Chapter Fourteen #3
“I am,” Alec snapped, his usual control loosened considerably.
“I am thinking that Nigel Warrington has been too much of a problem and shall continue to be so until someone does something. He has harassed St. Cloven for years, he has been a party to rapes and unspeakable other crimes, and now he has my father whipped into submission for an unknown reason. I shall not tolerate his abhorrent presence any longer.”
“What are you going to do?” Ali repeated his original question, eyebrows upraised intently. “Kill him?”
Alec paused a moment, turning to his ebony friends. His expression cooled considerably, like a man blessed with unquestionable confidence. “Hardly. I will not need to when I press Edward to confiscate Warrington lands and, in turn, annex the property to St. Cloven.”
Ali and Olphampa looked at each other, surprised, before returning to their white-skinned companion. “Edward would confiscate all of England if you demanded it. You must be serious about this if you plan to contact our king.”
“I am and I do,” Alec said decisively. “I will not allow the Warringtons to destroy my family anymore than they already have. They must be neutralized.”
“And thereby you hope to return to your father’s good graces?” Olphampa asked softly.
Alec’s confident stance wavered slightly and he lowered his gaze. “’Tis as good a start as any. Do you disagree?”
“Not at all. But you must do it before Thia weds Colin. If Edward confiscates the lands after they are wed, your sister will be in an even worse bind than she is already. She shall be the wife of a destitute,” Olphampa stood on his short legs.
“Were I you, young Alec, I would send a missive to London tonight and demand that Edward send word to Brian opposing the marriage between Colin and Thia. With the wedding postponed or dissolved, ’twill buy you time to petition Edward for the Warringtons’ obscurity. ”
Alec nodded shortly and summoned a servant. As the woman went running for the brewery steward, he turned to his friends with regained confidence. “I do imagine Edward will be surprised to hear from me after all this time.”
Ali smiled and returned to his ale. “His heart will probably stop from sheer shock.”
“Christ, I hope not. I would hate to be indicted for murder.”
Laughing at Alec’s expense, Olphampa moved for the cedar-molded doorway that led from the great hall. “I must walk off your grand meal, Alec. Will you do me the honor of showing me your magnificent acquisition?”
The subject of Brian and the Warringtons faded as Alec took pleasure in displaying his new home.
*
“How’s your head?” Ivy asked, smirking at her sister’s discomfort.
“Awful,” Peyton rasped, eyes closed as she slouched against the back of her chair.
Ivy laughed softly. “Jubil’s willow potion is not helping?”
Peyton tore off the cold compress that she had been pressing to her forehead. “It tastes terrible and makes my stomach hurt. I have had this headache for four days and it has not gone away,” she replaced the pack and sank even lower into the chair. “I think I am dying.”
“Good,” Ivy snorted, leafing through the book in her hand. “Now, shall I finish the story? Where was I?”
Peyton tossed the compress to the floor and stood up, weaving dizzily a moment. Ivy watched her with concern. “Now what?”
Peyton shook off her unbalance and moved for the door. “Nothing. I am going to paint for a while. Mayhap that will help my head.”
Ivy’s smile faded as her sister quit the room.
Peyton wasn’t feeling at all well; she hadn’t been well for over a week.
At least since she and Ali had returned to St. Cloven.
The usually vital woman was sleeping longer and her fast temper was surely faster.
Between the absence of appetite and the constant headaches, she had been a taxing companion.
Alec, even though he had been very patient and sweet with her, had been preoccupied with his own problems and Ivy found herself with Peyton constantly, listening to the gripes.
Ivy returned to her book, puzzled with her sister’s behavior and mystery illness. Even though she pretended otherwise, she was nonetheless concerned. She hoped Peyton’s self-pitying prophesy wasn’t unwittingly true.
Downstairs, Alec and Ali came in from the storehouse. Olphampa, sequestered in the solar with Sula playing a hearty game of backgammon, barely gave the two men a glance; he was terrified that his wife was close to becoming the victor. Alec and Ali grinned at the two latest residents of St. Cloven.
“If my father loses, he shall kill himself,” Ali commented as they mounted the stairs.
“Your father takes his game playing too seriously,” Alec replied. “Your mother is a highly skilled player; Christ, she can beat me.”
Ali laughed softly as they reached the second floor. “Speaking of parentage, we haven’t received a response from Edward as of yet and it has been six days. What do you suppose is keeping him?”
