Chapter Six #4
He gazed at her a moment, feeling her question to his soul.
As much as he tried to ward off the memories, they refused to bank and he felt his chest tighten with the familiar ache.
Looking into the soft sapphire blue of her eyes, he could read comfort in the depths if he would only relent.
His knees suddenly weakened and he deposited himself on the stairs, pulling her down with him.
Instead of sitting next to him, she sat between his legs, still holding his hand.
The anger, the hatred, the confusion was forgotten as she patiently waited for him to speak.
His head was bowed, staring at the stone steps as his other hand came up to clasp her single hand tightly in a two-fisted grip.
It occurred to Peyton that the man Alec was today, the unfeeling human with moments of brightness, shielded something much deeper.
She never realized that his demeanor was an act of self-protection, just as hers was.
“Tell me, Alec,” she whispered, squeezing his hand. “I shall not bite you.”
He smiled, a thin humorless gesture. “I know your pain,” he finally said, quiet and faint.
“The pain of losing a loved one. ’Tis a deep ache and I am too familiar with it,” his great head came up, the blue eyes soft.
“I…. I cannot speak of it, however. Since it happened I have not been able to speak of it. But it is not because I do not trust you, nor is it because I have anything to hide. I simply cannot speak on the subject.”
She looked puzzled, her fingers tenderly caressing his hands as big as trenchers. “What subject?”
She saw him swallow hard. “My dead brother.”
His pain was obvious. Without knowing any details, her eyes stung with tears, for she only knew how miserable she would be if a mishap ever befell Ivy. “Did this brother have a name?”
“Peter,” he whispered and she barely heard him.
She paused a moment to ponder the name, the mysterious dead brother. Then, she touched his head gently. “We will not speak of him again. I will never mention his name in your presence.”
He continued to hold her hand tightly and she continued to stroke his head like a child, feeling a good deal of pity for the huge man.
To her surprise, he suddenly chuckled and focused on her.
“He was a good deal like you, actually. Reddish-gold hair and a temper to match. He used to drive me daft at times.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying that I am your brother’s revenge, sent to curse you for the rest of your life?”
Alec smiled broadly, a beautiful smile she found wonderful. He had the whitest teeth she had ever seen. “He would be so cruel, yes. Your aunt hasn’t had any visions of him, demanding satisfaction on my mortal body?”
Peyton laughed. “Not that I am aware of. And do not believe for one moment that he has possessed me.”
His smile softened, his expressionless face suddenly tender. “I would never think that.”
He was vulnerable and Peyton’s heart ached for him.
He needed comfort from her as badly as she needed his understanding, and she cursed herself for being so stubborn towards him.
Of course she did not hate him; she probably never would, no matter what he said or did.
Suddenly Alec Summerlin wasn’t as terrible as she had liked to imagine.
She couldn’t help herself; she leaned forward and kissed his smooth lips tenderly in a show of sympathy. Yet the small kiss immediately turned into something far more passionate and she gasped as Alec gathered her fiercely into his arms.
“No, Alec,” she whispered, speaking against his hungry lips. “No more. We must wait until….”
“I do not want to wait,” he growled. “Whether I take you tonight or on our wedding night, it makes no difference. I plan to take you every night for the rest of eternity.”
With her last shred of sanity, Peyton pulled from his probing lips and turned away from him, trying to twist from his iron grip. But he refused to let go and she ended up facing away from him while his hot lips devoured the tender flesh at the nape of her neck.
“Oh, God, Alec…,” she breathed, struggling fiercely to retain her senses. “Would you please stop? I cannot bear anymore of your attentions this night. My head is already spinning.”
“I shall make you forget your head,” he promised seductively. “I shall make you forget everything if you will allow me.”
She attempted to pull away from him but he held her firm. “Nay, I shall not allow it. We are not married yet and I refuse to allow you to sample your wedding gift early.”
He started to laugh against her neck and she could feel him shaking with mirth.
A smile crept onto her lips as he held her tightly and continued to snicker.
“Very well, then,” he snorted. “But we must be married by tomorrow night or I shall surely go insane. Do you suppose you will be ready by tomorrow?”
She yawned and snuggled against him; he was warm and comforting. “Nay. You will simply have to suffer.”
“Vixen,” he growled. “Ready or not, we will wed tomorrow. Understood?”
“Aye, my lord,” she grinned, then paused a moment in thought.
The mention of one marriage made her think of a second prospective ceremony, and her smile faded as she was reminded of her harsh words with Ivy earlier.
She suddenly felt a great need to apologize to her sister for their earlier argument.
“When will Ali and Ivy be married? Will it be a double ceremony?”
Alec’s mirth faded. “I am afraid not,” he knew she would demand an explanation and he continued.
“To the church, Ali is little more than a savage, which is why he is not a knight. The church considers him unworthy to bear the title, just as they consider him unworthy to be a member of their religion.”
Peyton’s brow furrowed, understanding why Ali had cut her off when she inquired about his knighthood.
It only served to reinforce her suspicion that she and Ivy hadn’t been the only English to react negatively to his dark color.
But with Ivy’s gradual acceptance of the man, Peyton found herself questioning her own reservations.
She had trusted Ivy’s opinion before, more times that she could remember. She would trust her now, too.
Her silent ponderings gave way to a softly-spoken question. “Who made the decision regarding Ali’s knighthood?”
Alec’s eyes grew distant in remembrance.
“King Henry himself, almost thirteen years ago. Ali stood by and watched all of the young men he had fostered with become knights. But he never let his bitterness show. He stood by the altar, dressed in his finest armor as his peers were inducted into the knighthood. He went through the motions, the readings, the prayers, as if they were meant for him. Never once did I see defeat in his eyes, but I knew differently. That night, we both became quite drunk and it was the only time I have ever seen him cry.”