The Legend (35 page)

Alec watched the small procession
enter the bailey, particularly scrutinizing the two men astride lavish
chargers. The father and son dismounted, conversing between themselves and
studying the interior of the bailey. Purposely, Alec let them wait.

"Toby, find Jacques and
Horatio.  Tell them to hasten the preparation of the chambers in the west wing
for the Warringtons."

"But those are the smallest,
dingiest rooms in the.... oh," Toby suddenly grinned, a gesture much like
his older half-brother. "Anything else?"

"Notify the kitchens that
our guests are early. Tell them we will delay dinner for three hours after the
usual time."

Toby continued to grin. "How
terribly inconsiderate. Shall I also have the stewards provide the bedchambers
with shackles and chains?"

"Not at the moment,"
Alec returned crisply. "Nails in the mattress shall suffice for now. Get
moving, lad."

Toby dashed off and Alec
continued to watch the Warringtons as they waited for a Summerlin to extend
welcome. One of the lesser stewards had already greeted them and Alec watched
the servant bow and scrape before Nigel, knowing that the excessive delay was
becoming intensely embarrassing. But he continued to linger in the doorway unobtrusively,
forcing the Warringtons to wait.

A figure suddenly appeared beside
him, resplendent in a bejeweled shade of sapphire that matched the intense
color of her eyes. Alec instinctively reached out and grasped his wife's arm.

"What are you doing
here?" he demanded softly.

Peyton looked quite innocent. And
quite determined. "Your mother is unable to attend her guests and I, as
your wife, shall greet them in her stead."

Alec let out a hiss. "Do you
think that entirely wise?"

"Of course," she said
briskly. "What are you waiting for?"

He gazed down at her, from head
to toe the loveliest woman he had ever laid eyes on. It was enough to melt him
to the core.

"I cannot say that I agree
with you," he said softly. "Especially in light of the fact that one
of our 'guests' happens to be a spurned groom."

Peyton's brilliant eyes trailed
to the bustling bailey, dust swirling through the air and clinging to the
clothing of their visitors. "I am not concerned in the least with Colin
Warrington's feelings, Alec. I am your wife, as I should be. If Colin cannot
accept the fact, it is his misfortune."

Alec could force her to return to
her room, of course, as he suspected he should. But something deep in his soul
wanted the Warringtons to see her, to know that she was his, and to know how
proud he was to have her. His intention was not to flaunt her in their face as
one would a coveted prize; precisely, he wanted them to see that he considered
her far more than a trophy. He considered her the only woman worthy to be his
wife.

"All right, then," he
said quietly. "But you will allow me to do the talking. Do you comprehend
me?"

"Aye," she nodded,
although he wondered if she meant it.

But he did not press her for her
vow to curb her tongue. Instead, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow
and stepped into the bailey.

Colin and Nigel were riveted to
her from the moment she exited the castle and Alec felt himself stiffen at the
attention. But he maintained his outward calm, approaching with Peyton on his
arm and eyeing the Warringtons as if they were a lower life form.

"My lords," he said in
his low, rich voice. "I am Sir Alec Summerlin and this is my wife, the
Lady Peyton. I bid you welcome to Blackstone."

Colin and Nigel barely looked at
him; they were entirely focused on Peyton as she curtsied with polished grace.

"Where is your father?"
Nigel asked, his tone cold.

"Indisposed," Alec
replied with equal hardness. "Your party is early and he has more pressing
duties to attend to at the moment."

Nigel continued to stare at
Peyton, who kept her gaze properly averted. "You are looking exceptionally
well, Lady Peyton. I haven't seen you in many years."

She merely nodded and Nigel made
a move toward her, extending his hand. Alec saw that he was moving to grasp her
chin, to force her to look at him, and he pulled her out of the man's range.

"That," he growled,
"would not be a wise move, my lord. No man touches my wife but me."

Nigel looked to Alec, his blue
eyes narrowing. "Considering you are speaking of stolen property, you are
hardly in a position to make demands. Lady Peyton was meant for my son, as you
well know, and I cannot tell you how displeased the House of Warrington is at
this blatant thievery."

"Lady Peyton was originally
intended for me, my lord, but you had no way of knowing that when you sent your
missive requesting her hand. Plans for our marriage had already been made some
time ago."

Nigel snorted, his eyes trailing
to Peyton once again. This time, she was looking at him openly, hostility
simmering in the depths of the sapphire blue eyes. He smiled thinly. "It
certainly did not take you an over amount of time to find another husband after
the death of Deveraux. As I hear it, the two of you were inseparable. You were
at the tournament in Norwich when he was killed, were you not? How tragic for
you."

