The Legend (31 page)

Immediately, he went to her and
she did not resist. Instead, she clutched him tightly as he lifted her off the
ground and cradled her in his massive arms.

"I am sorry,
sweetheart," he kissed her red head. "I never thought.... forgive me,
my sweet. I was horrible and inconsiderate."

"Aye, you were," she
sobbed into his shoulder. "I shall never forgive you if you do that again.
Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, love." 

He carried her to the bed and sat
down, rolling onto his back and taking her with him. She clung to him as if to
never let him go and he held her tightly as the feathered mattress swallowed
the both of them.  Her sobs were muffled in the barrier of his leather
overtunic, filling the heavy silence of the room as Alec listened, feeling like
a fool for not being sensitive enough of his wife's feelings.

But as he listened, the familiar
jealousy began to creep into his chest; was she crying for James' memory, or
because she feared for Alec's life? Certainly it wasn't the time to question
her, but he found the question weighing heavily on his heart. Why should he be
comforting her if she as weeping for another?

"Do you weep because I
frightened you?" he asked softly, feeling terribly selfish for voicing his
thoughts.

"Of course!" she
snapped, wiping at her nose. He released one arm from her and handed her a
linen towel that was placed on the table beside the bed. She accepted the linen
and blew her nose hard, wiping at her face.

"Then you do not weep for a
memory?"

She eyed him, her lids red and
swollen. "Wh-what memory?" she hiccupped.

He gazed up at her, thinking her
to be terribly beautiful even when she cried. "James. Do you weep for your
dead lover or for your husband's life?"

Immediately, the tears stopped
and she stared at him as if she could not comprehend his words. Slowly, her
cheeks flushed an angry red and she shifted herself away from him.

"I weep because I did not
wish to see you speared," she said coldly.  "I am past weeping for
the man I loved."

A flash of emotion rippled across
his controlled face and he vaulted off the mattress. His jealousy bloomed at
her words, angered to hear that she loved another man. But he had always known she
had loved her betrothed; why should her repeated declaration upset him so?
Unbalanced, he moved for the door, anything to be free of her presence and his
confusion.

"Then go to sleep and try to
forget. And dream of your dead love if it comforts you." He could scarce
believe he added the last sentence, purely out of spite.

Peyton glared at him, confusion
and anger of her own filling her full. Her response was borne purely from
malice, for she had no doubt that he had meant to hurt her with his unfair questions.
"It does, thank you. I am glad you understand that." Once, the
statement had been true. But no longer.

Stung, Alec threw open the door
and slammed it heavily in his wake. Peyton continued to stare at the door, her
chest constricting with bitterness and puzzlement as she pondered their
exchange of words.

Why couldn't she have been honest
with him and tell him that the reason why she had become hysterical over the
brawl was because she couldn't stand to live without him? Why couldn't she have
been honest with him?

Exhausted and sick, she fell back
on the pillow and closed her eyes, feeling more confusion and ache than she
ever had.

When she dreamt, she dreamt of
Alec.     

CHAPTER TEN

The morning dawned heavy with a
humid mist and Peyton was glad for the protection of her nearly-shunned cloak.
It kept the moisture from her face as she and Alec plodded along the deserted
road, no more than three of four words spoken between them all morning. He was
brooding and silent and so was she, each puzzled by their feelings and unspoken
truths. What should have been their wedding night had been an empty, desolate
thing.

Alec had consumed far too much of
the cheap ale after leaving Peyton alone in their room and was sporting a
horrible headache. Every blow of Midas' hooves intensified the ache, matching
the pain in his heart. His mood was as gray as the weather.

The road was void of activity,
not even a peasant crossing their moody path. Alec's arm around his wife's
slender waist was unmoving and uncomforting, and Peyton would have rather
walked than face his coldness. But she was showing signs of coldness herself,
confused with the turn of events the night before and increasingly curious as
to where he had spent the night. He certainly hadn't slept with her.

She shifted on his hard thighs
and his grip unconsciously tightened to prevent her from falling off the horse.
She stiffened when he reacted to her movement, for her anger had not abated in
the least since last night and she hoped her taut body would convey her fury.
For good measure, she attempted to sit forward and put a barrier of separation
between their bodies, but unfortunately, there was nowhere for her to go on the
limited saddle.

"If you shift any further, you
are going to fall off," his voice was cold. "Remain still."

"I want to walk," she
snapped irritably, trying to wriggle free. "Let me down."

"Nay, lady, for it will only
slow our return. You will continue to ride with me."

She did not want to be cradled
against his stiff body any longer and her struggles increased. "Put me
down, Alec, I demand it."

Instead of refusing, he suddenly
removed his arm and she fell to the ground, landing on her bottom. Grunting
with the dull smarting on her backside, she rose to unsteady feet as Alec
reined Midas to a halt several feet away.

