Chapter Ten
The morning dawned heavy with a humid mist and Peyton was glad for the protection of her nearly-shunned cloak.
It kept the moisture from her face as she and Alec plodded along the deserted road, no more than three of four words spoken between them all morning.
He was brooding and silent and so was she, each puzzled by their feelings and unspoken truths.
What should have been their wedding night had been an empty, desolate thing.
Alec had consumed far too much of the cheap ale after leaving Peyton alone in their room and was sporting a horrible headache. Every blow of Midas’ hooves intensified the ache, matching the pain in his heart. His mood was as gray as the weather.
The road was void of activity, not even a peasant crossing their moody path.
Alec’s arm around his wife’s slender waist was unmoving and uncomforting, and Peyton would have rather walked than face his coldness.
But she was showing signs of coldness herself, confused with the turn of events the night before and increasingly curious as to where he had spent the night. He certainly hadn’t slept with her.
She shifted on his hard thighs and his grip unconsciously tightened to prevent her from falling off the horse.
She stiffened when he reacted to her movement, for her anger had not abated in the least since last night and she hoped her taut body would convey her fury.
For good measure, she attempted to sit forward and put a barrier of separation between their bodies, but unfortunately, there was nowhere for her to go on the limited saddle.
“If you shift any further, you are going to fall off,” his voice was cold. “Remain still.”
“I want to walk,” she snapped irritably, trying to wriggle free. “Let me down.”
“Nay, lady, for it will only slow our return. You will continue to ride with me.”
She did not want to be cradled against his stiff body any longer and her struggles increased. “Put me down, Alec, I demand it.”
Instead of refusing, he suddenly removed his arm and she fell to the ground, landing on her bottom. Grunting with the dull smarting on her backside, she rose to unsteady feet as Alec reined Midas to a halt several feet away.
His gaze was unreadable. Before she could rage at him, he turned Midas down the road and continued on.
Peyton watched him ride down the deserted road, wondering to what lengths his anger would go.
Would he leave her if she were to fall far behind?
Or would he demand she remount? Feeling the need to test him, for whatever reason, she sat down on a stump and continued to watch as Alec and Midas rode out of view.
So he would leave her. Miffed, she angrily batted at her skirt where bits of leaves clung to the material.
The night’s events repeated themselves in her mind, thoughts of Alec’s warmth as he introduced her as his wife, how his hand never left her even as they ate supper.
His voice had been tender when he spoke to her, his manner affectionate and kind.
And, he had bared his soul as they waited in the private chamber of the monastery.
The protectiveness, the attachment she felt for him, went beyond words.
Not even James had warranted such strong emotion and she wondered why she should feel so strongly toward Alec when she professed to love James.
Mayhap she hadn’t loved James after all. Mayhap, in truth, she loved Alec.
Her sapphire blue eyes gazed down the road, barren since Alec had disappeared.
Why couldn’t she have told him the truth last night, admitting her true feelings?
The only time James had ever entered her mind during the scuffle had been when she feared that Alec would end up impaled in the very same fashion.
Other than that brief recollection, she’d barely thought of the man at all since her introduction to Sir Alec Summerlin.
She closed her eyes with regret; she had been so wrong to reprimand him when he had only meant to protect her.
Her fear had raged and she had snapped at him when she should have thanked him.
Gathering her skirts and swallowing her pride, she commenced down the road after her husband, hoping he would forgive her rash nature.
Not five minutes later, she met Alec as he back-tracked his steps. His gaze upon her was emotionless as always and she swallowed hard, summoning the courage to apologize for becoming angry on their wedding night.
“Are you ready to ride?” he asked.
She watched him for a moment. “Do you hate me overly, Alec?”
He met her gaze, pure blue to sapphire blue. “Nay, I do not.”
“But you are angry.”
His gaze faltered for the first time and he looked away, studying his hands, the scenery. “And I should not be?”
She shook her head. “You have every right to be furious. I am sorry I scolded you, and I am sorry for what I said. And…. and I do not dream of James anymore.”
His expression was guarded. “It matters not to me.”
