The Legend (2 page)

"Venison?"

"Disgusting, wretched
stuff."

Ivy smiled, her pale coloring in
sharp contrast to her sister's radiant beauty. "You used to like it well
enough."

"I have changed my mind.
Nothing heavy. Or slicked with grease."

"What gall! When it is your
turn to see to meals, you serve items that are literally floating in
slime."

Peyton smiled deviously.
"Because you like it that way, darling. Admit it."

"I shall admit that you are
intent on making me fat so that no man will have me."

"I thought you did not want
a husband?"

"I never said that. Stop
twisting my words."

Peyton laughed again, patting her
sister's blond head affectionately. "Stop fretting, Ivy. 'Tis out of our
hands, I am afraid."

Ivy wandered to the solar door,
her fingers probing the scrubbed jamb absently. Behind her, Peyton stood
staring into space, no doubt with James on her mind. The pain, although
somewhat faded, still clutched at her heart. It took her months before she
could right herself after his death.     

"Do you think Lord Brian
will choose Colin?" Ivy's voice was faint with dread.

Peyton was jolted from her train
of thought, her expression contemptuous. "Not unless he is willing to be
an active party to murder, for that is what will surely happen if he betroths
me to Colin Warrington. I shall kill the beast before I shall allow a marriage
to take place."

Ivy thought a moment.
"Mayhap the union would to ease the feud. After all, the Warringtons and
the de Fluornoys have been fighting for decades, and...."

Peyton put up a hand. "Say
no more. I will not even hear of the possibility. Now go order me a round of
slop, sister."

Ivy cocked a slow eyebrow.
"Slop, did you say? That, darling Peyton, can be arranged."

Peyton waved her sister on with a
grin. Outside, the sun was setting over the golden-pale fields of grain that
kept St. Cloven firmly established in her trade as the sisters made their way
to the manor.

Dinner was an unexpectedly
flavorful affair and Peyton enjoyed the rewards of her sister's uncanny sense
of table with nary a greasy dish in sight. Fowl, boiled vegetables and a pale
yellow ale graced the table. And, to match the yellow ale, Ivy had instructed
the cook to die everything saffron yellow. So Peyton ate yellow meat, yellow
vegetables, and only half of her bright yellow custard. In truth, she was
stuffed full from the main courses and sat back in her chair, sipping her ale
with satisfaction.

Across the table sat Ivy, eating
everything in sight. She was a large girl, round and curvaceous with a tendency
for fat. Fortunately, she fatted in all of the right places and drew many a
man's stare with her buxom profile and generous hips. Formed like their
father's side of the family, she was in sharp divergence to Peyton's slender
beauty.

Although Peyton was no fragile,
delicate hybrid; average in stature and height, she was inordinately strong for
a female. But her graceful limbs and creamy skin gave her a soft, dainty
appearance, and her beauty was absolutely unequaled. James always told her that
she reminded him of a porcelain doll, perfect and sculpted in every way.  

She and Ivy were very different
in appearance, but not in personality. Their father used to call them magpies,
for they chattered incessantly. And fought like the Lucifer and Gabriel when
the mood hit them.

Aye, they missed their father
terribly. For a man who had been hardy and robust all of his life, his death
from a heart attack six months prior had come as a deep shock. After their
mother had died when the girls were very young, Albert de Fluornoy had coddled
and spoiled his children. He had been their only family with exception of the
creature currently seated at the far end of the table.

Jubil de Fluornoy was an enigma
of sorts. A self-proclaimed witch, she was a peculiar woman with even more
peculiar habits. Bizarre did not quite encompass the exact description of Aunt
Jubil; in fact, Peyton had yet to come up with the exact terms to describe her
father's younger sister. Weird certainly seemed appropriate most of the time
and Peyton and Ivy spent a good deal of time ignoring their only living
relation.

"There's a cock's foot in
here," Jubil hissed, picking at her trencher.

Ivy glanced at Peyton. "Aye,
there is, Jubil, just for you," she replied sarcastically.

