Chapter Four #3
She frowned, contemplating his statement with the growing realization that, indeed, he appeared to have a point.
Her hostility, her anger, cooled as a dark confusion swept her; why was she even listening to the beast?
He was attempting to cloud the issue, to confuse her.
Fervently, she attempted to find a crack in his logic that she could latch on to, but there were no such footholds in his solid argument.
For whatever his appearance, she was forced to concede that his reasoning was sound.
She lowered her gaze, staring at the cracks in the wall. “My family has been in England for two hundred years. This makes me more of an Englishman than you.”
“But your roots are not indigenous to England. Nor are mine. Two hundred years or twenty years, there is no difference. Who is less of an Englishman between you and I?”
She stared at the wall a moment, mulling over his argument. Through her bafflement and anger, the strength of his wisdom rang true and she was further weakened, further crushed. But a strong portion of her still demanded to resist, to defeat him, to dash his words and his dignity.
“You are, I suppose. You are not white like the English. You are as black as sin.”
Ali gazed at her a moment, feeling her words like hammer blows in spite of his feigned indifference. He sighed imperceptibly, unlatching his helm. Removing it cleanly, he set it and the gauntlets to a small scrubbed table.
“I am indeed black, demoiselle, but sin has nothing to do with it.” He turned to her fully, crossing his arms once again as if to show her that she could not harm him with her slander.
He began to wonder if forcing her to understand his nature had been such a wise concept; the further she resisted, the further his confidence and patience was weakened.
“Look at me, Ivy.”
Hearing him speak her name sent a bolt of fire through her, shocking her, although she knew not why. Mayhap it was the fact that he had disregarded her respectful title. Or mayhap it was the fact that his voice, as rich and deep as the finest wine, caressed her name with unimagined beauty.
The latter thought never occurred to her, as truthful as it might be.
She was only aware of her pounding heart, her swirling thoughts as she resisted with every fiber of her being not to obey his command.
Opposition or not, she suddenly found herself looking at the exposed head of the black soldier.
She had only caught a glimpse of his face from beneath his raised visor, a small taste that did nothing to display his true features.
His skin was smooth and glowing, like the most exquisite polished wood, and his eyes were as black as a moonless night.
Although the shape of his features differed from those of a white male, they were nonetheless extremely well-formed.
Handsome.
Ivy found herself studying him, her gaze roving over his features, coming to rest on the kinky nest of black hair that carpeted his skull.
Ali watched her closely, his entire body taut with anticipation.
Would she turn away in disgust after a thorough inspection?
Would it merely serve to reaffirm her opinion that he was nothing short of a marginally intelligent ape?
Had he, in fact, created further damage by revealing himself to her far too soon?
Judging from her nondescript reaction, it was difficult to tell.
In faith, Ivy did not know how to respond.
Certainly, he wasn’t the hairy savage she had imagined underneath the polished armor.
Deep confusion consumed her as she found herself moving from his hair to his face once again, pondering the sculpted ebony features.
His skin was so unbelievable smooth and glossy that she repressed the urge to stroke his face purely for curiosity’s sake.
She simply had never seen anything quite so perfect and she could feel the harsh resistance fading.
Ali continued to watch her face, fighting the powerful apprehension simmering in his chest. ’Twas difficult to combat the silence he was facing, even more difficult to bear than a blatant rejection or sneer. He could meet open disapproval far more easily than stony silence.
After an eternity of uneasy hush, he could stand it no longer.
Averting his gaze, he took slow steps towards the lancet window facing onto the bailey.
Ivy’s eyes followed him closely, growing more uncomfortable with the rising bewilderment she was feeling.
She should have been disgusted by his appearance, but she simply couldn’t find it within herself to disapprove of the picture presented before her.
There was nothing distasteful about it in the least.
Underneath the window was a carved chair built for two, decorated with tapestry pillows, and Ali lowered himself carefully onto the bench.
His black eyes came up to her. “Would you sit, demoiselle?”
Her first reaction was to refuse. But something made her pause, reconsider, and she realized that she was actually contemplating his request. More than that, her legs seemed to already be moving toward him. Without knowing how or why, Ivy found herself sitting next to the black warrior.
