The Legend (14 page)

But the hurt ignited an
unsettling loathing and she vowed that her confession in the chamber would be
her very last. Never again would she give him the opportunity to rebuff her
feelings.

She showed him the master chamber
coldly, watching him inspect the bed and wardrobe. Her father's clothes were
still in the cabinet and he gestured to them.

"These will be removed
immediately to make way for my possessions," he said. "We will have
to move another wardrobe in here for you. There is not enough room in this one
for both of us."

She looked at him. "My
things are in my room. We will not share a wardrobe."

"Nay, we will not, but we
will be sharing this chamber and it will prove bothersome for you to constantly
be moving from one room to the other to retrieve your belongings."

She gazed at him as if the
thought of sharing a chamber with him had never occurred to her. "I do not
intend to share this chamber with you. You may have it to yourself."

He slanted her a glance.
"You will be my wife and you will share my chamber. This will be our
chamber."

"I Do not want to share your
chamber," she repeated, her jaw ticking stubbornly. Marrying him was one
thing, but sharing his chamber was entirely another. "I will demand my
privacy, my lord. Husband or no."

"And I will demand my wife,
whenever I please. We will not discuss this, my lady. I have made my wishes
known."

"As have I," she backed
away from him, her hatred blooming. "I do not wish to share your chamber.
I will not."

"Aye, you will."

She turned on her heel and
marched from the room. Quick as a flash, Alec bolted after her, throwing her up
over his shoulder and hauling her back into the bedchamber. Tossing the
kicking, shouting bundle onto the mattress of the over-sized bed, he threw
himself atop her.

Peyton fought and twisted and
beat at him, but it was like striking iron. His hands captured her wrists as
his body pinned her firmly to the bed and he waited patiently for the tirade to
die down. Movements lessened as Peyton exhausted herself, although Alec was
surprised to realize how strong she was. As petite and fragile as she appeared,
her strength was amazing.

When her movements diminished to
hard panting and angry grunts, he cocked a reproving eyebrow.

"That will be enough of
that," he rumbled. "The future is dictated to you and all of the
protesting in the world will not change what is to be. The sooner you accept
it, the better."

She refused to meet his eye. She
could feel his hot breath on her cheek as he spoke, his voice low and quiet.
But the power behind the tone was unmistakable and she was frightened and
infuriated further.

His reaction to her confession in
the painting room stayed with her, his cold response. She tried to tell herself
that it did not matter, that she was merely marrying him because she was being
forced to and that the chances for emotional attachment were impossible. Yet
there was a small part of her that wanted to hear a word of sympathy, to let
her know that he understood her loss just the slightest. The idea of spending
the rest of her life with a man as cold as the Welsh snows was depressing.

"Are you rational enough
that I might let you up?" he asked quietly, breaking into her tumultuous
thoughts.

She nodded once. Promptly, he
pushed himself up and Peyton bolted from the bed, straightening her gown as
Alec resumed his position before the wardrobe. "Now, as I was saying.
Before we leave here today, I will set the servants to clean out this wardrobe
and...."

"I hate you," she
whispered, interrupting him.

He paused to look at her.
"What did you say?"

Peyton turned her gaze to him
then, the sapphire blue eyes blazing. "You heard me. I said I hate you. I
shall always hate you. I hope the reward of St. Cloven is enough to balance the
animosity of your wife."

He stared at her, reading her
anger and a great deal of pain, although he wasn't sure where the pain was
rooted. Was it because he had asked about her betrothed? Because he had forced
her to speak of a tragedy she was still coming to grips with? He wished he
could tell her of his own brush with sorrow, but he simply wasn't ready to. Not
yet.

Strangely, he felt a genuine
twinge of remorse at her negative declaration. He did not want her to hate him,
just as he did not want to hate her.

"Time will tell, my
lady," he replied softly.

She left the room and he let her
go.

***

The ride to Blackstone was
silent. Ivy sat before Ali, quiet and befuddled while Peyton and Alec all but
ignored one another. The birds in the trees twittered noisy and an occasional
rabbit scuttled through the underbrush, but astride the massive chargers, the
four riders were as still as stone as each one was lost to their own thoughts. 

Peyton wasn't particularly
concerned with Alec's thoughts at the moment, merely her own. The whole world
was unbalanced; she was to marry a cold, unfeeling man whom she loathed. Ivy
had not spoken since Ali had carted her from the ale storehouse, adding more
troubles to her confusion. Fretting over what had happened between her sister
and the black soldier set her head aching again and she was eager to be alone
with Ivy if only so they could commiserate their miserable futures.

She found herself damning the
satchel of valuables that had been left behind on their hasty retreat from
Blackstone. Had they been careful enough to count their baggage, the mistake
would not have been made. Alec Summerlin would not have been forced to return
their parcel, and their grand scheme to disillusion Baron Rothwell would have
succeeded.

The uncomfortable silence
stretched into endless miles. Then, somewhere in the midst of the silence Ivy's
voice could be heard. Much to Peyton's surprise, she realized that her sister
was making an attempt at conversation with Ali. She cast her sister a curious
glance and was shocked to note a smile on Ivy's lips as she spoke.

Ivy wasn't merely chatting; she
was actually pleasant. As Peyton watched with growing astonishment, she
suddenly realized that Ivy was intent on pulling her into the conversation. She
tried to ignore them, to avert her eyes and ears, but her path had already been
chosen. Ivy sucked her sister into the dialogue.

"Peyton paints beautifully,
too,” she told Ali. “You should see her work. Father wanted to sell a few of
her portraits at the faire in Petersborough last year, but James would not
allow it. Isn't that right, Peyton?"

