Ali’s breathing tightened, a peculiar tingling sensation filling his big body. The hands that steadied her suddenly came alive, caressing her arms tenderly before pulling her into a crushing embrace. Enveloped by the shadows of the massive fortress, they were shielded from the sentries on the battlements and quite alone.
Onyx orbs locked with those of pure blue. Ivy gazed up into his magnificent face, so consumed with his alien beauty that she was nearly possessed by it. All that seemed to matter was that he was more man than she would ever need.
“Demoiselle,” his voice was raspy, tight. “Would you allow me to kiss you?”
She swallowed, licking her lips to alleviate the odd dryness that plagued them. “You would kiss a woman who confuses you?”
He watched her pink tongue moisten her soft, sensuous lips and he resisted the urge to sink his teeth into the fleshy morsel. Every moment that he held her, every second that he delayed, his control slipped further. He did not want to frighten her with an aggressive move, not when he was so desperate to gain her trust. But when a faint smile danced across her quivering lips, his composure crumbled into dust.
“Aye, demoiselle, I would.”
CHAPTER SIX
Peyton awoke toa dark room and an empty bed. Groggily, she rolled about in search of Ivy, but her sister was nowhere to be found. Puzzled and concerned, she crawled from the great bed and moved to the window, gazing sleepily over the bailey.
The courtyard was completely silent. A handful of soldiers stood watch on the battlements and the moon was gone from the sky, indicative of the late hour. Scratching her head, Peyton turned away from the window and focused on her aunt. Wide-eyed and hypnotized, Jubil never slept while entranced.
She hadn’t seen her aunt in nearly two days and was not surprised to realize that the woman probably hadn’t moved a muscle during that time. Jubil sat where they had left her, beside the lancet windows in a mindless fog. She and Ivy had briefly entertained the idea of taking Jubil with them when they had fled the previous evening, but their aunt was in no condition to make an escape. Leaving the older woman to the graciousness of their liege had been a difficult decision, but a necessary one in their opinion.
“Where’s Ivy?” she asked as if Jubil could gaze into the mystic vapors and locate her errant sister.
Jubil did not reply and Peyton ran her fingers through her mussed hair irritably. The potions Jubil ingested usually wore off in two or three days, but her aunt was still exhibiting signs of full entrancement. Different potions caused her to display various characteristics, like continuous laughter or catatonic states. Jubil was still flying high with this most recent concoction and Peyton was losing her patience.
“Jubil, what did you take this time?” she leaned down and shook her aunt gently. “Jubil, do you comprehend me?”
“Thorn apples,” came a faint whisper.
Peyton studied her aunt a moment with grim resignation. Jubil was highly sensitive to thorn apples and she believed them to be the most powerful of her potions, allowing her days of visions and flight. Peyton reconciled herself to the fact that Jubil would maintain her irrational state for several more days at the very least.
Unable to enlist her aunt’s help in locating Ivy, Peyton retrieved her brocade robe from the large oak wardrobe and wrapped it tightly about her slim body. As she was moving for the door, Jubil suddenly called out to her.
“You do not like him, do you?” she said.
Peyton gazed at her aunt a moment, suspecting to whom she was referring but unwilling to play the game. “Who, Jubil? I have no time for your gibberish.”
“Alec, sweetheart,” Jubil said in a weak voice. “He is not your James and you do not like him.”
Peyton felt herself being teetered off balance by Jubil’s perception, but she still refused to play the game. She had no desire to discuss her emotions with a madwoman.
“Go back to sleep. I shall return when I have found Ivy.”
“The sorcerer’s violet shall help your indecision, sweetheart. Have no fear that soon you shall love Alec more than you ever loved James.”
“I do not want to love him!” Peyton suddenly exploded, rushing to her aunt and turning her violently, face to face. Jubil’s eyes were glazed and fearful as she looked into Peyton’s angry features. “Do you hear me, Jubil? No love potions or spells. No sorcerer’s violet brews, or poppy love potions, or distilled rose elixirs. I do not want your help with Alec!”
“He is a great man, Peyton,” Jubil stuttered. “I have seen him with his sword in hand. I have seen Lancelot and Galahad and Cuchulain bow at his feet and beg to kiss the soles of his shoes. Queen Maeve begs for his seed to bear a son worthy to protect the throne of Ireland.”
Peyton reeled away from the woman, disgusted and furious. “Queen Maeve is a Celt legend, Jubil. If she existed at all it was centuries ago, as did the rest of your dream warriors. Alec is a man, like any other, and I am tired of your prattle about his greatness. I will hear no more!”
Jubil, limp in her chair after Peyton’s rough shake, averted her gaze and focused on the wall once again. “You underestimate him, sweetheart. He is the greatest swordsman England has ever seen and you have been given a great mission in life. No woman can ask for more than to be the wife of a magnificent warrior and perpetuate his blood.”
Peyton stared at her aunt, wondering how in the world Jubil knew that she and Alec were to marry. Someone must have told her, of course, but she couldn’t help the creeping uneasiness at Jubil’s words.
“No more,” she said hoarsely, stumbling toward the door. “Another word and I shall cut your tongue out.”
But Jubil did not heed her words; she simply stared at her niece with a blank expression. Peyton was almost through the door when she heard her aunt’s voice again, soft and hoarse. “You have met the woman with a taste for female flesh, have you not?”
Peyton almost ignored her. Shaken and angry, she found herself pausing at the bizarre, unrelated statement. “Of whom do you speak? Your potion is making you insane, Jubil.”
