Epilogue #2
Alec had to smile at his sister; he and Peyton had long since forgiven the woman and Peyton had even gone so far as to demand that she reside with them at St. Cloven.
Alec suspected that Peyton felt a certain amount of guilt for her misfortune, misplaced though the blame might be.
But Peyton insisted there was no guilt involved; Thia was a good deal like Ivy and she missed her sister terribly after she and Ali had moved to Wisseyham. Somehow, Thia helped heal the void.
The two women had become the best of friends and Peyton had been delighted to discover that Thia’s delicate palate for ale matched her own.
Peyton had been unable to tend her duties as the official ale taster during her pregnancy, duties which Thia had taken on gladly.
Although Colin had robbed her of her sight, it had not dampened her spirits and she had melded into the life at St. Cloven admirably.
He snapped out of his train of thought when Peyton tugged at his arm. His parents were cooing and carrying on so that they did not notice when Peyton and Alec stepped into the chamber.
“I would hold my son, Da,” Alec said softly. “That is, of course, if you can pry him out of your arms.”
Faces stricken with surprise, Brian and Celine faced their mighty son. Thia dropped the linen she was folding, her sightless eyes turning toward the source of her brother’s voice.
“Alec!” Celine cried, rushing into his crushing embrace. “We heard the sentries but did not look to see if it was you!”
“No doubt,” he snickered. “How could you possibly divert your attention away from my son for even one moment?”
“It’s difficult,” Brian agreed, his eyes twinkling. “My son The Legend. Tell me; how goes the Welsh border?”
“Calming,” Alec could not take his eyes off the wrapped babe. “Fighting in Snowdonia has proved more difficult than expected, but victory shall be Edward’s.”
“With The Legend leading the army, there was never a doubt,” Brian said proudly, his eyes soft.
“We have been reading the missives from Ali. He swears it is as if you had never been without a sword in your hand. If Llewellyn possessed an ounce of intelligence, he would surrender before you cut him in half, too.”
Alec grinned faintly. “Diolch.”
Peyton peered strangely at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means ‘thank you’ in Welsh.” In the corner, Thia stirred and drew his attention briefly. “Shwt mae, Moppet. How go my ale stores?”
Thia cocked an eyebrow. “Are you attempting to prove your masterful use of the Welsh language? I refuse to answer you unless you address me in English.”
He laughed softly. “I simply asked how you were, love.”
She cracked a smile, relenting. “Well enough. Your private recipe ale is doing exceptionally well, by the way, although your wife has yet to taste it.”
Peyton made a face. “I cannot stomach ale. It still makes me gag.”
Alec grinned, his attention turning once more to his son. All other thoughts faded; he had waited long enough. “Give him to me.”
Celine immediately took the child from Brian to allow the man to stand. Alec took his place in the large chair, armor and all, and held out his hands expectantly.
Peyton smiled and took her son from Celine, tears of joy brimming in the sapphire blue depths. Cradling the babe, she began to unwrap him for presentation to his father. The mood of the room went from sharp joy to one of muted, expectant awe as the Legend was to meet his legacy.
“You have not yet asked me his name,” she murmured to her husband.
He looked confused. “I thought we agreed on Christian?”
“We did, and I fully intended to call him by that name,” the blankets fell away, giving Alec a tantalizing view of chubby little arms. “But the very moment he was born, I gazed upon him and suddenly, I couldn’t name him Christian. He…. he did not look like a Christian.”
“He did not look like a Christian?” Alec repeated. “I do not understand.”
She gazed up at him before the final wrap fell away. The tears in her eyes had found their way down her cheeks and her smiling lips trembled.
“You will.”
The last of the swaddling fell away and Alec felt his limbs grow weak.
Peyton held the babe up for display, a chubby, round, perfect little boy with his father’s handsome features, his mother’s sapphire blue eyes and red-gold hair – Uncle Peter’s hair.
Alec stared, fascinated, unaware of tears that had found their way onto his cheeks.
“Peter,” he whispered.
Peyton laughed softly, placing the little boy in his father’s arms. Celine protested softly, packing blankets around the babe to protect him from the cold armor.
“Peter Albert Brian Summerlin,” Peyton said softly, touching the tiny red head. “There was simply no other name for him, my love. I can see that you agree.”
Little Peter stared at his father, his big blue eyes crossed and out of focus. Alec gazed at the tiny infant, feeling more love and contentment than he ever thought possible. After a moment, he grasped his wife’s hand and kissed it tenderly.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
She smiled, touching his cropped blond hair, relishing the feel of her husband underneath her palm. He was whole, returned, and gazing upon the result of their consuming love. The babe in his arms was the outcome of adoration that spanned the ages.
But to Alec, it was more than that. Suddenly, he found himself staring into the evidence of his brother’s spiritual existence. God had not only forgiven him his most heinous offense, he had bestowed him with unimaginable blessings.
As Alec had taken away, so had he given back. Tiny Peter Summerlin was living proof that Alec had the power of life as well as death and he knew, without a doubt, that his brother was still with him. The circle of life continued.
The Legend was immortal.
* THE END *