Ivy bolted from her horse to aid her sister but was immediately halted by an armored figure. Ali had hold of the big woman and was not surprised to discover her to be extremely strong. “Hold, demoiselle,” he commanded quietly.
Infuriated and frightened, Ivy took a swing at his helm and cried out when the metal bruised her fist. Undaunted, she took to kicking and twisting in his grasp, but he simply tightened his grip.
Around them, the St. Cloven soldiers tensed but were quickly quelled by well-armed Summerlin men. And through it all, Jubil sat atop the wagon and smiled foolishly.
“Spank her, sweet Alec,” she murmured. “She is a naughty girl at times.”
Alec heard the purred words but did not give the older woman a second glance as he pulled Peyton into the trees, away from the party. Peyton screeched and struggled, fought and grunted as he hauled her through the undergrowth for several yards before coming to rest.
He loosened his grip and Peyton slapped his hands away, managing to yank herself free. Once loose, she attempted to turnaway from him, but he grabbed her with hands of steel and trapped her against his massive chest.
Frightened sapphire eyes met the blue of the sky. “Now,” Alec’s voice was a growl, “you will tell me what prompted your little performance back at Blackstone. And no lies, else I will take you over my knee.”
His size was overwhelming. Peyton blinked nervously at him, the mental picture of his trencher-sized hand meeting with her backside nearly bringing tears to her eyes. But she would not give in to her fear; not yet, at least.
“I shall not tell you anything!”
His face remained expressionless as he lowered his great head until it hovered a mere inch from her own. She was quivering with fear and fury, feeling the heat from his body as if the sun were scorching her tender white flesh. He was incredibly large and powerful and fearsome, yet his expression was anything but hard. She’d seen the look in James’ eyes many a time. Always before he kissed her.
“You will,” he growled. “Shall I pry it from your delicious lips?”
Instinctively, she knew he meant to kiss her and she tried to pull away. But his hand moved into her hair, holding her tight. His face dipped even lower until she could feel his breath on her lips.
“Tell me, Patton, or I shall force it from you.”
She was trembling, but not entirely from fear. His closeness somehow brought a fire to her limbs like nothing she had ever experienced. Her mouth was dry from her heavy breathing and she reflexively licked her lips to moisten them.
Alec caught the flicker of pink tongue and painful lust bolted through his limbs. Honestly, he had only meant to intimidate her, but the erotic action inflamed his senses and he wasdangerously close to losing his control. The urge to suckle the tender pink morsel was overwhelming.
“M-my name is Peyton,” she breathed, knowing she should pull away from him but strangely not wanting to.
“As you say. Explain yourself and I may be merciful.”
Merciful? What did that mean? That he would let her go, or that he would put her over his knee regardless? She struggled against her fear, against her confusing giddiness, against herself. Why did he seem to scald her at every point where their bodies touched?
“We…. my sister and I, that is, have no desire to be married,” she stumbled through her explanation. “We thought…. we hoped to discourage Lord Brian against seeking betrothals.”
Alec gazed at her a moment before loosening his hold. Peyton yanked free and stumbled back, eyeing him warily.
“So you made yourselves up to look like ghouls?” he asked.
“Aye,” she whispered, then swallowed hard and forced her courage. “We will not be married, to anyone. We do not want to marry.”
Alec crossed his arms and Peyton’s breathing began to come in peculiar gasps again; they were the biggest arms she had ever seen, every magnificent muscle straining against the restrictive silk. “Why not?” he asked.
She had expected a reprimand or a lecture; certainly not a question and was caught off guard. “Because…. because we do not need men. We do fine by ourselves and we do not need the nuisance of men dictating our every move.”
“I see. So you sought to make your own decision by deterring my father from selecting husbands for you?”
“Exactly,” her initial fear faded, replaced by her standard boldness. “I would wager to say that after what he has seen this afternoon, we will not have to worry about husbands any longer.”
Alec looked at her, long and hard, before depositing his considerable weight on a stump. Thoughtfully, his eyes grazed her. “’Tis your duty to marry and provide heirs to carry on the tradition of St. Cloven,” he said. “What will happen if you and your sister die old maids, with no children to continue the legacy? The tradition of St. Cloven ale will die.”
Peyton’s brow furrowed and she lowered her gaze. She opened her mouth to retort but found she could not find a suitable argument to his calm rationale. “I…. I did not say we did not ever wish to be married,” she replied quietly. “We simply do not want to be married any time soon. Eventually, we will marry and bear children and pass the tradition on.”
As she said it, she thought of marrying and of betraying James’ memory. A wave of pain rippled across her delicate features.
Alec saw it. “Why does the thought of marriage distress you?”
