Epilogue
The early morning sun had barely crested the horizon as a single rider pounded down the road toward the fortified manse of St. Cloven. The early May weather was beautiful and clear, quite wonderful after the harsh winter England had suffered through.
The rider was laden down with hundreds of pounds of armor, well-used. The horse, a silver charger of magnificent heritage, kept steady pace as St. Cloven came into view. Up on the battlements, the shouts from sentries filled the damp morn.
The heavy gates swung open, welcoming the master returned. Sir Alec Summerlin reined his massive steed into his bailey, barely giving the animal a chance to slow before he was dismounting. Immediately, he was met by several men.
“Where’s my wife?” Alec demanded breathlessly.
The soldiers were grinning like fools. “Inside, my lord, with your mother and father,” answered one.
Alec had the answer he sought. Without another word, he charged head-long into the cool interior of his manse.
Jubil was the first familiar face he saw. Greeting her with a distracted kiss, he patted her swollen belly fondly. “How much longer, love?”
“Too long,” Jubil growled. “Where is my errant husband? He was supposed to return with you. Do not tell me he is still on the damnable Welsh border!”
“Toby is at Blackstone,” he held up a hand to silence her when she opened her mouth to protest. “He shall be along shortly. ’Twould seem he has a surprise for my son, something he has been working on himself, and wished to retrieve it.”
Jubil smiled. The woman hadn’t touched any of her medicaments or potions in nearly a year and had never looked so young or beautiful.
At forty-four years of age, she had recently entered into her first marriage and was expecting the miracle of her first child shortly.
Content for the first time in her life, she had all but given up her mysterious ways.
Alec only knew he had never seen his brother happier.
“He made the babe a little cart, with wheels, so Peyton can push him around,” she said fondly. “He is ever so proud of it.”
Alec grinned, moving for the stairs. “Is Ivy here?”
Jubil shook her head. “She is still at Wisseyham. Her babe is due any day and Pauly refuses to allow her to travel. She is a sight, Alec; Ali is going to have his hands full with her until this child is born. All she does is eat and cry.”
Alec paused on the steps. “Ali is still with Edward. He is helping the king design a string of fortresses along the Welsh border to protect and manage Wales. Edward has always recognized Ali’s talent and swears he cannot do without his greatest architect.
In fact, he has taken Ali off the front lines entirely and commanded him to devote all of his time to the construction of these bastions. ”
“Truly? That’s wonderful, of course, but Ivy will have his head if he is not here in time for the birth of his child.”
“I understand, but at the moment Ali is in the middle of constructing his greatest fortress yet. ’Tis called Caernarfon Castle, the most massive thing I have ever seen. Most impressive.”
Jubil cocked an eyebrow. “I hope you can explain that to Ivy before she rips your tongue out and shoves it up your nose.”
Alec moved to unlatch his helm from his breastplate. “I do not intend to explain anything to her,” he gave her a thin, humorless smile. “I shall send mother instead.”
He mounted the stairs and moved down the corridor, his excitement growing with leaps and bounds.
The last he saw of his wife, she was very pregnant and very hysterical.
As much as he wanted to be present at the birth of his son, Llewellyn and his brother David, after betraying Edward’s trust, had rallied a full-scale rebellion against the English crown.
Alec had been forced into service far sooner than he had hoped.
Leaving his stricken wife had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do.
As the fighting lasted through March and April, he waited eagerly for word from St. Cloven announcing the arrival of his child.
Then, when the fighting seemed to be easing around the first of May, the long-awaited missive had come.
His son, healthy and whole, had arrived.
He’d ridden night and day to make it to Peyton’s side.
As eager as he was to see his son, he was far more eager to see his wife to make sure she had come through her ordeal unscathed.
Childbirth to him was a miraculous, frightening thing, and he had been absolutely terrified that Peyton would somehow suffer in the event.
But God had blessed him with a healthy son and a recovering wife, and he had never been more grateful for anything.
As he passed down the corridor lined with Peyton’s paintings, he found himself smiling as he remembered how difficult it had been to convince her to display her portraits.
