Chapter Two #4
Still, he was different. Even if Alec and Peter accepted him regardless of the color of his skin, the same could not be said for some of the Englishmen he worked, lived, and slept with.
Some of the young squires readily accepted his difference while others did not.
Once, Ali had grown frantic with the bigotry and had tried to lighten his skin by applying an arsenic paste.
The only result had been a terrible sickness, and Alec had forced him to promise that he would never try anything so foolish again.
It had been a promise not easily extracted. Even if the paste hadn’t worked, he refused to give up. England was, after all, his home and he desperately wanted to be sanctioned by those around him. All he had ever wanted was to be accepted.
Even as his color hindered the process of growing from a lad into a young man, he tried his best to maintain his dignity. But when it came time for him to be inducted into the knighthood, the deepest blow was yet to come. The church would not overlook the color of his skin.
It would have been different had he been the bastard son of a king or a duke, but he wasn’t.
Brian had battled viciously on Ali’s behalf.
So had the knight for whom he had squired and his liege where he had fostered.
But the church was firm, and the apostolic delegate reaffirmed the original decision.
Ali, due to his lineage, was not a candidate for the knighthood.
Twelve years later, he was still bitter.
Especially in lieu of the fact that King Edward had considered him a fine enough soldier to accompany Alec on the advance team to Acre, clearing the way for the monarch’s approach.
A man with no true country, no true people, faced the biting truth of his difference every day of his life.
Alec broke into his thoughts, jolting him from the all too familiar anguish. “Mayhap Isabeau’s father will allow you to dance with her this eve. What harm can one dance do?”
Ali sighed, wrestling against the habitual depression that usually accompanied his deeper reflections of dissimilarity. “It can destroy my soul. To hold in my arms what I can never have? Nay, my friend, I do not believe Lady Isabeau and I will be doing any dancing tonight.”
A small black man emerged from the innards of the castle, making his way towards the two inordinately tall young men. He smiled amiably as he caught sight of his son and the youngest Summerlin male.
“Olphampa,” Alec scolded. “Father will have fits if he sees you are not properly dressed for his orgy.”
“Party, Alec,” Ali reminded him, forcing himself from his gloom.
“Sorry. I meant party,” Alec corrected himself, winking at Ali as he gestured at Olphampa. “Why are you not dressed in the ordered colors?”
“You are not in the commanded colors either,” Olphampa pointed to Alec’s sapphire blue tunic. “What did your mother say when she saw that you had refused to wear red?”
“She hasn’t said anything – yet. When she comes toward me, I make haste and run the other way.”
Olphampa laughed deeply. “She shall box your ears when she catches you,” he turned his attention to his son.
“Which brings me to the point, Ali. The de Fluornoy’s left a satchel in their rooms and it is full of belts and other valuable accessories.
I suspect it will be sorely missed when discovered. ”
“Indeed,” Ali agreed. “I suppose I should return it to them before the celebration begins.”
“Absolutely,” Alec agreed. “If you do not, they might be forced to turn about and seeing them within my beloved bailey one time was quite enough. I have no desire to experience a second encounter.”
Ali made a wry face. “Good lord, no. I shall return it right away.”
A figure in scarlet silk appeared in the castle entrance and Alec caught sight of his mother’s displeased face immediately. Rather than face her wrath as a result of his negligent host duties, he gave Ali a shove in the direction of the stables.
“I shall go with you,” he told his friend. When Ali looked puzzled, Alec gave him another shove. “For protection.”
Ali caught sight of Lady Celine and understood. “And in return, I shall protect you from your mother? Hardly a fair trade.”
Olphampa turned to see Lady Celine scowling at her son. “I shall retrieve the satchel and meet you at the gate!” he called to the retreating men. “Cowards,” he muttered as they fled.
Alec, mounted aboard his magnificent silver destrier, accompanied Ali and four soldiers down the road St. Cloven’s party had taken.
The warmth of the weather brought out the fragrance of the summer flowers and they rode through heady pockets of jasmine and primrose.
The ride to St. Cloven was at least three hours, but Alec estimated they would catch up within the hour for as slow as the party was traveling.
A minor errand, and then a night filled with drinking and merriment to follow.
