Chapter Eight
Peyton was settled in an overstuffed chair, seated by the narrow windows of her bower as Ivy read from a book of poetry.
Jubil, sleeping off her thorn apple trance, had been carried to the bed by servants and currently lay in boneless limbo.
Lady Celine had left Peyton to rest some time ago and the room was still except for the drone of Ivy’s voice.
But Peyton wasn’t listening; her thoughts were still on the events earlier that day.
Her wrapped hand reminded her of the injury dealt by Alec’s fury and her confusion was consuming; a deep ache in the pit of her belly told her that she was feeling far more than anger and fear at Alec’s actions. It told her that her injury went deeper than the cut to her hand.
Somehow, he had managed to injure her feelings as much as she tried to keep herself protected from him. Without realizing it, Alec had seeped into her emotions. With the damage dealt by the loss of James, her bewilderment was almost more than she could bear.
“What did you think of that prose?” Ivy broke into her thoughts.
Peyton was jolted from her stupor. “I am sorry, Ivy. What were you saying?”
Ivy lowered the book, compassion in her eyes. “Nothing, darling. How do you feel?”
“Well enough, I suppose,” Peyton said. “Why aren’t you with Ali? Surely he is missing you.”
“He shall survive,” Ivy said with a faint grin. “I thought you needed me more, but I suppose I was wrong.”
Peyton returned her sister’s smile. “I do too need you, you silly wench. But your reading is putting me to sleep.”
“So sorry.” Ivy slapped the book closed and tossed it onto the bed. She eyed her sister a moment. “Tell me how you truly feel, Peyton.”
Peyton shook her head faintly, toying with the material of her gown. “Angry. I want to go home.”
“Peyton…. he did not strike you, did he? Lord, He is such a large man he could easily….”
Peyton shook her head more firmly. “He never touched me. He did not have to.”
Ivy sighed with regret. “Ali says he has never known Alec to raise his voice much less display his fury. He is quite shocked by the whole event.”
Peyton refused to be pulled into the reasoning for Alec’s outburst. Her gaze lingered on her sister a moment, seeking to change the subject. “Are you planning to go through with this marriage to Ali?”
Ivy followed her sister’s lead, her expression turning soft. “He shall make a considerate, wise husband. And a fine father to our sons. I believe I am satisfied with the arrangement.”
Peyton nodded faintly. “You have accepted him completely, then?”
Ivy smiled. “I suppose I have. And I want you to accept him as well. It is extremely important to me, Peyton.”
Peyton held up a hand to silence Ivy’s plea.
“Say no more, darling. My bout with ignorance was a short episode and I apologize for the hateful things I said about him. If you have accepted him, then I have, too,” she shifted in the chair, wincing when her bandaged hand brushed against the wood.
“Then you and Ali are to be married tonight. What gown do you plan to wear?”
“The emerald silk,” Ivy’s gaze was on her sister’s linen-wrapped hand. “What are you going to wear?”
Peyton’s mood darkened as her gaze returned to the window. “Black.”
“Black is striking on you, darling, but I thought the ivory silk would be better with your hair,” Ivy’s tone was laced with sarcasm. “Besides, I should have thought….”
A sharp rap on the door disrupted her sentence. Ivy rose from her chair and threw open the door, not surprised to find Ali in the doorway. His ebony face tender on his future wife.
“Greetings, sweetling,” he said softly. “How is your sister faring?”
“Well enough, considering,” Ivy replied, matching his smile.
Ali’s gaze roved her lovely features a moment, still reeling with his good fortune. He was amazed that every day, every hour, brought increasing acceptance from his betrothed. It was as if he were living a dream; he kept expecting to wake up and discover it all to have been a wonderful fantasy.
“Might I speak with your sister, sweet?”
Ivy stood back and motioned him into the room. Peyton turned her attention to the black soldier and he smiled.
“Greetings this day, demoiselle. How is your hand?”
“Aching a bit.”
“And your head?”
“Except for the lump, it is well.”
Ali nodded with satisfaction, noting that she had changed from her blood-stained gown into a garment of bright yellow linen.
It was a beautiful dress of soft layers, very flattering to her white skin.
Her glorious red hair was pulled off her face with a matching ribbon and he thought she looked particularly fragile this day.
But he had come for a reason, not to gawk at the lady’s beauty.
