Chapter Six
Peyton awoke to a dark room and an empty bed. Groggily, she rolled about in search of Ivy, but her sister was nowhere to be found. Puzzled and concerned, she crawled from the great bed and moved to the window, gazing sleepily over the bailey.
The courtyard was completely silent. A handful of soldiers stood watch on the battlements and the moon was gone from the sky, indicative of the late hour. Scratching her head, Peyton turned away from the window and focused on her aunt. Wide-eyed and hypnotized, Jubil never slept while entranced.
She hadn’t seen her aunt in nearly two days and was not surprised to realize that the woman probably hadn’t moved a muscle during that time.
Jubil sat where they had left her, beside the lancet windows in a mindless fog.
She and Ivy had briefly entertained the idea of taking Jubil with them when they had fled the previous evening, but their aunt was in no condition to make an escape.
Leaving the older woman to the graciousness of their liege had been a difficult decision, but a necessary one in their opinion.
“Where’s Ivy?” she asked as if Jubil could gaze into the mystic vapors and locate her errant sister.
Jubil did not reply and Peyton ran her fingers through her mussed hair irritably.
The potions Jubil ingested usually wore off in two or three days, but her aunt was still exhibiting signs of full entrancement.
Different potions caused her to display various characteristics, like continuous laughter or catatonic states.
Jubil was still flying high with this most recent concoction and Peyton was losing her patience.
“Jubil, what did you take this time?” she leaned down and shook her aunt gently. “Jubil, do you comprehend me?”
“Thorn apples,” came a faint whisper.
Peyton studied her aunt a moment with grim resignation.
Jubil was highly sensitive to thorn apples and she believed them to be the most powerful of her potions, allowing her days of visions and flight.
Peyton reconciled herself to the fact that Jubil would maintain her irrational state for several more days at the very least.
Unable to enlist her aunt’s help in locating Ivy, Peyton retrieved her brocade robe from the large oak wardrobe and wrapped it tightly about her slim body. As she was moving for the door, Jubil suddenly called out to her.
“You do not like him, do you?” she said.
Peyton gazed at her aunt a moment, suspecting to whom she was referring but unwilling to play the game. “Who, Jubil? I have no time for your gibberish.”
“Alec, sweetheart,” Jubil said in a weak voice. “He is not your James and you do not like him.”
Peyton felt herself being teetered off balance by Jubil’s perception, but she still refused to play the game. She had no desire to discuss her emotions with a madwoman.
“Go back to sleep. I shall return when I have found Ivy.”
“The sorcerer’s violet shall help your indecision, sweetheart. Have no fear that soon you shall love Alec more than you ever loved James.”
“I do not want to love him!” Peyton suddenly exploded, rushing to her aunt and turning her violently, face to face.
Jubil’s eyes were glazed and fearful as she looked into Peyton’s angry features.
“Do you hear me, Jubil? No love potions or spells. No sorcerer’s violet brews, or poppy love potions, or distilled rose elixirs. I do not want your help with Alec!”
“He is a great man, Peyton,” Jubil stuttered. “I have seen him with his sword in hand. I have seen Lancelot and Galahad and Cuchulain bow at his feet and beg to kiss the soles of his shoes. Queen Maeve begs for his seed to bear a son worthy to protect the throne of Ireland.”
Peyton reeled away from the woman, disgusted and furious. “Queen Maeve is a Celt legend, Jubil. If she existed at all it was centuries ago, as did the rest of your dream warriors. Alec is a man, like any other, and I am tired of your prattle about his greatness. I will hear no more!”
Jubil, limp in her chair after Peyton’s rough shake, averted her gaze and focused on the wall once again.
“You underestimate him, sweetheart. He is the greatest swordsman England has ever seen and you have been given a great mission in life. No woman can ask for more than to be the wife of a magnificent warrior and perpetuate his blood.”
Peyton stared at her aunt, wondering how in the world Jubil knew that she and Alec were to marry. Someone must have told her, of course, but she couldn’t help the creeping uneasiness at Jubil’s words.
“No more,” she said hoarsely, stumbling toward the door. “Another word and I shall cut your tongue out.”