"A big bloody one!"
Jubil suddenly declared, although neither girl could see what she was talking
about. "It's preparing to fly away!"

Peyton rolled her eyes irritably.
Her aunt was known to ingest concoctions distilled from native plants and roots
to aid her in her 'visions'. Sometimes it took days for the potions to wear
off, leaving Jubil insane for that particular length in time.

"Jubil, there's no cock's
foot in your dish," she said with little patience. "If you are
finished with your meal, then you are excused."

Jubil began to shovel clumps of
food all over the table in her attempt to single out the elusive cock's foot.
Peyton ducked as a piece of roast fowl flew particularly close.

"Cock's foot! Cock's
foot!" Jubil cried, jamming her fingers into her trencher and withdrawing
an object pinched between her index finger and thumb. Her eyes were wild as she
scrutinized whatever it was. "An eyeball! I knew it! I thought I smelled
the essence!"

Ivy closed her eyes, silently
beseeching God for patience. "Oh, Christ."

Peyton watched with morbid
curiosity as Jubil bound from her chair, still squeezing the bit of 'eyeball'.
"I can use this, I can," she smiled at Peyton. "I shall use this
to divine your future, sweetheart. We will see what Lord Brian Summerlin has in
store for you."

Peyton shook her head as Ivy
looked bored. "I do not want to know, Jubil. Truly."

Jubil did not hear her. She
shuffled off, clutching her prize and mumbling to herself.

"My God, Peyton. What are we
going to do with her?" Ivy demanded softly. "My appetite is
gone."

"Your appetite is gone
because you ate everything but the bowls," Peyton said. They had long
since stopped figuring out what to do with Aunt Jubil.

In the warm dining hall this
night, Peyton and her sister were alone save a few serving women and two
household guards. Since their father had been somewhat of a recluse, positive
any stranger or traveler had come to his doorstep for the sole purpose of
extracting his ale secrets, there had never been an overabundant amount of
activity at St. Cloven and the women were not lonely. They simply learned to
entertain themselves.

"What is it tonight, Peyton?
Cards? Chess? Backgammon?" Ivy leaned back in her chair, stretching her
arms over her head.

Peyton sat silently, listening to
the faint howl of a dog somewhere, the crackle of the fire in the massive stone
hearth.

"Nothing, I think. I am
tired tonight."

"And you are worried, as
well. Lord Brian promised you that he would decide your future by the end of
the month and that is in two days," she sat straight. "Mayhap when
the messenger comes, we will tell him you died in your sleep."

Peyton smirked, running her hand
wearily over her face. "Not a bad idea, methinks. Oh, why can he not
simply leave us be? Why must we be wed? I do not want a husband."

It was a plea, not a question.
Ivy shrugged. "Because St. Cloven needs a man to protect her,” she said.
“Mayhap your husband will come with an army of a thousand."

"We do not need
protection," Peyton snapped softly. "Father's household troops have
proven quite adequate for many years. In fact, we did not even have soldiers
until twenty years ago when Warrington began making threats. 'Tis only because
of Nigel Warrington and his idiot son that we need men here at all. And as for
an army that would come attached to any future husband, they'll probably spend
all of their time in the ale barn drinking us into the poorhouse."

"Tsk, tsk," he sister
admonished mockingly. “A prospective husband will not tolerate your nasty
temper."

"Then that is his
misfortune," Peyton sniffed, rising wearily. "As for me, I shall
retire to bed and await my sentence.... I mean, ponder my destiny. Surely a
missive will come from Blackstone tomorrow. Lord Brian has had nearly a month
to decide what is to become of me."

"Become of
us
,"
Ivy reminded her.

"Us," Peyton corrected.
"Good sleep, darling."

"Good sleep," Ivy
watched her sister mount the stairs, her heart going out to the eldest de
Fluornoy sibling. She wasn't worried so much for herself, because a husband
meant very little in an emotional sense. But Peyton was still recovering from
the fierce loss of James, and was very vulnerable. Ivy still heard her crying
at night, bemoaning her loss.

