Chapter Two #3
“This will take the powder and charcoal off your skin easily,” she said, taking the linen her niece held and wiping at her cheek. “’Tis a mixture of calendula and chamomile in lard base. I also have a mud and honey mask that will thoroughly cleanse your skin.”
“Let’s get this powder off and return home,” Peyton put her fingers into the cleansing cream. “Then we will submit to your mud and honey mask.”
The scrubbing and rubbing went on for the better part of an hour until both girls were fresh-scoured and bright as gold.
Peyton brushed the leaves and dirt out of her hair before securing it at the nape of her neck with a pretty ribbon.
Feeling infinitely cleaner and light of mood, she demanded her sister make haste and finish her toilette so that they could make it home by nightfall.
Ivy stuck her tongue out at her sister as Jubil combed at a particularly nasty snarl in her blond hair.
Peyton laughed at her sister’s discomfort, taking the time to glance about the Cambridgeshire countryside and breathing in the freshness of summer.
The scent of indigenous blossoms filled the air; wild jasmine, foxgloves and hemlock lined the road.
Mustard was abundant as well as wild primroses.
Yellow wild dill grew in great clusters and Peyton turned her eyes upward to the cotton-puff clouds that skirted across the blue sky. Aye, it had turned into a fine day.
“I could scarce believe when Lord Brian told us to return home,” she remarked to Ivy.
Ivy laughed, running her fingers through her newly-silken blond hair. “Did you see the expression on his face when I picked at my nose? I almost burst into hysterics.”
Peyton laughed again. “It was worth all of the embarrassment to see his reaction. We are fine actresses, darling.”
Ivy nodded in agreement and moved for her leggy horse. Jubil, meanwhile, was still fussing with her medicines.
“I must know if there will be any retribution,” Jubil was mumbling. “Lord Brian may see fit to punish us for our behavior. Or he might see to kill us all together and annex St. Cloven.”
“There will be no reparation, Jubil,” Peyton said calmly. “He shall simply forget about his appalling vassals.”
But Jubil busied herself with her medicaments while the party waited impatiently. “Did you see Alec? He has grown since the last I saw him.”
“Who is Alec?” Peyton asked.
“Why, Alec Summerlin, of course,” Jubil exclaimed, holding a vial aloft as she inspected the contents. “The Legend himself.”
Peyton and Ivy glanced at each other. “What are you talking about, Jubil?” Peyton asked with growing annoyance.
Jubil apparently found what she was looking for and set to stirring the mixture into a small pewter bowl.
“King Edward labeled Alec Summerlin ‘The Legend’ because of his skill with a broadsword,” she said as she stirred.
“He saw action in the Seventh Crusade with his father and Edward when he was still a prince. But he returned from Jerusalem prematurely and it is said he has not wielded a sword since, although I have not heard why. ’Twas said the man could cut an enemy in two with one clean stroke. ”
“And just where did you hear that wild tale?” Peyton lifted an eyebrow.
“Out collecting,” Jubil informed her. “I have met up with villeins and squatters who’ve told tale of The Legend. He would have been the greatest warrior England had ever seen had he not surrendered his arms.”
Her aunt called it “collecting”; gathering ingredients for her witches brews and potions.
Henbane, periwinkle, foxgloves and ground ivy for a variety of medicinal and clairvoyant needs.
Thorn apples, nightshade, monkshood, white water lily and hemlock for magical purposes.
Jubil also kept a garden in which she grew verrain, an herb, and ryegrass for the purpose of medicinal ergot, a fungus which grew on the grass.
Jubil glanced at her eldest niece as she prepared her potion. “He was standing ’fore you, Peyton. He is the one who pulled you out from underneath the wagon. Did you not see him?”
Peyton thought a moment, and then shrugged. “The sun was in my eyes, but I saw his legs…. I think. I saw legs as big around as my entire body.”
“That was him,” Jubil nodded confidently. “A big brute, he is.”
Peyton snorted. “Big, indeed. He must be a monster.”
“But did you look at his face, Peyton?” Jubil looked up from her implements insistently. “He is a beautiful man indeed. Beautiful!”
Peyton and Ivy looked at each other, smiling at Jubil’s declaration. Peyton leaned forward on the pommel of her saddle, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “My, my, Jubil. He warms your blood, does he not?”
