Chapter Nine #5
Simon nodded, focusing on Peyton. “’Twas a pleasure to meet you, my lady. And remember my offer should you ever tire of The Legend.”
She glanced up to her husband. “Hopefully, he will keep me properly entertained and I shall never tire of him.”
Simon snorted a chuckle, properly contrite when Alec cast him a menacing glare.
He continued to watch as Alec escorted his wife through the sea of men and wenches, wondering how Alec had been fortunate enough to wed such a beautiful woman.
Not that he did not deserve it, of course; ’twas only right, considering Alec was the greatest knight in the realm. At least, he had been at one time.
Simon’s finest room was not much to the eye, but it was clean and comfortable and Peyton was sorely feeling her exhaustion as Alec set the satchels to the floor and tossed their cloaks over a chair.
She immediately tossed back the bedrug and threw herself on the mattress, clothing and all.
Alec grinned as she jerked the cover over her head.
“You are not even going to undress?” he mused. “My, my, you must be fatigued.”
She sighed heavily, with contentment. “Do not be long. I shall expect you to join me shortly.”
“Aye, General.”
“And tell a serving wench that we will expect a morning meal at sunrise.”
“Aye, General. Anything else?”
She grunted and he chuckled softly, moving for the door. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, my Legend.”
In faith, he was exhausted as well, but he was also eager to finish his conversation with Simon.
The man had been invaluable support during the long months in the Holy Land and Alec considered him a good friend.
Furthermore, were he to retire with Peyton, he was positive he would not be able to contain himself and he had promised that she would be allowed time to recover.
He did not want to break his promise; Christ, he might stay downstairs all night in that case.
Peyton heard him leave, nearly asleep. The bed was comfortable to a fault and as she drifted off, she suddenly remembered that she had neglected to ask him what time they were to leave.
After all, she wanted to rise and bathe in plenty of time to return to Blackstone and she wanted to make sure there was hot water available for her toilette.
She rolled onto her back, debating whether or not she should go downstairs and ask him, but she did not want to leave the comfort of the bed.
It was warm and wonderful and her eyes closed again as she pondered her predicament.
But she forced her eyes open, determined to seek her answer so she could sleep with confidence.
And besides; she had to use the privy terribly and she did not see a chamber pot in the room.
With a grunt, she heaved herself from the bed.
Somehow, the common room was smokier and louder than she remembered.
She immediately spied Alec at the table near the hearth with Simon, a large pitcher of ale between them.
Two serving wenches were hanging all over Simon, and Peyton thought it fortunate that the women were staying away from Alec, lest she be so inclined to tear their hair out by the roots.
It was amazing how protective she was of him already, but not so amazing considering the soul-baring that had occurred between them. She felt a distinct need to protect him from those who would be a physical threat or a deliberate temptation.
She descended the stairs and began to weave her way towards her husband.
His back was to her and she was focused only on his blond head, smiling weakly at Simon when he caught sight of her.
But her forward momentum was halted as a mailed arm reached out and grabbed her, and Peyton suddenly found herself sitting in an armored lap.
“Look what I have caught!” the knight crowed happily. “The most beautiful wench in Ely! Where have you been hiding yourself, lass?”
Peyton balled her fist and struck the knight squarely in the face, releasing his hold. As she struggled from his lap, a giant hand suddenly reached down and pulled her free. Startled, she looked up to see that Simon had hold of her protectively as Alec plowed into the unfortunate knight.
Peyton watched with amazement as Alec finished the man in two powerful blows of his massive fist; one to the face, and another to the side of the head. In the next second, the unconscious knight lay in a heap upon the floor.
Instantly, his companions were on their feet, four against one, and Peyton gasped as she tried to pull free of Simon’s grasp.
“No!” she cried, yanking free and planting herself in the deadly position in front of her husband as if to act as his shield. She assumed the knights would think twice before driving their swords into the guts of a young woman. “No fighting! He is unarmed!”
“He should have thought of that before he injured Graf!” one man snarled. “Prepare to meet thy God, giant.”