His gaze was unreadable. Before
she could rage at him, he turned Midas down the road and continued on.

Peyton watched him ride down the
deserted road, wondering to what lengths his anger would go. Would he leave her
if she were to fall far behind? Or would he demand she remount? Feeling the
need to test him, for whatever reason, she sat down on a stump and continued to
watch as Alec and Midas rode out of view.

So he would leave her. Miffed,
she angrily batted at her skirt where bits of leaves clung to the material. The
night's events repeated themselves in her mind, thoughts of Alec's warmth as he
introduced her as his wife, how his hand never left her even as they ate
supper. His voice had been tender when he spoke to her, his manner affectionate
and kind. And, he had bared his soul as they wait in the private chamber of the
monastery. The protectiveness, the attachment she felt for him, went beyond
words. Not even James had warranted such strong emotion and she wondered why she
should feel so strongly toward Alec when she professed to love James.  Mayhap
she hadn't loved James after all. Mayhap, in truth, she loved Alec.

Her sapphire blue eyes gazed down
the road, barren since Alec had disappeared. Why couldn't she have told him the
truth last night, admitting her true feelings? The only time James had ever
entered her mind during the scuffle had been when she feared that Alec would
end up impaled in the very same fashion. Other than that brief recollection,
she'd barely thought of the man at all since her introduction to Sir Alec
Summerlin.

She closed her eyes with regret;
she had been so wrong to reprimand him when he had only meant to protect her.
Her fear had raged and she had snapped at him when she should have thanked him.
Gathering her skirts and swallowing her pride, she commenced down the road
after her husband, hoping he would forgive her rash nature.

Not five minutes later, she met
Alec as he back-tracked his steps. His gaze upon her was emotionless as always
and she swallowed hard, summoning the courage to apologize for becoming angry
on their wedding night.

"Are you ready to
ride?" he asked.

She watched him for a moment.
"Do you hate me overly, Alec?"

He met her gaze, pure blue to
sapphire blue. "Nay, I do not."

"But you are angry."

His gaze faltered for the first
time and he looked away, studying his hands, the scenery. "And I should
not be?"

She shook her head. "You
have every right to be furious. I am sorry I scolded you, and I am sorry for
what I said. And.... and I do not dream of James anymore."

His expression was guarded.
"It matters not to me."

Rebuffed, she lowered her gaze as
hot tears filled her eyes. She was attempting to apologize to the man and he
was being most stubborn about it. Hurt by his indifference, she pushed past him
and continued down the road. Behind her, she could hear the clip-clops of
Midas' hooves as they followed.

She walked for some while, wiping
the tears that streamed down her face as Alec pursued at a safe distance. She
was angry that he rejected her apology, angry that he did not care about her
feelings. He had said once that he cared not if she loved him; he simply wanted
a wife who was pleasant and obedient.

She tried to reinforce her
bravery, determining if obedience and appearance was all he wanted out of a
mate, then she would oblige him. No love, no real warmth or affection. She
would strive to give him what he demanded in a spouse. An efficient machine,
the perfect chatelaine.

.... but how could she live with
the man and not become attached to him? She was already dangerously attached to
him.

"You do not dream of him
anymore?" she heard his voice behind her, barely audible.

She refused to respond and risk
greater hurt. She had no desire to speak with him at the moment, at least not
until she regained her composure.

Suddenly, Midas charged past her
and blocked the road. She stopped, refusing to look at Alec as he dismounted
his charger.

"Tell me that you do not
dream of him anymore," he said quietly.

"What do you care?"

He did not say anything for a
moment. "You are my wife. I shall not have you dreaming of another
man."

She let out a choke of disbelief,
amazed at his selfishness and arrogance. "Is that all you care about? That
I am your wife and you fear the memory of a dead man? Good lord, Alec, are you
so self-centered and insecure?"

"Nay," his voice was a
faint whisper. "You are my wife and.... I do not wish to share you. If you
dream, I would have you dream of me."

"I did dream of you!"
she cried, her voice shaking with emotion. "Dreams were all I had last
night as you saw fit to vacate our bed in favor of.... other
arrangements."

"I did not retire at all
last night. Simon and I spent the entire night recollecting the days of
glory."

She shook her head in
exasperation and pushed past him again, resuming her walk. "No more, Alec.
I am weary of this conversation."

"Peyton," he called
after her, his tone almost pleading. "Do not walk away. Please.... I am
sorry. I did not mean what I said when I told you to dream of your love."

"Aye, you meant it,"
she came to a halt. "You knew exactly how to hurt me and you did. How
would you feel if I brought up Peter maliciously? 'Twould be salt on an open
wound."

He lowered his gaze and she could
see his jaw ticking. "I am sorry. I was angry and I should not have said
what I did."

She moved toward him, slowly
closing the distance. When she was directly in front of him, she put her hands
to his face and forced him to meet her bejeweled eyes.