But Jubil did not heed her words; she simply stared at her niece with a blank expression. Peyton was almost through the door when she heard her aunt’s voice again, soft and hoarse. “You have met the woman with a taste for female flesh, have you not?”
Peyton almost ignored her. Shaken and angry, she found herself pausing at the bizarre, unrelated statement. “Of whom do you speak? Your potion is making you insane, Jubil.”
Jubil merely blinked, her blue eyes gazing at Peyton but not truly seeing her. “The unhappy one. She is afraid of you.”
Peyton stared at her aunt a moment longer before letting out a hiss of exasperation; she had no time for such nonsense and moved to shut the door. As the door was nearly closed, she heard Jubil’s final utterance.
“Alec’s sister, sweetheart. She is afraid of you.”
The door shut softly and still Jubil sat, staring at the wall. Her eyes were dull and unfocused, but her mind was soaring above the clouds, unaware that her niece had vacated the room. Unaware that Peyton had indeed heard the hushed whispers of a madwoman.
Unnerved by Jubil’s muttering, Peyton fought to control her jitters and her anger as she went in search of her sister.
She had no idea where to begin, truthfully, but it seemed most logical to begin in the solar where she had last seen her.
The corridor and the stairs were void of servants as she made her way to Brian’s well-appointed room.
It was empty, as she knew it would be, but she felt a distinct sense of despair nonetheless.
With a weary sigh, she moved to the great desk that contained Brian’s belongings and gazed absently at the papers and signet stamps.
Her mind was exhausted and her head was still aching and, somberly, she deposited herself onto Baron Rothwell’s great hide-covered chair.
Ivy was with Ali, she had no doubt. It did not matter that Ivy had been defiant upon initially meeting her intended, fighting and cursing him every step of the way.
That brief show of opposition had been the only sign of rejection Ivy would offer in her own defense; since the moment Ali had taken her away to converse in private, it was as if Ivy had been transformed.
Ivy had told her that she had not yet come to accept him as a true man, or as her betrothed, merely acknowledging that she was coming to tolerate his company. To Peyton, it appeared to be a far sight more than mere tolerance. It seemed to be infatuation.
Unfortunately, Peyton was still too wrapped up in her own confusion and depression to be able to spare her sister some much needed understanding.
What she truly needed was her sister’s calm wisdom telling her that she was doing the right thing by marrying Alec Summerlin, but it was apparent Ivy cared for no one but herself.
Peyton thought about Ali for a moment, coming to the realization that her frustration wasn’t based on the fact that she found Ali repulsive or bestial; on the contrary, she was becoming rather curious about him in an odd sort of way.
It occurred to her that she resented the fact that Ali seemed to be diverting Ivy’s attention when Peyton was in need of her.
That, she discovered, was the foundation of her resistance. He was taking Ivy away from her.
Ivy was all she had in the world. With their father gone, there was no one left to console and support her, and hot, tired tears welled in Peyton’s sapphire eyes.
She let them fall, feeling them bathe her cheeks in comforting warmth.
It felt good to cry, to cleanse her puzzled soul, and the tears fell freely onto the tempting swell of her breasts. She was completely miserable.
Alec was strolling past the solar at that moment when he caught a snippet of a sob. On his way to bed after a long conversation with his father, he ignored the noise and continued onward until something inexplicably made him stop.
He had no idea why he should concern himself over a sniffle, but a peculiar hunch forced him to turn around and peer into the solar.
His sky blue eyes passed over the empty room and he nearly turned away until his sights came to rest on the top of a red head of unkempt curls.
Half-shielded by the high back of the chair, he heard Peyton sob again.
“Peyton?” he asked softly, stepping into the room. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Startled, she wiped hastily at her cheeks as he approached. His concerned gaze left her stammering for a convincing answer. “N-nothing, my lord,” she hiccupped. “My head hurts s-still and I was walking a-and the ache has not gone away.”
He did not believe her for a moment. The woman who met him in a physical confrontation and matched verbal daggers with his sister suddenly looked extremely fragile seated in his father’s great chair. Her cheeks were damp and there were even tears on the luscious white rise of her beautiful breasts.
He stood over her, hands on his hips. “Pauly can give you something for the ache. It must hurt terribly if you are crying so.”