To her surprise, Peyton did not
flinch. She felt a good deal of anger at his attempt to upset her, but none of
the hollow grief she associated with James' death. It was amazing that she
wasn't dissolving into tears at the mere sound of his name.

"Indeed," was all she
said.

Alec did not look at her, his
fury rising over Nigel's bid to unnerve her. But he was immensely pleased that
she did not respond to his jibe, as he had asked her not to. She was silent, as
promised, allowing her husband to handle the situation.

Nigel laughed softly at her lack
of reaction. "Surely with all of that red hair you cannot be so cold
hearted. I express my condolences for the passing of your beloved betrothed and
all you can say is 'indeed'? Shocking."

Her composure slipped somewhat,
replaced by building anger. When she spoke, it was with carefully measured
tones. "I neither want nor care for your condolences, my lord. I am here
on behalf of my husband’s mother to bid you welcome to Blackstone, not to hear
your prevaricating blather."

Alec almost smiled, but he fought
it. Nigel raised a disapproving eyebrow at Peyton's tone as Colin stepped
forward, appraising her as if she were a prize mare.

"Let us hope that your new
husband is able to impart some manners into your refractory nature," he
said in a low voice. "Be glad, in that case, that you did not marry me.
Beauty of no, I would have taken your hide off at the first sign of
insolence."

Peyton's beautiful face glazed
with animosity. Good lord, how she hated this man! Certainly she had promised
Alec that she would not speak overly, and until this point she'd handled
herself exceptionally well. But to stand so close to the hated Colin Warrington
eroded her will power and she couldn't resist jabbing his arrogance. 

"You are not man
enough."

Colin twitched menacingly in her
direction. Alec was driving his fist into the younger Warrington's face before
he took another breath, sprawling the man on the dirt in less than a second.
Nigel yelped and shielded his son protectively as Peyton pressed herself to
Alec, struggling to stop him from doing any further damaged to Brian's guests.

Throughout all of Peyton's
pleading and Nigel's protests, Brian chose that moment to exit the castle,
taking a mere two steps onto the loose dirt of the bailey as the horrific scene
unfurled before him.

"Alec!"

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

"You did not have to hit
him," Peyton said softly.

Alec stood by the windows as a
soft breeze caressed his heated face. A second cup of St. Cloven dark ale
rested in his massive palm and he could feel his wife's warm hand on his arm.

"He was a threat to
you," he said simply.

Peyton laid her cheek against his
broad back, winding her arms around his narrow waist. "He was no threat to
me, my Alec, not with you as my protector. You truly did not have to strike
him."

He shrugged, his only answer, and
drained his cup. She felt his huge palm enclose her two hands clasped at his
waist. "I suppose I should retreat downstairs and apologize for my rash
actions."

"Nay, darling, you will stay
here until your father sends for you," she replied evenly. "Your
father will do a better job of calming the Warringtons without your presence.
Let them cool before you go charging in."

He contemplated the world outside
his chamber window a moment longer before turning to capture Peyton in his
arms, breaking a smile at the sight of her lovely face. "I do not
charge."

"Aye, you do," she said
firmly, winding her arms around his neck. "You do indeed charge and you
are faster than a bolt of lightning. I never saw you move and suddenly, Colin
was writhing in the dirt."

He lifted his shoulders. "As
I have said, I have learned to compensate because I no longer carry a sword. I
have learned to fight with my hands and feet. I simply must be quicker than
anyone else because a man with a blade is given a heavy advantage
automatically. If I do not move faster than my enemy, my life is forfeit."

She sighed and shook her head,
eyeing him with disapproval.  "You father did not need this added stress,
you know. He has enough to deal with."

Alec looked remorseful for the
first time. "I realize that. But I was defending you and I do not regret
my protective instincts. Had I not moved, he most likely would have injured you
somehow."

She smiled. "I am not afraid
of him, my darling. Not with you to defend my honor."

He smiled weakly and she pinched
him lightly on the cheek. He caught her mirth and squeezed her tightly,
brushing her lips with his own a couple of times before slanting over them
hungrily.

To think of Colin Warrington in
possession of such sweetness and beauty drove him crazed with fury, emotions he
funneled into his kiss and in no time he had her aloft in his arms, heading for
his bed. Peyton sensed his passion, fed off it, and her own lust quickly
blossomed.

But their desire would have to
wait. Just as he reached the bed, there was a heavy rap on his door and he tore
his mouth away from his wife reluctantly.

"Who comes?" he
demanded.

"'Tis me, Alec."

Peyton looked at him
questioningly as he lowered her to the ground. "Toby," he told her,
moving for the door.

