Chapter Nineteen #4
He let out a choked sob, completely ignoring the room full of people watching him. Tears sprang to his eyes, glistening on his blond lashes as he looked to Jubil as if she held all the answers.
“I love her more than life,” he echoed faintly.
Jubil smiled faintly and patted the powerful knight on his stubbled cheek. Tears dripped from his lashes and onto her hand.
“Do not weep, sweet Alec,” she murmured. “You may be The Legend, but Peyton’s love had made you immortal. Go and find your wife.”
He sighed raggedly, wiping at the tears that were blinding him. “Is….can you sense if she is still alive?” He almost couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Jubil paused a moment, staring deeply into his eyes. Then, slowly, she brought her hand to her lips and licked the tears that had touched her. “Aye,” she replied softly. “She lives still.”
Alec took it as a promise from God. Without another word, he spun on his heel and quit the room, leaving an entire hall of royalty and commoners alike reeling in his wake.
*
Two hours after sunrise, Wicken Fen came into view. A massive expanse of bogs, reed-filled swamps, and other beautiful but undesirable elements, it was teeming with wildlife and bramble.
Colin entered the parklands from the northern outskirts, intent on finding the very best spot to discard his load. Taking his leisure time about it, as his manner had been unhurried since leaving Blackstone, he picked his way deeper and deeper into the fen.
It never occurred to him that he was being pursued.
Even if his escape had been discovered by now, there was no one to tell where he had gone.
A trip to Wisseyham would happen upon servants who had not seen their master return; he had been very careful to keep himself concealed from the few serving wenches they employed, and he certainly had not brought Peyton into the open expanse of the bailey.
The horse, and Peyton, had remained concealed in the woods.
Furthermore, it never occurred to him that his father would have betrayed him by giving Alec Summerlin suggestions as to where he might have gone.
His father knew nothing of his plans; therefore, he would have been unable to provide Alec any assistance.
Never in his wildest dreams would he have believed that his father had not only betrayed him, but had known his son well enough to guess his destination.
It was frightening to imagine that father and son thought so very much alike, evil in every fashion.
It never occurred to him that for every moment he lingered, Alec Summerlin was closing the gap.
The sun filtered in through the canopy above, increasing the humidity of the air surrounding him.
The smell of his dirty horse and moldering leaves filled his nostrils and he was suddenly quite eager to be done with his deed.
Far over to his left, he could see a swampy bog that extended nearly as far as the eye could see.
He made it as close to the bog as he could before his horse became stuck in the mud and could go no further. Turning the horse around, he managed to rein the animal to more solidified ground before dismounting.
Peyton was still unconscious. He pulled her off the mount like a sack of grain and deposited her under the nearest tree.
Taking the time to remove the saddle from his horse and provide the animal with a bit of water, he then proceeded to dig about in his saddlebags for his dagger.
She wasn’t dead yet; he had to kill her and be on his way.
The dagger was long, perfect to complete the deed in one stroke. He wiped at the blade, examining it, thinking ahead to the meal he would ingest tonight at a fine inn and lingering on his approaching voyage. He’d never been to France and looked forward to the adventure.
The sun was rising steadily and Colin was eager to get on with what he must do. Moving to Peyton where she lay prostrate under the tree, he knelt beside her.
The dagger rested in his hand. “So sorry, love. Well, truthfully, I am not. Your family has been a thorn in the Warrington’s side for many years.
’Tis only right that the crisis come down to you and I as the surviving heirs,” he traced the red hair with the sharp tip of the dirk, watching the light play off the strands.
Beautiful as it was, he still wasn’t remorseful in the least. “Have a grand time in hell, my lady.”
The blade caught the sunlight with sinister elegance as Colin raised it high. Peyton’s white neck was open and exposed, making a perfect target that beckoned to his twisted sense of revenge. He heard the call, as he was about to answer.
But he never had the chance to follow through.