Ali’s expression was gentle as he gazed into her blue eyes. “You are curious about me. ’Tis perfectly understandable.”
Ivy was mesmerized by the black orbs and she swallowed hard, attempting to regain the composure that was so rapidly slipping away. “I…. I have never seen a black man before.”
He smiled, revealing an even row of brilliant ivory. “You already said that.”
Ivy couldn’t help but stare at his open smile, facing the most perfect set of teeth she had ever seen.
“’Tis the truth,” she stammered. “I have never heard of your presence at Blackstone, either. How long have you lived there?”
“All of my life,” he replied, his gaze never leaving her pretty face. “I am surprised you have not heard of me. Nearly everyone in the barony is aware of my family and I.”
Ivy’s brow furrowed slightly. “I saw another black man yesterday, in the bailey at Blackstone. Was that your brother?”
“My father,” he corrected. “And my mother resides at Blackstone, as well. There are three of us.”
Ivy watched his mouth as he spoke, his delightfully smooth lips. “How odd that there are three black people at Blackstone and I have never heard the tale. You say that the entire barony is aware of your existence?”
“Indeed. Most tolerate us, but there are a few who have extended what they consider to be friendship. For the most part, they tend to ignore our presence like one would ignore a senile relative. ’Tis better to pretend that we do not exist, I suppose.”
Ivy listened to his faintly bitter statement. “How did you come to live with Lord Brian?”
Ali reclined against the arm of the chair.
“My father met Lord Brian while he was studying in the lands of the east. He and my mother accompanied Baron Rothwell back to England as sort of a mutual exchange of culture; my father, too, is a brilliant scholar and was eager to learn of the white man’s world.
It held such fascination for him that he never left. ”
Ivy listened to his voice, rich and warm, as his gentle manner eased her. Far calmer than she had been when he had first carted her into the room, she was better able to deal with him on a rational level. In fact, the rational tone of their conversation was quickly turning pleasant.
Ali watched her pretty features, reading the emotions as they rippled across her brow. He prayed fervently that she was considering his words, coming to realize that he was exactly as he described himself; a man with dark skin, born and raised in the same country that had also bred her.
She kept staring at his hair. Noting her fascination, he gently reached out and took her hand. Ivy stiffened and attempted to dislodge her fingers, but his grasp tightened.
“I shall not harm you, demoiselle, I promise,” his voice was soft. Grinning into her astonished face, he brought her rigid palm to bear on his scalp.
Ivy’s eyes widened as he vigorously brushed her hand over his coarse hair.
Ali laughed softly, a deep throaty laugh that sent chills racing down her spine.
After a moment, he released her hand and was amazed when she continued to finger his hair.
Ivy was content to experience the black hair tickle her palm until she abruptly realized that he was no longer controlling her actions; she was.
Sharply, she retracted her hand and lowered her gaze, praying desperately that he did not notice her flushed cheeks.
Ali not only noticed, he was enchanted. “Why do you look away from me? You are most beautiful when your cheeks are kissed red.”
Ivy lowered her head even further, an unconscious hand flying to her cheek. “I…. is there anything else you wished to speak with me about or is our conversation concluded?”
His smile faded, although it remained warm. “If you wish, it is concluded. I have said what I intended to say.”
Sheepishly, she slanted him a gaze, her hand still to her blazing cheek.
Over the past several minutes, she had come to realize that Ali the soldier was not the well-trained dog she had accused him of being, nor a barbarian, nor any of the other slanderous insults she had flung at him.
On the contrary; he was well-spoken, polite and gentle.
Everything a chivalrous knight should be.
Although she was still wary of his presence, her understanding of his odd appearance was beginning to grow and she was suddenly remorseful for being so cruel. He did not deserve the jeers she had been so liberal in dispensing.
But it was difficult to admit her fault and she swallowed hard before she was able to bring the words to her lips. Apologizing had never come easy for her.
“I am sorry I called you a barbarian,” she said quietly. “You had succeeded in piquing my anger, and I say a great many things when I am angry.”