In their struggles they managed to twist themselves underneath the wagon and Ivy bumped her head to a grunt of curses. Peyton lost her control and started to giggle until Ivy rubbed dust in her face and once again the struggle was on, only this time Peyton’s irritation was genuine. She was preparing to grab her own handful of dust when someone abruptly grabbed hold of her feet and, with a hard tug, unceremoniously yanked her from underneath the wagon. Emitting a loud yelp, Ivy followed her sister in the same fashion.
Blinking dirt out of her eyes, Peyton’s gaze met with knees. Clearing her eyes again and refocusing, she found herself facing the largest legs she had ever seen, bulging with muscles underneath the black breeches. The circumference of the thighs alone was substantially larger than her waist. Puzzled, she craned her neck back to look into the face of the referee as Ivy struggled to stand.
“Why did you do that?” Ivy demanded loudly, brushing dirt from her skirt irritably. “By what right do you lay hands upon us?”
Peyton was still sitting on her bottom, blinking up at the collection of male figures that were surrounding them. The sun was shining brightly in the noon sky, blinding her to the facialfeatures of the group. She put up a hand to shield the sun’s glare as Ivy worked herself into a rage.
“By right as lord of Blackstone,” came a deep, booming voice. “Who are you, girl?”
“Lady Ivy de Fluornoy!” Ivy snapped. Then, the impact of the man’s words settled and her pale face turned a peculiar sickly color. “Lord of Bla…. Baron Rothwell?”
Peyton struggled to stand up, feeling the least bit apprehensive that the baron himself had broken up their fight. She did not realize their tussle had gotten out of hand; she’d only meant to give the gossips something to chew over in the hope that the appalling rumors would reach Lord Summerlin. It had never been her intention to outright disturb the man.
“Aye, Baron Rothwell,” Brian put his hands on his beefy hips, eyeing Ivy. “So you are Lady Ivy, are you? Well, I must say I expected better behavior from Albert’s daughter. Who is your sparring partner?”
“My sister, Lady Peyton,” Ivy said lamely, glancing at her sibling as she regained her feet.
Brian’s brown eyes focused on Peyton and she felt her courage wane.Be brave!She scolded herself strongly.You must continue what you started!
In a show of both forced and foolish boldness, she put her arm companionably around Ivy’s shoulders and smiled her gaping smile. “’Tis a pleasure, my lord,” she said gaily. “Do not mind Ivy and me; we do this habitually. Always room for another bruise, I always say, especially from my own sister. How do you think I lost all of these teeth?” She pointed to her sniggled smile.
Ivy looked at her in shock, faltering a moment before following her sister’s lead. She had been fully prepared to beg forgiveness from the baron but reconsidered when she saw that Peyton was willing to continue the charade. Weakly, she smiled in agreement.
“Beauties, are they not, my lord?” Jubil smiled brightly from her perch on the wagon. “Fine, fine breeding stock for the nobility of England.”
Brian ignored Jubil, eyeing both sisters critically. He did not dare look at Alec; standing directly in front of Lady Peyton, he could only imagine his son’s reaction. Looking into the gray faces and craggle-toothed grins, he was sure they were all having the same horrified responses. And he found he was extremely disappointed to discover that the de Fluornoy sisters were hags, for it would make finding them husbands close to impossible.
He would not dream of saddling Alec with the eldest, no matter how wealthy she was. It would seem that the grand party had been unnecessary to inspect the prospective brides; the determination was already made.
He could scarce believe the ugliness before him. “Good Christ,” he muttered before he could stop himself. Clearing his throat, he spoke louder. “You may act as you choose at St. Cloven. However, I expect refined conduct at my home. Rolling in the dirt as common villeins is unacceptable.”
Peyton looked at him as if she hadn’t understood a word he said while Ivy picked her nose, much to the disbelief of the Summerlin men. “We…. we are unacceptable, my lord?” Peyton queried with feigned distress. “How so?”
Brian watched as Ivy looked at her fingers, sniffed them, and then wiped them on her gown. Clearing his throat again to cover his disgust, he stepped back. “We will not tolerate ruffian behavior, ladies. Regain your trunks and return to St. Cloven this day.”
With a final, mayhap disappointed glance, Brian returned to the castle. Peyton and Ivy watched him disappear into the innards of Blackstone, thrilled with their fortune. They fought down their glee and immediately turned to their servants, ordering any offloaded baggage to be retrieved. Ignoring theastonished Summerlin men that were still standing about, Peyton motioned to St. Cloven soldiers.
“Remove the ale,” she instructed. “Tell the steward it is a gift from the de Fluornoy sisters.”
In a brief few moments, Peyton and Ivy had forgotten about their successful masquerade in anticipation of returning home without a betrothal. The sooner they unload the ale and retrieve their things, the sooner they would return to St. Cloven.
Alec and Ali stood together several feet away, watching the two women curiously. Brian had not made any mention of a betrothal to Ali, but Alec had taken it upon himself to inform his friend and the two of them studied the de Fluornoy sisters with a strange mixture of emotions.
“Christ, Ali, have you ever seen anything so horrible in your life?” Alec mumbled.
Ali raised his faceplate, his black eyes focused on the red and blond heads. “Which one was supposed to be for you?”
“Lady Patton. The redhead, I believe. Her hair is acceptable enough if she were to wash it, but her face….” he shook his head, unable to continue and thanking God that he had not agreed to a betrothal before he had laid eyes on his potential wife. In a sense he was disappointed but, as he watched them leave, he was mostly relieved.
Ali watched Ivy as she helped a soldier with a barrel of ale. “I think the blond could probably take me on in a fist fight and win,” he snorted with the mental picture of a wife who could best him in a duel. “’Twould not be pleasant to be married to a woman I was afraid of.”
Alec laughed softly. “Agreed. I am afraid to continue gazing at them lest I turn to stone.” With a final glance, Alec turned for the castle. “See that they leave promptly. I want them well away so we can enjoy the party without bitter flashbacks of the witch sisters.”
It took very little time to reload the wagon with their baggage once the barrels of ale were offloaded. Peyton was thrilled that their deception had worked so well and was eager to return to the keep.
She was positive that Lord Brian would not force them into betrothals and she felt a giddy sense of freedom. Although she was disappointed that she would not be attending the party that night, for they rarely attended such gaiety, her feelings were quelled by the fact that she and her sister would not be coerced into marriages against their will. After their display of bad manners and even worse hygiene, Lord Brian would undoubtedly forget about the distasteful de Fluornoy women.
An escort of Summerlin soldiers was waiting for them as they exited the gates, guiding them from the compound to the road beyond. The march was silent and she could feel the critical stares of the Summerlin men as they rode in uncomfortable quiet. Almost two miles out, the Summerlin guard turned back for the fortress, leaving the St. Cloven party to continue alone. Another three hours would see them home and Peyton relaxed.