“I have been sent to escort you, if you would be so gracious as to accompany me.”
Without question, Peyton rose and followed Ali to the door. Ivy, seeing that she was about to be left alone, looked rather sad until Ali stroked her cheek gently. “I shall return for you shortly, sweetling.”
Peyton, in spite of her depressed mood, saw an opportunity to taunt her sister and she would not pass it up.
Ali’s tone was so sickly sweet that she could not resist mouthing “sweetling” to her sister as the soldier preceded her into the corridor.
Ivy made a menacing face and stuck her tongue out, bringing a smile of genuine humor to Peyton’s lips.
White or black, Ali was a man and Peyton was compelled to tease Ivy as if he were any other suitor.
She did not utter a word of inquiry as the dark soldier took her outside into the late afternoon heat, and she still did not voice her puzzlement when he took her into the stable yards. Not until he led her into the quiet dimness of the livery did she look to him questioning.
“Ali, why have you brought me here?”
He smiled gently. “Someone wishes to have a word with you, demoiselle.”
Her brow furrowed just as Alec stepped from the shadows. He was dressed in a heavy traveling tunic and a leather overvest. In fact, he was dressed exactly as she had seen him the morning he had found her in the woods.
“Greetings, my lady,” he said softly.
Immediately, her pulse began to race but she held her ground, refusing to allow him to see how apprehensive she was. She stared at him a moment before turning to Ali.
“Is this why you brought me here? I have nothing to say to him.”
“But I have a good deal to say to you,” Alec said softly, gently. “Would you allow me the privilege before you turn your back on me?”
“Why?” she spat, making sure to meet his eye. “You would not give me the courtesy of explaining myself before you were breaking tables and hurling chairs. Why should I show you any consideration at all?”
“Because you are far more gracious and wise than I am, my lady. I only ask a brief moment of your time. Please.”
She was shaking with emotion, gazing bitterly into his blue eyes. Her taut body and angry expression told him that she was still furious with him, as well she should be, and he fought the urge to drop to his knees and plead for mercy.
Peyton tore her eyes away from his sorrowful orbs and studied his clothing. As her attention was occupied, Alec motioned Ali away with a faint nod and the soldier discreetly vacated the stable.
“Where are you going?” she asked after a moment.
“Away,” he replied honestly. “But I wish to speak with you before I go.”
Away? Suddenly Peyton did not like the idea of him leaving. Where was he going? Angry or not, confused or not, she did not want him to leave.
“Speak then,” she said shortly.
His gaze lingered on her a moment and she felt the familiar heat from his attentions, but she ignored it. This was not the time for such feelings, as delicious as they could be.
Alec knew this was probably his one and only chance to apologize and he chose his words carefully.
“Although I know my actions this day were inexcusable, mayhap you will allow me to give you a bit of insight. As I said before, the church considers Ali less than a man and therefore will not admit him into knighthood. In fact, the only people who ever considered Ali an equal are the men he served with as a warrior, men who have seen his bravery and brilliance. Women, on the other hand, have been very cruel for the most part,” his voice softened.
“Ali and I grew up together, fostered together, and I can honestly say I never knew an English lady who looked at Ali as a man. They considered him a freak, something to be laughed and gawked at. I remember one time at a celebration at Roby Castle in Yorkshire, Ali approached a young lady and asked her to dance. She immediately laughed in his face and announced quite loudly that she did not associate with apes. Her friends joined in the laughter and began mocking him terribly. Ali simply smiled, bowed crisply in thanks, and walked away. I wanted to kill the wench, but Ali let the insult roll off his back as if it mattered not. But it mattered a great deal.”
Peyton listened, her heart aching for the black warrior even as her anger at Alec faded. She could see that simply speaking on the subject upset Alec a great deal.
“A few years ago, after we returned from the Holy Land, he fell in love with a woman who lives not far from here. She was the only woman who showed him a small amount of kindness and, of course, he was smitten. Ali even went so far as to ask for her hand, but her father refused cruelly. When Ali asked her to run away with him to be married, she told him that although she was fond of him, she could never marry him because he was not a true man. It would seem that she was only kind to Ali out of pity,” he leaned against the wall, his expression pensive.
“The only women Ali was able to associate with were women who were paid for their services. He lost his innocence to a woman of forty-some years who carried the French pox. Ali still bears scars from the disease.”