Ivy knew from watching her sister
that love was a terrible, sorrowful emotion and she herself vowed to never
succumb to the devastating weakness.

***

Blackstone
Castle

Lord Brian Summerlin sat hunched
over his carved oaken desk, pondering what he considered a most weighty
subject. Two contracts sat before him, drawn out and awaiting approval.  He sat
back and scratched his head; approval would not come easily.

A rap sounded on his heavy oak
door, and the caller did not wait to be hailed entrance. Brian heard the
familiar footsteps, not bothering to glance up from his business. He knew who
it was without looking.

"Do you have the tally for
the horse sales?" Brian asked softly.

"Four colts sold, two fillies,"
the man replied. "And a further promise to breed my Saracen stallion to
two brood mares at 25 gold marks a piece. Quite handsome."

"Quite," Brian agreed.
"Sit down, Alec. We have more business to attend to."

 Alec Summerlin sat opposite his
father. Intense blue eyes, as bright and pure as the summer sky gazed steadily
at the older man. When Brian looked up from his parchment, he met his youngest
son's gaze. For a brief moment, his eyes grazed his son's features, the
familiar lines. Surely no handsomer man had ever lived, Brian was sure, for the
man favored his mother to a fault. And Celine was most certainly the most
beautiful woman he had ever seen.

As dark as Brian was, Alec was
equally as fair. His blond hair, bleached from time spent in the sun, was
cropped close to his scalp so that it stood straight up on the top. A granite
jaw and cleft chin seated a full-lipped mouth and straight nose. Aye, he was
indeed a fine example of a man and Brian was proud of the accomplishments he
had achieved in his lifetime. It was almost enough to overshadow the tragedies
and the disappointments.

His eyes left his son and
returned to the contracts before him. There was no use in skirting the
impending issue and he folded his hands thoughtfully as he searched for the
proper words.

"Alec, I have made a crucial
decision this night. As you know, St. Cloven has been without Albert de
Fluornoy for six months now, leaving his two daughters in charge of a valuable
keep. You have been to St. Cloven, have you not?"

"Years ago when I went with
you. I hardly remember the place, except that it smelled of wood. Like
cedar."

Brian nodded. "Albert was
fond of the smell. There is more cedar from Lebanon in that place than hearty
English oak. In any case, as de Fluornoy's liege, the duty falls on me to wed
the daughters. Albert failed to do that before his demise, unfortunately, and I
have had a devil of a time with the problem. The girls are past prime
marriageable age."

Alec sat back, absorbing his
father's words, a flicker of horror igniting in his mind. But he doused it
quickly, hoping his suspicions were incorrect.

Brian began to speak more
rapidly, becoming animated as he went along. "As I see it, St. Cloven is
in need of a wise man to administer her business. Strength, knightly skill, are
unnecessary in the management of the keep. Although there has been a dispute
with Nigel Warrington for many years, there has never truly been any bloodshed.
For the most part, a bloodless war," he brought his eyes to rest on his
son, guarded brown orbs meeting pure blue. "Which is why I believe you
will be perfect for the position as lord of St. Cloven. I am pledging you in
marriage to the eldest daughter."

Alec did not react. He rarely
reacted to anything, good or bad. His emotions were non-existent for the most
part, a fact which oft drove Brian to the brink of madness. He could never
anticipate his son in any way.

"I do not want the
position," Alec finally said.

"It is not a matter for
discussion. You will wed Lady Peyton de Fluornoy and assume your post."

Alec paused a moment, still
unreadable. "I am quite content here. I have no desire for a wife or a
keep of my own. Blackstone keeps me busy and...."

"Alec!" his father
boomed, bolting from his chair. "Your brother Paul will inherit Blackstone,
not you. And St. Cloven is by far the richest house in the province. Doesn't
that mean anything to you? I am handing you a fortune, lad! Besides, this is
your best chance for a marriage of any importance considering...." he
suddenly broke off, looking to his son apologetically. "I am sorry, Alec.
I did not mean to sound demeaning."