After only a half hour, St. Cloven’s group was sighted and Alec spurred his horse faster. The sooner they dealt with the unpleasantries of the de Fluornoy sisters, the sooner they could return. Ali shouted to the caravan and slowly, the wagon ground to a halt as the chargers closed in.
Alec reined his horse toward the wagon, his eyes finding the turquoise blue gown of the older sister.
The woman that had once been considered to be a prospective wife until, thankfully, he and his father had been slapped to their senses.
With a deep breath for courage, he reined his horse in the direction of the blue dress.
“My lady,” he began in his deep, melodious voice. “When you left Blackstone, this valuable bag was left behind and….”
His eyes came up reluctantly to meet her face and when their gazes locked, he almost choked on his tongue. His eyes widened in surprise as he stared into sapphire blue eyes of such intensity that they took his breath away.
But it wasn’t merely the eyes; the porcelain face of curvaceous lips and pinkened cheeks was utterly beautiful and he heard an appreciative sigh, unaware that it had come from his own throat.
The woman before him possessed beauty only given credence to in myth; she certainly wasn’t the hideous hag that he had met up with at Blackstone.
But he had been understandably lured by the blue dress…
. the red hair…. Alec was suddenly very confused.
“I apologize, my lady,” his brow furrowed.
“I was looking for St. Cloven’s party. Is this not…
?” he glanced at the wagon; aye, it was the same wagon.
And the soldiers were familiar, clad in fine tunics of St. Cloven gold and black.
And the sister, dressed in yellow…. he observed a very pretty face of clear skin and blue eyes and was deeply puzzled.
He found himself turning back to the woman in the turquoise gown, once again enraptured by her utterly divine features.
“Is this not St. Cloven’s party?” he asked.
Peyton’s gaze was fastened to him firmly; she could not have torn her eyes away had she tried.
Blond hair, a granite jaw and piercing sky-blue eyes left her gasping for every breath.
Had he not been so tremendously large, she would have considered him extremely handsome.
Masculine, powerful, virile…. everything a man should be.
It was a magnificent combination and she would have been completely enchanted had she not been swept with darker, guiltier thoughts.
She couldn’t consider him handsome. Only James was handsome.
Peyton struggled against her bafflement to form a reply. “It is,” she responded as evenly as she could. “Where is our bag?”
Alec motioned lamely to Ali, who rode up beside the wagon and deposited the satchel neatly amongst the packs. Moving beyond puzzlement to suspicion, Alec returned his attention to Peyton.
“Who are you?”
She hesitated a moment. “You will tell me your name first, my lord. I do not speak with strangers.”
“Sir Alec Summerlin.”
Peyton’s eyes widened. Jubil’s Sir Alec!
Good lord, their brilliant scheme would be ruined if she revealed her name!
She could feel a nervous sweat glossing her back as she glanced to Ivy’s anxious face; even her sister knew there was no possibility out of their predicament.
Being an intelligent man, he had most likely surmised his own answer and she suspected additional falsehoods would not be well received.
He heard her sigh heavily. “Lady Peyton de Fluornoy.”
Alec eyed her a moment before leaning against the pommel of his saddle, scratching his head with confusion.
“But…. what in the hell was all of that back at Blackstone? The fighting, the grotesque appearance?” His confusion suddenly gave way to annoyance and he cocked a stern eyebrow.
“I would hear a plausible explanation, lady.”
Peyton’s nervousness moved to her hands and caused them to shake. “I….I know not what you mean, my lord.”
Alec’s irritation became full-blown with her evasive answer. In the blink of an eye, he dismounted his destrier and moved to Peyton’s small palfrey. In a great whoosh of turquoise silk, Peyton was removed from the animal and she yelped in surprise.
“Unhand me, beast!” she found herself in the most powerful grip she had ever experienced.
“Not until I have had an explanation,” his voice was calm and characteristically controlled.
Ivy bolted from her horse to aid her sister but was immediately halted by an armored figure. Ali had hold of the big woman and was not surprised to discover her to be extremely strong. “Hold, demoiselle,” he commanded quietly.
Infuriated and frightened, Ivy took a swing at his helm and cried out when the metal bruised her fist. Undaunted, she took to kicking and twisting in his grasp, but he simply tightened his grip.
Around them, the St. Cloven soldiers tensed but were quickly quelled by well-armed Summerlin men. And through it all, Jubil sat atop the wagon and smiled foolishly.