returned his focus to Jubil.

"Jubil?" he said
softly. "Can you hear me?"

Immediately, one eye popped open,
studied Alec, and promptly closed again. "I am a bat. Can you not see for
yourself?"

"Indeed. But why are you a
bat?"

"Keen of hearing, sharp of
smell. I must be a bat."

Alec put his hands on his hips,
pondering her statement. "Is there a reason why you must be a bat?"

"I must hear. Leave me
alone."

His brows drew together in
puzzlement and he passed Toby a glance. His younger brother was watching Jubil
with his usual fascination. "How long has she been like this?"

Toby shook his head. "I was
up before sunrise and she was in this state when I happened upon her. Shall I
summon your wife?"

Alec cocked an eyebrow.
"Why? She shall simply become irritated," he moved away from Jubil,
his gaze lingering on the older woman. "Leave her be. Make sure the
servants do not disturb her."

Jubil heard the door close, and
the faded blue eyes opened slowly. She stared into the emptiness of the room a
moment, her mind cloaked with the venom of the monkshade.

 "I must hear the danger
approaching," she muttered feebly, for her ears alone. "I must be
aware."

***

Under the command of his
sergeants, the bailey seemed to be running smoothly enough. Men were manning
the battlements as he had commanded and he was pleased to see that, so far,
there were no wrinkles in his operation.

A harried groom approached him to
announce that his Saracen stallion had endured a rough night and went on to
suggest the addition of ale to the animal's water to calm him. Alec agreed,
intending to administer the liquor himself, when a burly man approached him and
bowed deeply.

"My lord?" he addressed
timidly.

Alec fixed the man with his
customary emotionless gaze. "Who are you?"

The man bowed profusely. He was a
big man, with thinning reddish hair and small green eyes. "I am John Todd,
the master brewer. I understand that the Lady Peyton returned last eve."

"My wife has indeed
returned," Alec eyed the man with a degree of respect. "Is there a
problem with the stores?"

"Nay, my lord, no problem to
speak of," John assured him.

"But there is a batch of
pale ale that is already ripe. Lady Peyton's approval is required."

Alec studied the man a moment
longer as the weary groom still hovered beside him restlessly. "My wife
will come to see you shortly. I shall summon her myself."

The master brewer bowed again.
"Thank you, my lord, thank you."

When the fat man waddled away,
Alec returned his attention the stable hand. "Let's tend to my vicious
beast, shall we?"

The groom scurried after the
long-legged master. "Vicious, indeed, my lord. He is nearly taken off my
hand. Twice!"

Alec raised a disapproving
eyebrow. "The first time should have been enough to warn you off. He is
not to be trifled with."

"I was attempting to feed him,
my lord," the groom replied with a touch of droll sarcasm.

Alec did not respond as they
passed through an arched gateway in the wall and on to the protected stables.

***

In spite of her long and
strenuous night, Peyton arose shortly after Alec had left her. Taking her time,
she bathed leisurely and dressed in a persimmon-colored surcoat that was nearly
the exact color of her hair. Gathering her considerable mane of curls, she tied
them loosely at the nape of her neck and went about with her plans for the day.
And she had a load of them.

Driving the servants like a Roman
emperor, she proceeded to have all of her father's items removed from the
master wardrobe and replaced with Alec's things. Several strapping male
servants brought in another wardrobe to house her possessions. The huge bed
that had belonged to her father was stripped of its bedclothes and taken
outside to be cleaned and re-stuffed with layers of straw and feathers. The
more that was accomplished, the more she decided needed to be done.

The upper floor of St. Cloven
turned into a clutter of displaced furniture and other items as the servants
set about scrubbing floors and washing rugs and portieres at Lady Peyton's
direction.  But they were used to her dictatorial rule; she was an accomplished
chatelaine and having been away from her home for so long strengthened her
resolve to restore its perfection. With a new master in their midst, and a
powerful one, the servants of St. Cloven were pleased to do her bidding.

Returning from the stables, Alec
could see the cleaning commotion even from a distance and correctly assumed his
wife to be at the head of it. With a faint grin, he made his way inside.

Peyton was standing in the middle
of the upstairs corridor, expressing concern over the wearability of a
particular woolen rug. He moved up behind her silently, only to grasp her
firmly about the waist and plant a loud kiss on the nape of her luscious neck.

She started with surprised, but
immediately relaxed into a radiant smile as he wound his thick arms around her
torso and buried his face in her hair.

"Who is it?" she asked
innocently.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Pray,
Lady Summerlin, who else would greet you as I have just done?"

She pretended to think and he
swatted her bottom with a trencher-sized hand. Laughing, Peyton whirled away
from him as if to escape his wrath.

"No one has ever greeted me
in that fashion, husband. Only you."

He rested his fists on his narrow
hips. "Well and good for you," his gaze lingered on the hall in
disarray. "What goes on here?"

"Cleaning," she told
him. "I would make sure that your new keep is perfect."

He slanted her a glance.
"With you residing within its walls, it could be nothing less."

She smiled prettily and lowered
her gaze. He closed the distance between them, cupping her dainty chin in his
hand. "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "Well enough.
You were certainly up early."

"I had several things to
attend to, and still more duties await me. But I wanted to bid you a pleasant
morn."

She wrapped her arms around his
thick neck and he lifted her off the floor with the power of his embrace.
Sweet, lingering kisses filled the silence between them until Peyton shifted in
his arms and he reluctantly allowed her to slide to her feet. As much as she
would have liked to have relented to his fevered lips, she had more pressing
things to attend to. And she fully intended to involve him.

"I would ask a favor before
you return to your tasks," she took his hand and led him down the hall.

She took him to the chamber when
she kept her paintings, the moody room awash with color and sorrow.
Understandably, he was a bit wary, for their last visit to this room had
resulted in a bitter argument. Moreover, it was the room where she kept
reminders of her love gone by. Alec did not want to see of her love for another
man.

The moment they entered the room,
the black tides of jealousy swept him. His eyes avoided the brilliant displays
of his wife's talent, instead, focusing on the broken joust pole in the corner.
Somehow, he could visualize the strong young knight who had wielded the pole, a
man who had kissed his wife, who had once been betrothed to her. The faded
yellow and white colors of Sir James Deveraux took shape, molding into a vision
of the fair-haired man who should have been standing in Alec's stead.    Alec
was glad he was dead.

Aye, he was glad. As selfish and
distasteful as it was to be thankful for another's demise, he was nonetheless
grateful. Had James survived his bout in Norwich, Alec would have never come to
know the woman who had very quickly become the center of his world. He would
have never known complete joy, or madness, sometimes one in the same. He would
have never loved her.

Aye, he loved her.

The thought crept upon him so
gently that he was not startled by it. In fact, he couldn't remember when he
hadn't loved her. Gazing at his wife's red head as she moved across the room,
he felt full of his feelings. They were subtle, yet so powerful that he
couldn't remember when they hadn't been an integral part of his life. More than
ever before, she meant the world to him.

But his love would never be
returned. She had already informed him of that fact. Watching her moved across
the room, he hoped to summon the bravery to tell her of his feelings one day.
One day when he was prepared for the biting sting of her rejection.