“Indeed. Most tolerate us, but there are a few who have extended what they consider to be friendship. For the most part, they tend to ignore our presence like one would ignore a senile relative. ’Tis better to pretend that we do not exist, I suppose.”
Ivy listened to his faintly bitter statement. “How did you come to live with Lord Brian?”
Ali reclined against the arm of the chair. “My father met Lord Brian while he was studying in the lands of the east. He and my mother accompanied Baron Rothwell back to England as sortof a mutual exchange of culture; my father, too, is a brilliant scholar and was eager to learn of the white man’s world. It held such fascination for him that he never left.”
Ivy listened to his voice, rich and warm, as his gentle manner eased her. Far calmer than she had been when he had first carted her into the room, she was better able to deal with him on a rational level. In fact, the rational tone of their conversation was quickly turning pleasant.
Ali watched her pretty features, reading the emotions as they rippled across her brow. He prayed fervently that she was considering his words, coming to realize that he was exactly as he described himself; a man with dark skin, born and raised in the same country that had also bred her.
She kept staring at his hair. Noting her fascination, he gently reached out and took her hand. Ivy stiffened and attempted to dislodge her fingers, but his grasp tightened.
“I shall not harm you, demoiselle, I promise,” his voice was soft. Grinning into her astonished face, he brought her rigid palm to bear on his scalp.
Ivy’s eyes widened as he vigorously brushed her hand over his coarse hair. Ali laughed softly, a deep throaty laugh that sent chills racing down her spine. After a moment, he released her hand and was amazed when she continued to finger his hair. Ivy was content to experience the black hair tickle her palm until she abruptly realized that he was no longer controlling her actions; she was. Sharply, she retracted her hand and lowered her gaze, praying desperately that he did not notice her flushed cheeks.
Ali not only noticed, he was enchanted. “Why do you look away from me? You are most beautiful when your cheeks are kissed red.”
Ivy lowered her head even further, an unconscious hand flying to her cheek. “I…. is there anything else you wished to speak with me about or is our conversation concluded?”
His smile faded, although it remained warm. “If you wish, it is concluded. I have said what I intended to say.”
Sheepishly, she slanted him a gaze, her hand still to her blazing cheek. Over the past several minutes, she had come to realize that Ali the soldier was not the well-trained dog she had accused him of being, nor a barbarian, nor any of the other slanderous insults she had flung at him. On the contrary; he was well-spoken, polite and gentle. Everything a chivalrous knight should be.
Although she was still wary of his presence, her understanding of his odd appearance was beginning to grow and she was suddenly remorseful for being so cruel. He did not deserve the jeers she had been so liberal in dispensing.
But it was difficult to admit her fault and she swallowed hard before she was able to bring the words to her lips. Apologizing had never come easy for her.
“I am sorry I called you a barbarian,” she said quietly. “You had succeeded in piquing my anger, and I say a great many things when I am angry.”
His smile abruptly subsided and she could read the shock in his eyes. Puzzled with his reaction, her eyebrows drew together. “Why do you look like that?” she demanded. “I just told you that I am sorry for insulting you.”
He swallowed, a most amazed expression igniting a fire in his onyx eyes. After a moment, he simply shook his head. “I have simply never known a woman to apologize for insulting me,” his voice was strangely tight.
Ivy’s demeanor began to return as Ali’s seemed to slip. She cocked a blond eyebrow. “Do you go around provoking insults from other women, as well? I see that I am not an isolated case. What did you do to warrant such an attack? Abduct them as you abducted me? Or, mayhap, tie them to a tree and use them for sword practice?”
His gaze was steady, but his eyes had lost none of their magical spark. “Their insults were not borne from provocation. They were delivered from ignorance.”
Ivy’s expression evened, the seed of humor so recently sewn cooling into a new depth of realization. She could read pain in his eyes that nearly made her cringe. Black or not, he was a man with emotions and feelings, of pain and longing, and her clouded perception of the dark warrior began to lift just the slightest.
He was quite a man.
She shifted her bottom in the carved oak bench; suddenly, they were seated thigh-to-thigh, arm-to-arm. Her gaze grew steady, curious even, and he met her inquisitive stare as impassively as he could. Inside, however, he was quivering like a young knave; the quaking anticipation of the next step in their conversation. Was she attempting to throw him off his guard in preparation for damning him, like all the rest?
But her reply dashed his anxieties. “My insults were borne from ignorance, too,” she said quietly. “The next insult I slap you with will be the result of pure irritation and nothing more.”
He simply could not believe what he was hearing. He did not care if she insulted him a thousand times a day, so long as the taunts weren’t rooted in disgust for his color. But as much as he wanted to have faith in her declaration, it came with difficulty. There had been too much hatred and stupidity that he had been forced to assume to easily believe that she could disregard his differences with so little struggle. Even with all of the harsh words and physical tussling, compared to the majority of women he had encountered, he considered Ivy’s resistance minor. He wanted to believe her, but only time would tell.
He smiled weakly. “Then I shall endeavor not to irritate you.”
The conversation was concluded.
*
Meanwhile, Peyton’s tourof St. Cloven had not been an extensive one. She stuck to the main points of interest, the great hall, the small solar, and the kitchens. Alec paused in the kitchens to speak with the cook and inspect the entire stock, much to his future wife’s annoyance.
He criticized the method in which the grains were stored and vowed to make immediate improvements. The salted meats were stored adequately, but he did not feel that the buttery was cool enough for the dairy products and promised he would seek advice for its betterment. Peyton chewed her lip irritably as Alec and the cook reviewed kitchen procedures.
After a lengthy discussion with the wrinkled woman who had cooked for two generations of de Fluornoys, Peyton took Alec to the second floor where he proceeded to inspect each room carefully, making note of the furnishings and state of repair. He was pleased to discover that the interior was well kept and clean; with two young women living alone, he wasn’t sure what he would find.