Alec tried to remove her from the line of fire, but Peyton refused to budge. “You will not touch him! Had your companion not been stupid enough to grab another man’s wife, he would not have been injured. Now, sit and I shall pay for your food and drink; lodgings, too.”
The knights looked to one another, pondering her words, but they had not sheathed their swords and Peyton refused to move from her defensive position.
“Does your wife always fight your battles for you, giant?” a second knight sneered.
“Be glad that she has,” Alec’s voice was like thunder. “She has spared your life this night.”
The four knights laughed heartily and Peyton began to worry; if Alec continued to provoke them, surely she could not prevent the coming battle. She cast her husband a menacing glare, but he ignored her. He was watching the four knights as a cat watches a mouse.
“You talk bravely for a man who does not bear a sword,” the second knight said again. “You do not even wear armor.”
“I do not need armor or a sword to prove my manhood,” Alec replied smoothly. “Now accept my wife’s offer for restitution and sit down or commence with your battle. I shall not stand here all night.”
Peyton let out a sigh of frustration. Before she could control herself, she turned to her husband. “I am trying to save your hide, Alec. Would you please stop antagonizing them?”
He actually smiled at her. “I am not antagonizing them, love. I am simply trying to help them decide what course of action to take.”
Infuriated, Peyton returned her attention to the knights. “Sheath those swords ’else I shall shove them down your throat. There will be no battle here tonight.”
“Lady,” the first knight said slowly. “Although you are most delicious to observe, I grow weary of your unruly tongue. Take a seat and let the men work out their differences.”
Alec side-stepped Peyton, drawing the knights’ attention away from his wife. Before Peyton could follow him, Simon had a firm hold of her and clapped a hand over her mouth when she tried to protest.
“You take your life in your hands speaking to my wife in such a manner, little man,” Alec said quietly. “Apparently you learned little from your colleague’s mistake.”
Four swords glistened in the weak light and Peyton’s eyes widened fearfully; she knew precisely where the confrontation was leading and she was terrified.
Simon released her from his grip and wandered away, leaving her standing alone as the room full of patrons quickly vacated; there was not a person in the stuffy hall who did not sense the coming battle.
A real fear gripped her; she had visions of Alec’s guts coating the stone floor and in the same instant, horrible flashbacks of James’ gored body slammed into her mind.
She whimpered softly, hands to her mouth; it had nearly killed her to watch James die in her arms and she was positive that if Alec were to die in her presence, she would never recover. She would not want to live.
“Alec…,” she whispered desperately, tears beginning to well within her great sapphire eyes. “Oh, God, no….”
He heard her, but he was focused on the four men in front of him. His uncanny sixth sense told him they were preparing to strike, and he braced himself as he drew their attention away from Peyton. He wanted her out of the range of the broadswords.
“Come now, lovers,” Alec said provocatively. “You were so brave. Has your courage shriveled like your manhood?”
“Bastard,” one knight spat, and suddenly the air was filled with the whoosh of arcing broadswords. Peyton screamed and jumped back, nearly tripping over a table, but her eyes never left her husband. She was positive that she was about to witness his demise.
The two knights closest to Alec brought their swords down in unison; Alec lashed out a huge booted leg and caught the first knight in the wrist hard enough to dislodge his heavy sword.
Before the blade clattered to the floor, he brought up his hand and with an amazingly deft maneuver managed to disarm the second knight. Another broadsword went sailing.
Before the two attackers had time to react, Alec drove his fist into the second knight’s face, immediately turning to drive his thick elbow into the face of the first. Like two weakling knaves, the men went down in a heavy crash of armor just as the third and fourth knights upended the table in their haste to reach Alec.
Peyton barely had time to comprehend the happening of the events.
She stood, terrified and amazed, as Alec effectively disarmed the third knight and then used him as a shield against his comrade, who mistakenly gored him.
As the fourth knight struggled to remove his broadsword from his companion’s belly, Alec balled his massive fist and smashed the man’s jaw into fragments.
Writhing in pain, the last foe fell to the floor as blood erupted from his shattered mouth.