Ivy shook her head. “More visions.”
Peyton gathered the reins on her palfrey, her attention turning for home and eager to make haste before Jubil veered out of control.
*
Alec had forgottenabout the de Fluornoy horror and was engrossed in conversation with Lord Whittlesee and his son Arthur. Blackstone was full of friends and allies that Alec hadn’t seen in quite some time and he was becoming swept up with the festive atmosphere, completely disregarding the original purpose of the party.
It had been meant for him to meet and approve of his future wife; instead, the pressure was off of him and he could look forward to the celebration with relief. Ali, too, seemed much more congenial knowing he would not have to accept a wife this night.
Ali was in charge of the arriving company while Alec was overseeing the guests that had already situated themselves and were wandering the halls of Blackstone waiting for the celebration to begin. Alec had been corralled inside the castle since before dawn, the only exception being when he had gone outside to break up the tussle between the de Fluornoy sisters, and he was frankly eager to catch a breath of fresh air before delving into the social presentation of the evening’s festivities.
Alec liked social events, providing he was not required to attend more than twice a year, but he was hard-pressed to keep conversations going and act the perfect host. His nature was far more reserved, bordering on shy, and twice his mother had shot him reproving glances from across the room when he appeared to be neglecting his duties.
Excusing himself from Lord Whittlesee and his mother’s piercing gaze, he made his way out to the manicured bailey and drew in a deep breath of July. Dressed in fine black breeches, black leather boots and a tastefully embroidered brilliant blue tunic, he resisted the urge to rip off his fancy clothing as he entered the familiar courtyard. Silks and satins were not his taste in dress, simply his mother’s command during this social event. He felt like a court dandy.
“I have not had a chance to tell you how lovely you look,” Ali purred seductively, strolling up behind him.
Alec raised a dark blond brow. “Thank you, lover. Might I say I find men in armor most arousing. Come closer; I must have you now.”
“Stop it, Alec, you will have me blushing,” Ali raised his visor, grinning a full smile of brilliant white teeth.
They smirked at each other, mutually trained gazes roving the bailey to make sure all was running smoothly. Nearly all the guests invited had arrived and soon they would close the gates, protecting the valuable houses inside. With parties as large as this, thieves were not far off and a full complement of soldiers would be mounted on the wall to discourage raiders.
“Did you see Isabeau?” Ali asked softly. “Why did not you tell me she was invited?”
Alec did not look at him, lifting his massive shoulders carelessly. “Because it would have upset you prematurely. As it is, you have only been unnerved since you saw her but an hour ago.”
Ali drew in a deep, steady breath. “Her father actually spoke to me. What a surprise.”
Alec glanced at his friend. Ali had been in love with the fair Lady Isabeau for as long as he could remember. But her father, a lesser baron with a large grain mill, had forbid Ali any contact with his only daughter. Isabeau was promised to be married come the fall and Ali was still having difficulty coming to grips with the fact. In a land of whites, his suit had been outright rejected because of his color and although the refusal had not been a surprise, the knowledge of prejudice did nothing to ease the ache.
Young Ali Boratu grew up the only black child among whites, reminded every day of his life of his difference. Dark-skinned people in England were rare and the English looked at the black-skinned lad as somewhat of a great curiosity, something to be scrutinized and studied. To this day, Ali continued to struggle with the prejudice that plagued him from those too ignorant to realize he was a man, like any other.
In spite of his distinction, Ali went the usual route of a noble-bred lad. Brian had managed to convince a relative, the Earl of Havenwood, that the young black lad was intelligent and should be allowed his education. Ali had been able to foster along with Alec and Peter, but growing up amongst arrogant English lads had been a daily struggle against intolerance and hatred. It had been more of an education than he could have possibly imagined. But as the years passed, he managed to prove his worth somewhat and had even squired for a very fine knight.
Still, he was different. Even if Alec and Peter accepted him regardless of the color of his skin, the same could not be said for some of the Englishmen he worked, lived, and slept with. Some of the young squires readily accepted his difference while others did not. Once, Ali had grown frantic with the bigotry and had tried to lighten his skin by applying an arsenic paste. The only result had been a terrible sickness, and Alec had forced him to promise that he would never try anything so foolish again.
It had been a promise not easily extracted. Even if the paste hadn’t worked, he refused to give up. England was, after all, his home and he desperately wanted to be sanctioned by those around him. All he had ever wanted was to be accepted.
Even as his color hindered the process of growing from a lad into a young man, he tried his best to maintain his dignity. But when it came time for him to be inducted into the knighthood, the deepest blow was yet to come. The church would not overlook the color of his skin.
It would have been different had he been the bastard son of a king or a duke, but he wasn’t. Brian had battled viciously on Ali’s behalf. So had the knight for whom he had squired and hisliege where he had fostered. But the church was firm, and the apostolic delegate reaffirmed the original decision. Ali, due to his lineage, was not a candidate for the knighthood.
Twelve years later, he was still bitter. Especially in lieu of the fact that King Edward had considered him a fine enough soldier to accompany Alec on the advance team to Acre, clearing the way for the monarch’s approach. A man with no true country, no true people, faced the biting truth of his difference every day of his life.
Alec broke into his thoughts, jolting him from the all too familiar anguish. “Mayhap Isabeau’s father will allow you to dance with her this eve. What harm can one dance do?”
Ali sighed, wrestling against the habitual depression that usually accompanied his deeper reflections of dissimilarity. “It can destroy my soul. To hold in my arms what I can never have? Nay, my friend, I do not believe Lady Isabeau and I will be doing any dancing tonight.”
A small black man emerged from the innards of the castle, making his way towards the two inordinately tall young men. He smiled amiably as he caught sight of his son and the youngest Summerlin male.
“Olphampa,” Alec scolded. “Father will have fits if he sees you are not properly dressed for his orgy.”
“Party, Alec,” Ali reminded him, forcing himself from his gloom.
“Sorry. I meant party,” Alec corrected himself, winking at Ali as he gestured at Olphampa. “Why are you not dressed in the ordered colors?”
“You are not in the commanded colors either,” Olphampa pointed to Alec’s sapphire blue tunic. “What did your mother say when she saw that you had refused to wear red?”