Suddenly, a balled fist caught him in the groin and the brief moment of shock that followed was pursued by pain such as he had never known.
It felt as though his testicles had been driven into his throat.
Sparks of agony sent him face first into the soft earth of the fen.
Peyton rolled away from him, nauseous and dizzy, and thoroughly sick.
But she was awake, and alive, and she intended to remain so, no matter what it took.
The last few uttered words of his speech had roused her, primed her for the battle that lay ahead.
Fear was virtually unknown; the basic instinct for survival was all she could feel as her muddled senses attempted to orient themselves.
As she struggled to her knees, a rotted branch met with her hands. Shaking like a leaf, she clutched the branch and charged the fallen Colin with the full intent of beating him dead with it.
Colin took two severe blows to his head before he managed to raise his hand and dislodge the weapon. Undeterred, Peyton kicked him in the thigh and pounded him with her weak hands, but he nearly captured her and she scampered into the underbrush, shrieking and gasping like a madwoman.
Peyton had no idea where she was. The ground beneath her was lurching and swaying, and it was all she could do to maintain her footing. Around her, unfamiliar trees loomed and the very earth she stood upon seemed intent to suck her under. Her delicate green slippers were instantly wet and dirty.
But she kept moving, away from Colin and away from his insane ideals of family and vengeance. She stumbled over exposed roots, scraping her knees and drawing blood, but still she kept moving. She had to put as much distance as she could between Colin and her unborn child.
She clutched her stomach, wondering if the babe had suffered during her ordeal, wondering if she would do more damage with what was yet to come. Hot tears stung her eyes and the bile in her throat gagged her, but still, she kept running. It was run or die.
She burst through a thicket of brush, having no idea where she was going, only knowing that she had to find help.
She tripped over something she did not notice, and ended up on her hands and knees.
Beneath her hand, a sharp thick stick was partially lodged into the damp ground.
With a grunt of effort, she yanked the weapon free and resumed her panicked run.
With a roar, Colin was suddenly in her path and she screamed, barely avoiding his vicious grasp.
She whirled away from him, finding new strength in the fear that was flushing her veins, and tore a wild path through the growth as he staggered after her.
His groin injury was hindering him greatly as he pursued.
Peyton could hear him following, cursing and snorting as he stumbled through the bramble.
Her head was clearing a bit even if her stomach was still churning, and she was beginning to think more clearly.
Dodging behind a thick tree, she doubled back through a cluster of thick underbrush and emerged on the other side.
Still clutching the sharp wood, she found a large branch that would do quite nicely in wreaking severe damage on Colin’s skull.
Peyton crouched low to the ground, trying to quiet her breathing so she could hear her enemy.
So she could hear Death as it approached.
Colin was about, somewhere, and she was intent on harming him before he could do her mortal damage.
He might have been larger and stronger, but she was more intelligent. She would win this battle. She had to.
“Peyton!” Colin shouted. “I know you can hear me! Show yourself and I shall be swift with my justice. If I have to hunt you down, I shall make you suffer. I swear it!”
Head clearing, stomach settling, Peyton remained still and silent. Colin stomped about, moving away from her as he went about his search.
She waited until he moved off before attempting to follow. Stealthily, she pursued the storming, cursing man, making certain to remain far behind him and out of sight. Coming through a particularly thick patch of brush, she tore her slipper on a prickly branch and nearly tripped.
Irritably, she ripped the shoes off her feet and tossed them aside. The ground beneath her feet was freezing, but she ignored the discomfort. It was minor to the overall situation.
The sun overhead provided limited light within the heavy canopy of trees. Colin was backtracking, returning to his steed, and Peyton stayed within the sheltering cover of the undergrowth as she followed his movements.
When it became apparent that Colin was intent on waiting her out, eager to take advantage of a movement or a mistake, she sat on her bottom in the brush and refused to budge. If he was going to wait, then so was she.
Wait for death to claim one of them.