“Are you feeling well?” she demanded. “You were unconscious ever so long.”
“I was?” Peyton carefully touched the large bump and winced. “How long?”
“Over an hour,” Alec still stood in the doorway, watching her intently. He tore his eyes away from her long enough to snap at the young knight. “Enough gawking, Toby. Leave the ladies.”
Toby passed a lingering glance at Jubil as if he were waiting for her to burp snakes, but did as he was ordered. Ivy glowered at him, daring him to meet her eye but meeting Alec’s cool gaze instead. Without a word, he closed the door once more.
Ivy let out a hiss. “Damnable Summerlins. They are going to keep us prisoner as punishment for our disobedience!”
“Quiet, Ivy,” Peyton waved at her. “I am in no mood for your ranting. My head is killing me and my stomach is lurching.”
From her seat in the corner, Jubil stirred. “You will be married before you leave here, sweetlings.”
Peyton and Ivy turned to their aunt. The woman was staring at the wall, her blue eyes distant. They gazed at her a moment without responding; they’d ceased responding to Jubil’s ravings long ago, but there was something in her tone that caused them to reconsider. Mayhap it was their own paranoia insisting they listen to the crazy woman; for whatever the reason, they were curious to know what she had to say.
“What do you see, Jubil?” Ivy asked finally.
Jubil continued to stare, glassy eyed. “I see you with a dark-haired babe, a beautiful son with onyx hair and blue eyes. And I see Peyton carrying on the Summerlin line.”
“Ridiculous!” Peyton immediately scoffed. “Jubil, you are mad. Keep your visions to yourself.”
The young women turned away from their aunt, unnerved by the predictions and trying their best to ignore the ramblings of a mad woman.
Pauly, the castle surgeon, arrived shortly thereafter and inspected the lump on the side of her head. Thinking that mayhap she had cracked her skull, he demanded that she not sleep for the rest of the night for fear that she might not awaken and proceeded to give her a bitter-tasting willow brew for her aching head. When the surgeon left, Peyton rose unsteadily from the bed to stretch her cramped body.
“Well, chicks, it looks as if I am in for a long night,” she said, not particularly grieved. In spite of the headache, her fatigue was minimal. “How should I occupy myself?”
“The party will be going on all night,” Ivy shrugged. “Why not enjoy it?”
“I am not exactly in a party mood,” she passed a glance at her sister. “Why do you not go?”
Ivy shrugged, inspecting a fine rug at the foot of the bed. “The Summerlins are wealthy, are they not? I have seen rugs like this at the faire in Northampton, from the Holy Land they say.”
Peyton glanced at the rug disinterestedly. “I think I would like to wash my hair of the blood and dirt,” she turned to their trunks. “Help me find the soap and linens.”
Trunks flew open and the women began rummaging through, laying out gowns and removing possessions. Their moods lightened as they worked and Peyton’s aching head lessened somewhat, calming her stomach. By the time her hair was washed and drying, she was feeling better and even considered joining the festivities in the gallery. But Ivy was staunch in her refusal to attend.
They could hear the music and voices drifting upon the warm July air, tempting invitations for a night of gaiety. Dogs barked in the bailey as soldiers made their rounds on the battlements, illuminating the evening with their glowing torches as they maintained vigilance for the celebration inside. Ivy parked herself by one of the lancet windows, watching the activity in the bailey below and listening to the sounds of revelry. Beside her, Jubil continued to sit and stare as if she were in a world of her own. In truth, she was.
Peyton sat by the small fire, brushing out her drying tresses and trying to not think of Lord Summerlin’s inevitable wrath. She could not anticipate how he was going to react to their performance earlier in the day and she hoped he was not easily angered. Their father, Albert, had been simple to manipulate and the two sisters never worried about punishment no matter what the crime. But Peyton knew, somehow, that Lord Summerlin would be different.
“There was a dark man in the bailey when we rode in tonight,” Ivy remarked, still gazing over the scene below. “His skin was as black as coal. I have never seen anything like it.”
Peyton looked at her strangely. “A black man? Are you sure?”
Ivy nodded, moving away from the window. “As black as night. I remember father saying that Lord Summerlin spent a great deal of time in the Holy Land. Do you think he brought the black man back with him as a prisoner?”
“’Tis possible. Could the black man speak? Are you sure he wasn’t an animal of sorts?”
“He spoke very well, but his accent was peculiar. I wonder who he is?”
Peyton shook her head. “Sounds most curious. Mayhap we should attend the party simply to see if we can catch a glimpse of him.”
Ivy opened her mouth to reply but there was a soft rap at the door. Before Peyton could bid the caller enter, the door opened and an extremely well-dressed woman let herself in. Peyton and Ivy studied her openly; tall and slender, she possessed a beautiful face with sky-blue eyes. Her blond hair was pulled back severely and hidden beneath her bejeweled wimple, and she smiled pleasantly at the three women.
“I am Lady Summerlin,” she said. “Who is Lady Peyton?”
“I am, my lady,” Peyton rose and bobbed a curtsy.
