Chapter One #3
“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,” her 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 nonexistent 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.”
Alec’s gaze was open, steady. “What you were going to say is that this is my best chance for a powerful marriage considering no one wants a coward for a groom. Since the de Courtenays broke my engagement, there hasn’t been another offer.
No one wants a husband who refuses to bear arms. Isn’t that what you were leading to? ”
Brian turned away. “I have never chastened you your decision, lad.”
“But I was a supreme disappointment,” Alec said softly. “I was your shining star, your proudest achievement until I killed Peter. I have never regretted my decision not to ever again wield a sword, Da.”
“I know,” Brian said softly. “But your brother’s death was an accident, Alec. Ali was there; even he says it was an accident. There was no reason why you should make such a vow of restraint. ’Tis every man’s duty to bear arms to defend what is his, to protect his interests. Surely you….”
“We have had this discussion before,” Alec said quietly. “I shall never bear a sword again. Ever. Now, back to Lady Patton….”
“Lady Peyton,” Brian corrected him. “She is twenty-one years old, betrothed once before to a knight who was killed nearly a year ago.”
“Peyton, Patton, whatever. I have no interest in marriage.”
“Not even to the wealth of St. Cloven?” Brian knew that Alec had a mind for money and investments; surely the thought of wealth could lure him.
Alec stood up, all six and a half feet of him.
He was Brian’s largest son, the most powerful man he had ever seen.
His sheer height was compounded by enormous muscles, the result of years of physical work and training.
When Alec had wielded a sword, there was not a man who could defeat him.
King Edward knew it, else he would not have appointed Alec as one of his premier warriors.
There was not a man in the civilized world who could have bested Alec Summerlin in a sword fight.
When the man swore off fighting, it had been a tremendous blow to the Christian army of Edward.
Brian watched his son stroll leisurely to the window, once so proud of the man. He still loved him dearly; he was the only normal son he had left. Paul, the eldest, had the mental capacity of a child. With his second eldest son dead, Alec was his salvation.
“Her wealth is so great?” Alec asked.
“St. Cloven pulls in nearly 5,000 marks of gold each year for her ale sales. Her coffers are overloaded.”
Alec looked at his father, a lifted eyebrow indicating interest. “But I have to marry Lady Patton to obtain this money.”
“Aye, you do,” his father said firmly. “We will not bargain over this, Alec. You will do as I ask, for once. You will marry Lady Peyton and administer St. Cloven’s ale stores.”
Alec’s pure blue eyes were cool. Brian gazed back, trying to anticipate the next barrage of refusals, but in truth, there was nothing more to say. He had been quite plain with his wants; they both had.
God only knew how stubborn Alec could be; Brian had never seen a more stubborn man, nor willful, nor controlled.
All of these things were his son, a man who had once been the greatest swordsman in the realm.
The Legend, they had called him. Legendary skill, strength, size, power… . all of it was his.