The Legend (29 page)

"How is it that you have
come my way?" he said happily. "God`s Blood, it's been at least a
year since I have seen you. And where's that black bastard Ali? The whoreskin
still owes me five gold pieces, you know."

Alec grinned broadly.
"Always a pleasure to see you again, Simon. You certainly know how to make
a man feel welcome."

"Welcome? Ha!" Simon
snorted loudly. "I practically owe you this damn hovel, with all of the
gambling you and I used to do...." his eyes suddenly fell on Peyton and
his eyes widened, clearing his throat in surprise.  "Oh.... my. Who is
this exquisite creature and what in the hell is she doing with the likes of
you?"

"This is my wife," Alec
replied, answering both questions and feeling a good deal of pride at the
announcement. "Peyton, this is Sir Simon de Clerc. Simon, this is my wife,
the Lady Peyton Summerlin."

Peyton bobbed a curtsy as the
Simon's eyes opened wide with astonishment.

"A wife?" he repeated.
"God's Blood, Alec, you have actually taken a wife? And look at her; my
God, she is beautiful. I am completely speechless."

"Good," Alec replied
with a smirk, glancing about the room. "Is business so good that you would
not have a room to spare us?"

"Never!" Simon declared.
"My very best room is still available because no one here can afford it.
It's yours for the night, free of charge."

"Naturally. And we expect a
full meal, also free of charge. I will consider it your wedding gift to
us."

Simon bowed deeply. "Naturally.
I shall send up the best fare I have to offer."

"Better than that, I
hope," Alec slanted the man a distrustful gaze. "Point us in the
right direction so that I may remove my wife from this ribald atmosphere."

"Can't we eat down
here?" Peyton asked, tugging on his sleeve. "I have never been to a
tavern."

"Would you be so good as to
eat with me?" Simon asked hopefully, looking to Alec. "Come, come! I
have a cozy table by the hearth. Surely you will not deny me your company after
all this time?"

Alec passed an uncomfortable
glance at the room once more, but the expression on Peyton's face made his
decision for him. With a slight nod, he allowed Simon to lead them over to a
large table where three wenches were eating loudly, drinking like men. Simon
promptly removed the women, all but kicking them from the table. Scolded and
humiliated, they passed challenging glares at Peyton as they retreated.

"Have you something to say
to me?" Peyton immediately bristled at the harsh looks. "It shall be
your last statement before I rip your tongue out and wrap it around your
neck!"

Simon laughed loudly as Alec
pulled his wife to sit, but Peyton was still riled and glared daggers at the
trashy women as they disappeared into the kitchen.

"God's Blood, Alec, I like
her already," Simon declared, bellowing for food and ale with the same
breath.

"Turn around," Alec
rumbled to his wife. "Behave yourself."

"Did you see how they looked
at me?" she demanded, still outraged. “Why did they do that when I did
nothing to warrant it?”

He sighed and leaned close to
her. "They are simply jealous of your beauty, sweetheart. You must learn
to deal with such hostilities calmly."

Somewhat sated, Peyton accepted
the cup of ale offered by Simon and took a deep drink, immediately choking on
the swallow. Simon looked concerned.

"What is it, Lady Summerlin?
Is something wrong with the ale?" he asked earnestly.

She made a face, pushing her cup
away. "Nay, my lord, nothing abnormal...." she licked her lips and
shuddered."Where did you purchase this ale?"

"From a man in
Mildenhall," Simon replied. "He brews it especially for me. Is it not
acceptable?"

Peyton cast a helpless glance at
Alec, who was smiling faintly at her over the rim of his cup. "Why on
earth would you purchase ale from a man in Mildenhall when the very best ale in
the realm comes from St. Cloven?" Alec demanded.

"St. Cloven! Pah!"
Simon snorted. "The best ale in all of England, but too damn expensive. My
customer's lowly palates do not require such extravagance. Were I to purchase
St. Cloven ale, I would go broke because no one could afford it."