Jubil snorted, shaking her faded blond head. “No man warms my blood or my body, little goats.”
Peyton and Ivy laughed heartily at Jubil’s expense, but their aunt ignored them as she finished merging her potion. Satisfied she had the proper parts and elements, the ladies watched with fading mirth as Jubil downed the contents in a pewter cup.
“There!” Jubil smacked her lips and put away her things. “By tonight we will know what the future holds.”
Ivy shook her head. “More visions.”
Peyton gathered the reins on her palfrey, her attention turning for home and eager to make haste before Jubil veered out of control.
*
Alec had forgotten about the de Fluornoy horror and was engrossed in conversation with Lord Whittlesee and his son Arthur.
Blackstone was full of friends and allies that Alec hadn’t seen in quite some time and he was becoming swept up with the festive atmosphere, completely disregarding the original purpose of the party.
It had been meant for him to meet and approve of his future wife; instead, the pressure was off of him and he could look forward to the celebration with relief. Ali, too, seemed much more congenial knowing he would not have to accept a wife this night.
Ali was in charge of the arriving company while Alec was overseeing the guests that had already situated themselves and were wandering the halls of Blackstone waiting for the celebration to begin.
Alec had been corralled inside the castle since before dawn, the only exception being when he had gone outside to break up the tussle between the de Fluornoy sisters, and he was frankly eager to catch a breath of fresh air before delving into the social presentation of the evening’s festivities.
Alec liked social events, providing he was not required to attend more than twice a year, but he was hard-pressed to keep conversations going and act the perfect host. His nature was far more reserved, bordering on shy, and twice his mother had shot him reproving glances from across the room when he appeared to be neglecting his duties.
Excusing himself from Lord Whittlesee and his mother’s piercing gaze, he made his way out to the manicured bailey and drew in a deep breath of July.
Dressed in fine black breeches, black leather boots and a tastefully embroidered brilliant blue tunic, he resisted the urge to rip off his fancy clothing as he entered the familiar courtyard.
Silks and satins were not his taste in dress, simply his mother’s command during this social event. He felt like a court dandy.
“I have not had a chance to tell you how lovely you look,” Ali purred seductively, strolling up behind him.
Alec raised a dark blond brow. “Thank you, lover. Might I say I find men in armor most arousing. Come closer; I must have you now.”
“Stop it, Alec, you will have me blushing,” Ali raised his visor, grinning a full smile of brilliant white teeth.
They smirked at each other, mutually trained gazes roving the bailey to make sure all was running smoothly.
Nearly all the guests invited had arrived and soon they would close the gates, protecting the valuable houses inside.
With parties as large as this, thieves were not far off and a full complement of soldiers would be mounted on the wall to discourage raiders.
“Did you see Isabeau?” Ali asked softly. “Why did not you tell me she was invited?”
Alec did not look at him, lifting his massive shoulders carelessly. “Because it would have upset you prematurely. As it is, you have only been unnerved since you saw her but an hour ago.”
Ali drew in a deep, steady breath. “Her father actually spoke to me. What a surprise.”
Alec glanced at his friend. Ali had been in love with the fair Lady Isabeau for as long as he could remember.
But her father, a lesser baron with a large grain mill, had forbid Ali any contact with his only daughter.
Isabeau was promised to be married come the fall and Ali was still having difficulty coming to grips with the fact.
In a land of whites, his suit had been outright rejected because of his color and although the refusal had not been a surprise, the knowledge of prejudice did nothing to ease the ache.
Young Ali Boratu grew up the only black child among whites, reminded every day of his life of his difference.
Dark-skinned people in England were rare and the English looked at the black-skinned lad as somewhat of a great curiosity, something to be scrutinized and studied.
To this day, Ali continued to struggle with the prejudice that plagued him from those too ignorant to realize he was a man, like any other.
In spite of his distinction, Ali went the usual route of a noble-bred lad.
Brian had managed to convince a relative, the Earl of Havenwood, that the young black lad was intelligent and should be allowed his education.
Ali had been able to foster along with Alec and Peter, but growing up amongst arrogant English lads had been a daily struggle against intolerance and hatred.
It had been more of an education than he could have possibly imagined.
But as the years passed, he managed to prove his worth somewhat and had even squired for a very fine knight.