Toby looked embarrassed for his
intrusion as if he had known exactly what they were doing behind the closed
door.

"Your father requests your
presence in the solar," he said softly, his blue eyes passing to Peyton
shyly. "And I am to take your lady wife to assist your mother."

"Rachel still has not
delivered?" Alec asked, concerned.

Toby shook his head. "Not
yet. Your mother is exhausted and your father requests that your wife relieve
her of her duties while she rests."

Peyton nodded firmly. "Of
course," she said, although she was unnerved by the prospect; she'd never
attended a woman in birth. Other than a horse, she'd never even seen a birth
and she was horrified and fascinated by the mysteries it held. But in the same
breath, she also felt a sense of maturity. As if being a wife entitled her to
the privileges of seasoned, knowledgeable women, and she was anxious to join
their ranks. 

Even though she was aware that
the child was most likely a stillborn, she was nonetheless willing, and frightened,
to accept the challenge. Lady Celine was depending on her assistance and she
would not disappoint. 'Twas her duty, as Alec's wife, and she eager to prove
her worth to the House of Summerlin in an attempt to offset the impulsive
action of their elopement. She had every intention of bravely meeting her new
duties, no matter how potentially disturbing they might be.

As they moved for the door, she
fought back her natural apprehension and turned to her husband. "Are you
going to be all right without me?"

"Yes, love, I shall be
fine," he assured her, bordering on mockery.

She raised an eyebrow at him.
"Do not be glib. I am serious."

"As am I," he grinned,
kissing her sweetly on the cheek.  "Toby, take good care of my wife."

"Aye, my lord," Toby
replied softly.

Alec boot falls faded down the
hall and Peyton turned to Toby, scrutinizing his features for traces of Alec.
She saw a good deal of her husband in the muscular young knight, only three
years older than herself. Toby caught her open appraisal and knew instantly
that Alec had told her of their blood relations. Usually shy and reserved, he
found himself studying her in return. Christ, she was a beautiful creature.

"May I show you to Lady
Rachel's room?" he asked respectfully.

She nodded, taking his proffered
arm. "Thank you, sir knight."

He smiled, blushing brightly.
"My pleasure, Lady Summerlin."

Considering Alec had righteously
pounded the man, Colin did not look overly bruised. There was a huge swollen
nodule on his jaw, but other than that he appeared in good health. He stood in
Brian's solar with a cup of fine St. Cloven ale in hand, disdainfully watching
the activity in the bailey as Baron Rothwell and his father conversed tensely.

Alec's blow could not have come
at a worse time. With Nigel outraged at Peyton's marriage, it certainly had not
helped matters that the new husband had pummeled the would-be suitor. Nigel
forewent any casual greetings, delving directly into his protests that Colin
had not been given a fair chance to win the fair maiden's hand and furthermore
stating his displeasure that Ivy had been offered as compensation.

Brian, irritated with the man's
commanding attitude and haughty manner, informed him with a shade of
satisfaction that Ivy's offer had been withdrawn due to a previous betrothal
contract Albert himself had made, a arrangement Brian had been unaware of until
most recently. A lie, of course, but it was a falsehood that would hopefully
deter Nigel from an all-out declaration of war. He was angry enough to have
lost the heiress, but to lose the sister as well was a considerable insult.

Brian sent for Alec early into
the meeting simply for the fact that Alec's presence could not infuriate Nigel
and Colin any more than they already were; moreover, Alec was a calming
influence on his father and Brian was not entirely in control of his emotions
at the moment. Alec's elopement and Rachel's labor had him on the edge. When
Alec entered the solar, characteristically in control of his outward composure,
Brian felt a good deal of relief.

Other than a disinterested
glance, Colin paid Alec little attention. Nigel, however, spent a good deal of
time glaring at the massive man as he vigorously protested his treatment from
the entire House of Summerlin. Alec dutifully apologized for his lapse in
manners but did not go so far as to apologize for the action of striking Colin.
From the look on his son's face, Brian knew there was no amount of pleading
that could convince him to apologize for preserving his wife's safety.

And it was also readily apparent
to Brian that Alec's body was tense even if his expression held firm, an
unusual state for his son to acquire. He was well aware that the taut stance
was on behalf of his wife, and further on behalf of Ali and Ivy. With Colin in
the room, Alec was very much on his guard, but it was more than that; Brian
sensed a good deal of animosity.

He was extremely unnerved by the
emotions radiating from Alec; he'd never known Alec to radiate any sort of
emotion and it made a difficult situation all the more trying. He had hoped
that Alec would inject a certain amount of control into the setting; obviously,
he had been wishing for naught and he felt his superior hold slipping.