Alec shook his head. “I requested one hundred crown troops to reinforce my seventy-five. I expected to hear word on that particular solicitation, at least.”
“Or a congratulations on your marriage. I cannot believe Edward would remain silent on that regard.”
They reached the small ladies solar and were greeted by Ivy’s blond head. Ali smiled at his wife as Alec’s gaze perused the room. “Where’s Peyton?”
“Fighting off a bad headache and a bad mood in her painting room,” Ivy said, laying her book aside and focusing on her husband.
Alec nodded his thanks and quit the room in search of his wife.
Ali closed the door softly behind him, bolting it for good measure. Alone in the solar with his bride, there was no mistaking the seductive smile that spread across his face. Ivy matched his grin, reading his mind.
“Again, Ali? Now?”
The eager new husband nodded slowly, decisively. “Here and now.”
*
Alec found Peyton seated in front of her easel, stroking the parchment delicately with a horsehair brush. Shades of yellow and black graced the vellum, so skillfully blended they appeared real. Alec stood behind her in silent appreciation for a moment, admiring his wife’s talent.
“Sunflowers,” he murmured. “’Twill be pleasurable to gaze upon during winter’s bleak days.”
“It’s for your mother,” Peyton said softly, expertly dabbing at her palette. “I thought she might enjoy them.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, unnaturally large against her petite frame. He gazed at the flowers a moment. “She loves sunflowers.”
Peyton worked on the shading, blending a mustard yellow into the paler yellow. “I know. She told me so.”
His gaze lingered on the flowers a moment longer before he bent over and kissed the top of her head, releasing her shoulders to gain himself a stool. “How are you feeling today? Ivy says your headache has not retreated.”
“It hasn’t,” she said. He noticed that she was particularly pale. “In fact, I do believe it is getting worse.”
He touched her leg sympathetically, watching her as she worked on her painting. “Why do you not rest, then? The sunflowers will wait.”
She snorted. “All I have done is sleep. I have never been so tired in my entire life.”
“Do you suppose I should summon a physic? Mayhap you have caught an illness.”
She shook her head, rinsing off her brush. “I shall be fine.”
He stood up and shoved the stool aside. “I would feel better if you’d allow me to summon a physic. You are so pale, love, and you have hardly eaten in a week.”
She dried her brush and rose, weaving slightly as her head swam. Alec reached out to steady her, concern etching his handsome features. When the swaying passed, he gathered her into his arms despite her weak protests.
“No more of this foolishness, Peyton. You haven’t been feeling well for days.”
She tried to squirm out of his arms as he swept her into the corridor. “I am fine, Alec. Put me down!”
He ignored her, instead, taking her to their chamber. Once inside, he set her carefully on her feet. “Get into bed. I am going to send Ali for the physic this instant.”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, planting her bottom on the edge of the bed. She was fully preparing to stubbornly refute his assessment of the situation, but instead, she shrugged faintly. “I am not sick.”
He rested his hands on his hips. “I beg to differ, madam. I have ignored your symptoms until this day, but I will not disregard them any longer. You will see a physic this day.”
Peyton opened her mouth to argue. Suddenly, their bower door opened with a groan and Jubil stood in the archway, appearing somewhat stronger since her bout with the monkshade, but pale nonetheless. Alec frowned at the woman.
“Jubil, you will not enter our chamber without knocking.”
Jubil stepped into the room. “I heard voices and knew that you and Peyton were not compromised. You do not usually talk through your lovemaking,” she looked to her niece. “The child is announcing himself, is he not? You are ashen, sweetheart.”
Peyton’s eyes widened and Alec suddenly looked as if he’d been struck.
The color drained from his cheeks and he looked to his wife, remembering Jubil’s strange words not two weeks earlier.
Your seed has taken root. Nearly choking on his tongue, he began to weave and his wife reached out a hand to guide him to the bed.
“Sit down, Alec, before you fall,” she said, eyeing him anxiously. “Are you well, darling?”
He could only stare at her. “Me? Christ, Peyton, is Jubil speaking the truth?”
Guiltily, she eyed her aunt. “I…. I believe so. My menses are overdue.”
“Two and a half weeks overdue!” Jubil announced. “I told you when we arrived at St. Cloven that your seed had found its mark, my lord. Did you not believe me?”
Alec was pallid, his sky-blue eyes like saucers. “I must confess, I did not. But…. Christ, Peyton, is this why you have not been feeling well?”