Rebuffed, she lowered her gaze as hot tears filled her eyes. She was attempting to apologize to the man and he was being most stubborn about it. Hurt by his indifference, she pushed past him and continued down the road. Behind her, she could hear the clip-clops of Midas’ hooves as they followed.
She walked for some while, wiping the tears that streamed down her face as Alec pursued at a safe distance.
She was angry that he rejected her apology, angry that he did not care about her feelings.
He had said once that he cared not if she loved him; he simply wanted a wife who was pleasant and obedient.
She tried to reinforce her bravery, determining if obedience and appearance was all he wanted out of a mate, then she would oblige him. No love, no real warmth or affection. She would strive to give him what he demanded in a spouse. An efficient machine, the perfect chatelaine.
…. but how could she live with the man and not become attached to him? She was already dangerously attached to him.
“You do not dream of him anymore?” she heard his voice behind her, barely audible.
She refused to respond and risk greater hurt. She had no desire to speak with him at the moment, at least not until she regained her composure.
Suddenly, Midas charged past her and blocked the road. She stopped, refusing to look at Alec as he dismounted his charger.
“Tell me that you do not dream of him anymore,” he said quietly.
“What do you care?”
He did not say anything for a moment. “You are my wife. I shall not have you dreaming of another man.”
She let out a choke of disbelief, amazed at his selfishness and arrogance. “Is that all you care about? That I am your wife and you fear the memory of a dead man? Good lord, Alec, are you so self-centered and insecure?”
“Nay,” his voice was a faint whisper. “You are my wife and…. I do not wish to share you. If you dream, I would have you dream of me.”
“I did dream of you!” she cried, her voice shaking with emotion. “Dreams were all I had last night as you saw fit to vacate our bed in favor of…. other arrangements.”
“I did not retire at all last night. Simon and I spent the entire night recollecting the days of glory.”
She shook her head in exasperation and pushed past him again, resuming her walk. “No more, Alec. I am weary of this conversation.”
“Peyton,” he called after her, his tone almost pleading. “Do not walk away. Please…. I am sorry. I did not mean what I said when I told you to dream of your love.”
“Aye, you meant it,” she came to a halt. “You knew exactly how to hurt me and you did. How would you feel if I brought up Peter maliciously? ’Twould be salt on an open wound.”
He lowered his gaze and she could see his jaw ticking. “I am sorry. I was angry and I should not have said what I did.”
She moved toward him, slowly closing the distance. When she was directly in front of him, she put her hands to his face and forced him to meet her bejeweled eyes.
“Listen to me well, husband. Last night, I was fearful for your life. I could see your guts spilled on the floor as you fought those knights and it frightened the wits from me. Alec, were you to die, I would never recover and the passion of my feelings has nothing to do with James,” she lowered her voice as she witnessed the soft expression on his face.
“I lived through James’ death, my Alec. But I would refuse to survive yours.
There would be nothing left to live for. ”
His mouth worked as if he was attempting to reply, but he gave up. “Oh, Peyton,” he whispered, his great hands rising to grasp her face. “I…. oh, Christ….”
His lips slanted over hers before he could finish his sentence.
Peyton caved into him, feeling his warm arms embrace her protectively, the heat from his body saturating her.
Once angry and bitter, her feelings evaporated at his touch.
Tongues plundered and tasted until they were both panting from passion.
“I missed you terribly last night,” he breathed, his mouth suckling on her jaw line.
“I missed you too,” she whispered. “You were magnificent in the fight against those knights, my Alec. You certainly do not need a sword if you can defend yourself with your wits and strength.”
“I have had to compensate,” he rasped, dragging his mouth over her neck. “Christ, sweetheart, I want you right now.”
“Now?” she repeated. “But there’s nowhere….”
She was in his arms, aloft from the ground. He carried her across the road and into a bank of dense foliage.
“We do not need a bed,” he said hoarsely.
He propped her against a tree and supported her with pressure from his hips as he fumbled with her gown.
Uncertain but hot with passion, Peyton threw caution to the wind and helped him hike up her skirts.
His hands groped her, kneading her sweet flesh as his mouth repeatedly plundered the honeyed depths of her mouth.