Peyton managed a disinterested
shrug, maintaining her averted gaze. Ivy was suddenly contrite. "I am
sorry, darling. I did not mean to bring up James."

"Who is James?" Ali
asked.

Peyton decided she would answer
him, if only for Alec's benefit. She was eager to reiterate her hatred of him.
"The man I love. He was to be my husband, but he was killed. How
unfortunate for me."

Ivy sighed, regretful that she
had mentioned the man. She glanced to Alec, noting his even expression as he
gazed at the road ahead and she found herself wondering if Peyton had informed
him of her previous betrothal. Obviously, Alec wasn't surprised or concerned
with the topic.

"He sounds to have been a
wise man. I would not allow my future wife to sell her wares like a common
merchant, either," Alec replied after a moment.

"But they're
beautiful," Ivy insisted. "Have you not seen them?"

"I have. They will look
marvelous displayed throughout St. Cloven and Blackstone."

"I Do not want them
displayed," Peyton muttered softly. "I want them to remain where they
are. I shall not have people criticizing my work."

"They will not criticize it,
I assure you," Alec said evenly. "They will be as enchanted with it
as I am. 'Twould make me proud to exhibit my wife's talent."

"I am not your wife
yet," she grumbled, but he heard her and leaned close to her ear.

"Tomorrow at the latest will
see that situation remedied," his breath was hot on her ear, sending
involuntary shivers up her spine.

She did not reply, too angry and
confused to form a response. Not only was she adamant in her desire not marry
the massive man seated against her, but she was aware that Ivy was acting most
peculiar toward the black soldier. 'Twas almost as if she was growing
comfortable with him.

If the world was upended before,
it was most definitely spinning wildly out of control with the recent addition
of Ivy's behavior. Peyton was having difficulty comprehending all of it.

The group again rode silently for
several minutes until Ivy struck up another conversation, hoping to alleviate
the somber mood that had been pervasive since they had left St. Cloven. She had
no idea that she could not have selected a worse subject.

"Why is it that you do not
wear armor, Sir Alec?" she asked the massive blond man. "You are a
knight, are you not? And you are unarmed, too. Why?"

Alec passed a glance at her.
"It is true that I am a knight, but I gave up warring long ago. I prefer
less-violent pursuits."

"Weren't you any good?"
Ivy asked, remembering what Jubil had said about him but wanting to hear an
explanation from his own lips.

Ali laughed softly at the
question. "There was none better than Alec. No better knight in the realm,
I assure you."

"But you gave it up?" 
Ivy was still focused on Alec.

Alec did not reply and Ali sought
to change the subject. "I find this portion of the country lovely, much
nicer than London. Have you ever been to London, Lady Ivy?"

The conversation took an immediate
turn and Alec was grateful. He had already alienated one lady this day and was
close to distancing another had Ali not taken the helm.  With Ivy distracted,
he was better able to focus on the events of the day that had led to this point
in time. What had started out most pleasant and promising day had decayed into
a sullen, uncomfortable experience and he was aware that the change had taken
place the moment he entered Peyton's painting room.

He was puzzled but tried not to
let Peyton's attitude overly concern him. It would blow over like a storm, he
told himself. Tomorrow she would forget all about whatever unpleasantries he
managed to unearth. Her hostilities stemmed from her painful memories, he was
sure. Mayhap in some way she blamed him, although he could not imagine why. But
the more he tried to pretend her animosity did not matter, the more he realized
that it did.

She was so stiff and unmoving in
his arms, not at all like the sweet, heated bit of flesh he had kissed that
morn. Every time he thought about the encounter his lips ached to kiss her
again and his arms yearned to hold her, seeking the fire that she kindled
within his soul. She seemed to fit against him with odd familiarity and he
wondered if the reaction would be the same when next he took her in his arms.

Distracted and silent, he found
himself pondering that very question. He did not like the coldness between
them.

Blackstone loomed into view not
long thereafter, distracting the party from their moody thoughts. Black,
haunting, strong, the edifice emerged in the distance like a great preying
beast.

Ivy's confusing behavior and her
own resentment aside, Peyton found herself focusing on the massive black
bastion with a good deal of apprehension. With all of her other concerns, the impending
wrath of Alec's father did nothing to offset her turmoil. She realized there
was naught else to do but plead for the man's mercy and pray his grace was
infinite. She was so consumed with her turbulent thoughts that she was startled
when hot breath delicately caressed her ear.

"I shall handle my
father," Alec said softly. "Simply agree with everything I say."

"What are you going to
say?" she asked, feeling her cheeks flush as he purred against her ear.

"Trust me, my lady. I shall
not say anything incriminating in the least. Besides, I suspect his anger will
be immediately doused when he discovers we have come to our senses and agreed
to a betrothal."

For the first time during the
entire journey, she turned to look at him. "That, my lord, is a matter of
opinion."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I was
under the impression that our decision was mutual."

Her cheeks mottled a deeper red,
remembering how, exactly, they came about that decision. Noting the pink color
to her porcelain cheeks, Alec smiled a brilliant, broad display. He couldn't
help but laugh softly at her embarrassment, her bewilderment for a decision
that was literally wrung out of her. Even with the animosity, the anger, the
reaction to Ali, he wasn't sorry he had practically forced her into submission.
After pondering his thoughts the majority of the afternoon, he realized in
spite of everything that he was quite pleased with the fire of the Lady Peyton
de Fluornoy.

"There is no need for
humiliation," his voice was low, rumbling and warm. "I quite enjoyed
our encounter in the forest."