"Listen to me well, husband.
Last night, I was fearful for your life. I could see your guts spilled on the
floor as you fought those knights and it frightened the wits from me. Alec,
were you to die, I would never recover and the passion of my feelings has
nothing to do with James," she lowered her voice as she witnessed the soft
expression on his face. "I lived through James' death, my Alec. But I
would refuse to survive yours. There would be nothing left to live for."

His mouth worked as if he was
attempting to reply, but he gave up. "Oh, Peyton," he whispered, his
great hands rising to grasp her face. "I.... oh, Christ...."

His lips slanted over hers before
he could finish his sentence. Peyton caved into him, feeling his warm arms
embrace her protectively, the heat from his body saturating her. Once angry and
bitter, her feelings evaporated at his touch. Tongues plundered and tasted
until they were both panting from passion.

"I missed you terribly last
night," he breathed, his mouth suckling on her jaw line.

"I missed you too," she
whispered. "You were magnificent in the fight against those knights, my
Alec. You certainly do not need a sword if you can defend yourself with your
wits and strength."

"I have had to
compensate," he rasped, dragging his mouth over her neck. "Christ,
sweetheart, I want you right now."

"Now?" she repeated.
"But there's nowhere...."

She was in his arms, aloft from
the ground. He carried her across the road and into a bank of dense foliage.

"We do not need a bed,"
he said hoarsely.

He propped her against a tree and
supported her with pressure from his hips as he fumbled with her gown.
Uncertain but hot with passion, Peyton threw caution to the wind and helped him
hike up her skirts. His hands groped her, kneading her sweet flesh as his mouth
repeated plundered the honeyed depths of her mouth.

She was sure she would swoon from
his insistent onslaught as he grasped her thighs and wound them around his
waist, but it was a most pleasurable form of discomfort as the world around her
faded. She gripped him tightly as his hands left her long enough to lower his
leather breeches, then cried sharply with bliss as he grasped her buttocks
firmly.

"Are you sure you are not
too sore?" he breathed in between fevered kisses.

She could only nod, eager to feel
him inside her once "Now, Alec," she gasped.

One hand on her bottom, the other
possessively on her breast, he guided his great manhood into her drenched
sheath, sliding nearly half his length instantly. Peyton moaned from the
pleasure-pain of it, driving her hips forward to meet him. Their hips gyrated against
one another as his massive organ found its seat and they began the primal
mating rhythm.

Alec climaxed almost
immediately.  Peyton felt him throbbing within her, so highly aroused that his
spasms threw her over the brink and she cried out, gripping his shoulders so
tightly that she swore she was tearing his tunic to shreds. The delicious
convulsions she had been introduced to yesterday had returned and she latched
onto his lips as their passion slowly faded. No words were spoken as their
kisses cooled from hotly passionate to warmly affectionate, wordless reminders
of the fondness they were rapidly coming to feel for one another.

"Christ," he mumbled,
nibbling her lower lip. "What you do to me, lady."

She grinned and he kissed her
teeth, matching her smile. "We should be on our way," she said
softly.

"We should?" he suckled
her chin.

She snickered softly, regaining
her tattered senses and pushing against him. "Aye, we should. Enough for
the moment, Alec. We will have tonight."

He snorted. "If I am not thrown
into irons."

Her eyes widened with
apprehension. "Your father would do that?"

He pecked her on the tip of her
pert nose and gently lowering her to the ground. "Nay, he would not. But I
am sure to receive the scolding of my life from both of my parents."

She brushed off her skirts and
shook the chaffed bits of bark from her cloak. She was uncertain as to how she
should respond, knowing she certainly shared in the blame for their actions. 
Were there to be any punishment, she should be equally dealt.

Next to her, he had secured his
breeches and straightened his tunic. His hands were still covered with his
great leather gloves, as they had been all along, and he examined his hands
with a smirk.

"I did not even bother to
take them off," he raised them to his nose and inhaled deeply, with great
relish. "Ah, sweetheart, they smell of you, musky and spicy and womanly. I
shall surely never remove them now."

She flushed and turned away from
him, shaking her head at his crude comment. He caught up to her with a grin and
they exchanged glances, his tender and hers reproving. Laughing softly, he
grasped her hand gently and escorted her to the road where Midas was grazing
contentedly on a cluster of buttercups.

***

It was shortly after the nooning
meal when the looming structure of Blackstone appeared on the horizon. Peyton
felt her anxiety level soar at the sight, wondering what sort of chaos had
transpired since their flight to Ely. Had Ivy and Ali wed? Or had Sir Brian
punished them both in a fit of anger? And was Alec's father waiting at this
very moment, in fact, for the precise moment when they passed through the gate
in eager anticipation of severing his son's head for his disobedience?
Swallowing hard, she hoped her courage would hold out in the face of Brian's
undeniable rage.