Peyton and Alec exchanged grins.
"No more, Simon. I happen to know the lord of St. Cloven personally and I
will see that you are treated most fairly," Alec said.

"Truly?" Simon said
thoughtfully. "Do you think I could purchase St. Cloven ale for what I am
paying now?"

"What do you pay now?"
Peyton asked.

"Forty pence a barrel."

Peyton considered that price. St.
Cloven ale was priced nearly three times higher. "Would you purchase ale
from St. Cloven for sixty pence a barrel if, for every two barrels you
purchased, a hogshead-barrel was given to you without charge? You could
conceivably purchase five barrels for the price of four, ten for the price of
eight, for nearly the same price you pay your present supplier for his inferior
ale. The quality of St. Cloven's drink would overshadow the slight increase in
your cost."

Simon scratched his chin.
"Aye, I would do that. Were word to spread that I supplied St. Cloven ale
I would likely have more business than I could handle."

"Done." Alec said
firmly, his gaze warm on his wife. Not only was she beautiful and brave, but
she had a head for business and that pleased him immensely.

"How can you do this,
Alec?" Simon queried. "Did your father annex St. Cloven, perchance?"

Alec smiled and took a healthy
drink of the bitter ale. "I married it."

Simon stared at him a moment
before turning an astonished expression to Peyton. "
You
are St.
Cloven ale?"

Peyton felt Alec's hand on her
back gently. "I am Lady Summerlin, formerly heiress to St. Cloven."

Simon's mouth went agape with
surprise and he slapped himself on the cheek as if to regain his senses. Then
he laughed. "God's Blood! I have ties to St. Cloven!"

The food came then, great
trenchers of roast pork and gravy, huge chunks of fresh bread, butter, and
boiled carrots and apples. Peyton dug in with gusto and ate until she could
hold no more, but her voracious appetite could not compare with Alec. He must
have eaten half the pig as his wife wallowed in over-stuffed misery.

"Tell me, my lady, how did
you come by your name?" Simon asked, his mouth full of food. "'Tis a
man's name, usually."

Peyton sighed with contentment as
her food settled. "'Twas my mother's maiden name and she swore she would
give one of her children the name, male or female. The Peyton’s come from the
Isle of Arran in Scotland. They still inhabit Brodick Castle on the island,
although I have never been. I understand it is very lovely."

"Scotland is a wild
land," Simon agreed, eating loudly. "But it breeds the most beautiful
women. Wild, delightful women."

Alec lifted an eyebrow, unwilling
for Simon to pursue that particular line of conversation. "You have only
to look at my wife to know that Scotland does indeed breed beauties. Her sister
is to be Ali's wife, by the way."

Simon smiled broadly. "Ah!
The black lad did indeed find a mate. You know, Alec, the only time I ever saw
Ali comfortable with a woman was in the Holy Land where all of the women were
nearly his color.  I thought he might find a Saracen bride."

"He was far too young for a
bride at that time," Alec said softly. "Lady Ivy has accepted him as
her husband and it is a most agreeable arrangement."

"No doubt." Finished,
Simon sat back in his chair and belched loudly, stretching his huge body.
"Imagine that I know two men who are related to St. Cloven ale. 'Twill
prove to be a gold mine for me. My lady doesn't have any more unattached
sisters, perchance?"

Peyton shook her head. "Nay,
my lord. There are only two of us."

"Pity. Imagine what I could do
if I were married to St. Cloven," he raised an eyebrow at her. "You would
not consider leaving Alec and marrying me, would you? I would be more than
happy to dispose of your husband."

She grinned and Alec pulled her
chair over to him, putting his arm around her shoulders. "I might
reconsider my vow and wield a sword if I thought you to be serious. You'd not
take her without a fight."

"In that case, I recount my
offer. I would sooner go up against the Devil himself than meet you in a
swordfight."

Peyton leaned against Alec,
content and happy, basking in his heat. It occurred to her that Simon had seen
Alec fight at one time and she was curious to know the man's complete opinion
of Alec's skill.