She had staunchly balked at the suggestion until one night, after she had fallen asleep, he and Toby had nailed nearly two dozen of her paintings to the walls of the upstairs corridor.
Peyton had awoken to her openly-displayed talent and had promptly slugged her husband in the jaw.
But the exhibitions of her skill remained.
He passed by her painting room en route to the master chamber when, suddenly, something inside the room caught his attention. Retracing his steps, he peered into the chamber.
A familiar red-head greeted him. Facing away from the door, Peyton was seated in front of her easel, delicately shading the vellum before her.
His heart surged wildly into his chest at the sight of his wife, more love than he could ever express flooded his veins.
Far more involved in his silent approach, he failed to notice the picture she was painting until he was nearly upon her.
It was a portrait of a man with red-gold hair. Alec nearly swallowed his tongue when he found himself staring into a perfect likeness of his dead brother.
“Peter!” he gasped.
Peyton started violently, dropping her brush and spilling her paints. But the spill and the brush were forgotten as Alec immediately took her in his arms and silenced her sobs of amazement with his joyful kisses.
“You spoiled your surprise!” she whispered, responding to his fevered lips with her usual abandonment.
“I care not,” he murmured against her mouth. “All I am concerned with is you, and my son. Christ, Peyton, it’s been so long.”
“Nearly three months,” she gasped as he suckled her lower lip. “Too long, my Alec. Thank God you have returned to me whole and sound.”
His kisses slowed, being replaced by reverent caresses, meaningful gazes. “And I thank God that you have come through the birth of our son uninjured. I think I was more frightened for you than you were for me.”
Her hair was pulled away from her face, revealing the beautiful features as she gazed into his eyes.
How could she tell him that his son had been born blue, the cord wrapped around his tiny neck?
Recollections of Rachel’s dead child had haunted her since the day she had witnessed the event; fortunately, her son had recovered. He was perfect, as was his father.
“It was not as difficult as I had been told. Jubil gave me an ergot potion for the pain and the entire birth was over in three hours.” A slight omission of certain facts. She knew, without a doubt, that he would not have taken the whole of it well.
“Three hours?” his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Christ, woman, I have had stomach aches that have lasted longer.”
She giggled and he kissed her teeth, her nose, her chin.
“Where is my son?”
She made a wry face. “Where else? The only time I am allowed to hold him is when I feed him. The rest of the time, your mother and father fight over him. Truly, Alec, you would have thought I birthed the Christ child.”
He grinned, helping her to rise slowly. “Are you supposed to be out of bed yet? You gave birth less than a week ago.”
“I am fine,” she said, avoiding his question as they moved for the door.
Pauly had told her to stay in bed for three weeks; naturally, she disobeyed.
But she did not want Alec to know, not just yet, for she knew he would insist that she take to her bed immediately.
She wanted a few precious moments with him before he forced her into confinement.
She paused in the archway, returning her attention to the portrait she had been painting to divert his focus away from her. “You recognized your brother immediately. I must have a very good memory.”
His gaze rested on the perfect likeness. “’Tis as I remember him. As if he had never left. Christ, you are amazing.”
She smiled. “Your mother cries every time she sees it. I suspect you will have quite a fight on your hands when it is finished. Your mother has already declared her want for it.”
He touched her face, kissing her cheek tenderly. “I will share it with her. But I shall not share my son. Take me to him.”
Peyton curled her hand into the crook of his arm and led him, albeit stiffly, down the hall. There was a smaller chamber directly next to the master bedchamber, a room Alec had once claimed as his personal retreat. Peyton, however, had made it into a nursery.
The door was open and they could hear soft voices floating upon the warm air.
Pausing in the doorway, Alec drank in the sight of the room; his father was seated in a large, comfortable chair, a small bundle cradled in his arms. His mother hovered over Brian, cooing sweetly at the swaddled parcel.
And Thia, seated by the window and folding linens, was gazing at the wall with sightless eyes and telling her parents how foolish they were acting.