"Tell me, my lord," it
was the first time Colin had spoken since entering the solar. "Is the Lady
Ivy already married?"

"Nay," Brian replied.
"We have planned the ceremony for this evening."

Colin turned away from the
window, his large green eyes glittering. Alec studied him; he was tall and
muscularly lean, not unattractive in the least. He would have been handsome had
it not been for the simple fact that evil seemed to emit from him like a vile
smell. 

Alec remembered coming upon Colin
once or twice in his youth, before he was sent away to Northwood to foster, but
little beyond that. They had never remotely been friends, mostly for the fact
that Colin seemed to have a hostile attitude toward Ali. Alec possessed a vague
memory of a five-year-old Colin Warrington calling Ali a hairy demon. It was a
recollection that still bore weight.

"Who is she betrothed
to?" Colin asked.

Brian folded his hands on his
desk, his face calm and steady. "Ali Boratu."

"The black beast who calls
himself a man?" Nigel said incredulously. "God's Balls, Summerlin,
you might as well have married her to a horse!"

Brian waited for Alec to tear
both Nigel and Colin limb from limb and was mildly surprised when no rage was
forthcoming. A glance at his son showed his face as unreadable as always, yet
the veins in his neck were throbbing distinctly.

"Ali is a decent man with
some wealth and a most fitting mate for the second daughter of a lesser
knight," Brian explained evenly. "The betrothal has been inked for
quite some time."

"Then why did you offer Lady
Ivy in Lady Peyton's stead if she was already betrothed?" Nigel demanded,
a balled fist on his thigh.

Brian blinked slowly in a show of
lagging patience. "As I told you, I was unaware that Albert had arranged a
marriage contract between Ivy and Ali. The transaction was made through Ali's
father, Olphampa."

"How long ago?" Nigel
insisted.

"I am not sure. It occurred
after Ivy lost her innocence to Ali."

Colin looked at his father, the
men exchanging shocked glances. After a moment, Nigel looked to Brian,
considerably less combative. "Nonetheless, if they are not married, the
contract can still be broken. My son, as heir to Wisseyham Keep, carries a far
more attractive inheritance than a mere soldier."

"She carries his
child," Alec chimed in emotionlessly. Lie or not, he would not allow Nigel
to negotiate the point.

"Nothing a brew of parsley
cannot take care of," Colin addressed him impassively, his evil eyes
bright. "Something I have heard her insane aunt can administer quite
well."

"I will not condone an
abortion," Brian said sharply. "The church frowns upon such action,
as you well know. The dissolution of Lady Ivy and Ali's marriage contract is
not up for discussion and I do apologize that you come a long way to face
disappointment."

Nigel sat very still, pondering
Brian on the other side of the desk. The room itself stilled as the future was
mulled over by the four men and Alec began to hope that the meeting with the
Warringtons would draw to a relatively bloodless close. The sooner they were
out of Blackstone, the better for all.

"Might I have a word with
you alone, my lord?" Nigel asked, almost politely. "Away from our
sons' ears."

Brian glanced at Alec, who
shrugged vaguely. It was obvious that Brian was seeking Alec's reassurance that
there would be no brawl were the two younger men left alone, and Brian appeared
confident that Alec would make no aggressive action providing Colin was wise
enough to keep his mouth shut. Yet it did not go unnoticed by Alec that his
father's pallor had changed to a pasty yellow as he rose stiffly from his desk.

"Outside," Brian said
shortly.

Nigel rose and followed him out
into the foyer. Brian continued into the main dining hall, vacant of servants
or soldiers, and indicated for Nigel to take a seat at the end of the long
scrubbed table. Nigel glanced about the room, fresh with rushes and scented
with dried herbs in earthenware pots. Slowly, he perched on the edge of the
bench.

Brian refused to look at him,
turmoil wrenching his guts. God help him, he knew what was coming and he knew
there was nothing he could do against it. Dark secrets were about to be
discussed, secrets he attempted to pretend did not exist.

Which was why he avoided the
Warringtons at all costs. Aye, he knew full well of the dispute between Nigel
and Albert, and he had heard rumor of the atrocities the Warringtons were accused
of committing. It was difficult not to have heard the accusations, being liege
of the barony where the crimes were taking place. But he had ignored the
rumors, tucking the facts far back in his mind and turning an ignorant eye to
the heinous acts. He rationalized his action by convincing himself that if
Albert de Fluornoy had not formally asked for his help, then the villiens must
be spinning tales to create unrest. Villiens were a stupid lot with an
overactive imagination, were they not?