"He is a great knight,
then?" she asked.

Simon's eyes glittered at Alec
through the smoke. It was the first time all evening he seemed to calm
somewhat. "Do you not know the man you married, my lady? There was no
better knight in the entire realm."

"Simon...." Alec shook
his head faintly, modestly toying with his cup.   

Simon grinned, propping a huge
boot on the table and knocking his empty trencher to the floor. Underneath the
table, fat dogs scuffled for the scraps and Peyton raised her legs to avoid
being bitten.

"Lady Summerlin, your
husband was beyond magnificent when it came to swordplay. There was not a man
in the entire civilized world that could best him. When he competed in
tournaments, the melees were always decided before the combatants ever took the
field. Everyone knew that Alec Summerlin would triumph, although there were
those of us who were foolish to take our chances against him. Aye, there was
none more brilliant," Simon chuckled at Alec's demureness. "Stop
acting the blushing maiden, Alec. You know full well your skill and power. When
England lost you, she lost her powerful warrior since Galahad."

"Galahad?" Peyton gazed
at her husband, who merely took another drink of ale.

Simon was enjoying Alec's
embarrassment. "Certainly. But I doubt even Galahad could have held
position against the raiding Muslims those years ago. Nothing short of God
could have defended thirty English knights against hundreds of barbarian
soldiers."

What had promised to be a
glorious tale of Alec's strength suddenly turned uncomfortable as Simon
referred to the fallen fortress. Peyton turned to her husband to gauge his
reaction as Simon continued on, fully aware of the tender memories.

"There were very few of us
left alive to escape the initial onslaught," Simon sat forward, his eyes
intent on Peyton. "On our retreat we ran headlong into a patrol of
Muslims, fifty barbarians against eighteen English knights who had just fled
for their lives. Your husband was magnificent as he engaged man after man with
only his spear and dagger. It was a sight to behold, indeed, for he killed thirteen
men on his own while the rest of us struggled with two or three. 'Twas the last
time I saw The Legend in action."

"He was magnificent,
then?" Peyton repeated in awe.

Simon smiled with satisfaction.
"Indeed, madam. Alec could fight God himself and win." Sighing, he
gazed at Alec fondly. "Edward has never given up hope that The Legend
would forsake his vow and take up campaigning again. With the trouble Edward
has from the Llewellyn ap Gruffydd and the Scots, he is sorely in need of
Alec's power. I shall wager He shall never stop begging you to join him,
Alec."

Peyton again turned to Alec with
a faint smile of admiration when she saw that he was not smiling; in fact, his
expression had turned to stone. She well remembered the personality trait she
had learned to hate, but this time she did not to shy away from him. Knowing
what she did of his past, she realized the facade was an act of
self-preservation. She raised her hand and clutched the arm that rested on her
shoulder, reassuring Alec silently that she understood his torment.

"Alec is no longer a
fighting man, but lord of the manor," she said quickly, changing the
subject. "You will have to come visit us at St. Cloven. Ali and Alec have
grand plans on renovating the keep and I promise it will be a magnificent place
when they are finished."

"Ali is a grand
designer," Simon took the bait and followed her lead. "I understand
he did a great deal of the planning when Lord Brian added a south wing to
Blackstone."

"Ali has a mind for
dimensions," Alec said quietly, draining the last of his cup. "He can
figure exact measurements of the most prolific proportions and they are always
correct. I have never known him to be wrong."

His voice was faint and Peyton
felt a distinct melancholy settle. Now that they were fed, her fatigue was
increasing and she gently tugged on Alec's sleeve.

"I am tired, Alec. Can we
retire?"

"Certainly," he set
down his cup. "I shall escort my lady wife to our chamber and return to
our conversation, Simon. Stay where you are."

Simon nodded, focusing on Peyton.
"'Twas a pleasure to meet you, my lady. And remember my offer should you
ever tire of The Legend."