When he turned to her, his neck was mottled with flush but his expression was impassive. “I forbid you to plead your innocence. If I ever hear another offensive word come forth from your mouth regarding Ali, you will regret the day you were born. Is that clear?”
Peyton stood against the wall by the latticed windows, irritation replacing some of her fear. “Perfectly. If you kindly allow me to explain myself before you tear my head off.”
He was standing by a carved cherrywood table, a sturdy piece of furniture that displayed a painted vase from Egypt. One moment the table and vase were whole; in the next they were shattered, crushed by Alec’s huge fist in his rage. He kicked the pieces aside, his hands clenched into spheres the size of a child’s head.
“You are just like the rest, aren’t you? A shallow bitch that cannot see beyond the color of a man’s skin,” his voice was likeshards of ice, cold and biting. “I thought you to be different, Peyton. You nearly had me convinced of the fact. But the truth comes forth and I realize now that you are not. Christ, I tried to stop you from hanging yourself once. I did not want you to give me a reason to hate you. But given enough rope, you are content to condemn yourself, aren’t you? If you wanted to ruin your chances for affection in this marriage, my lady, then you have done just that.”
She was shocked. Her mouth hung agape at his words and she shook her head feebly. “Alec, can I not defend myself before you denounce me?”
“There is nothing you can possibly say in your defense,” he said coldly. “I now see what I am to receive in a wife and you cannot hide the fact.”
Her irritation was blooming as her fear somewhat cooled. “Hide what?” she demanded softly. “Why are you so angry that I referred to Ali as a savage? In fact, you….”
He exploded, hurling the heavy hide-covered chair into the wall as if it were constructed of rotted wood. Peyton’s hands flew to her mouth and she ducked as a piece of the smashed cherrywood table came sailing in her direction. Irritation dissolved, her fear consumed her as she covered her head to protect herself from a portion of the table that exploded against the stone wall behind her. A heavy splinter speared her hand, sending rivers of bright red blood streaming down her arm and onto her gown.
But she did not flinch from the pain, only from the terror of Alec’s rage. Shaken and verging on tears, she opened her eyes to see Alec’s boots directly in front of her.
Her ashen face turned upward. Eyes glittering like the deadly reflection of a broadsword stared down at her and she swallowed the dread that threatened. Even if he did not want to hear an explanation, she was going to deliver one before he tore her intwo. And she was positive from the look in his eye that murder was on his mind.
Her voice was tight. “Was it worse that I described him as a savage when you yourself referred to him such? I delivered the term as an interpretation of the church’s stance, not my personal opinion. I did not use the term to insult him, Alec.”
He stared at her. Slowly, she saw his expression loosen. The muscles suddenly went slack with understanding and horror at what he had done, a man who took such pride in his self-control. He’d never lost his composure as he had just done and he was mortified because he believed her. It was simple, it was factual. Christ, he so desperately wanted to believe her.
Peyton’s initial reaction had been usual, though somewhat mild. Even Ali had alluded to the fact. And watching Ivy’s gradual acceptance of the ebony soldier had not been an easy thing for Alec; he couldn’t help but doubt her sincerity. He had seen her kind of “acceptance” before; or so he thought, and he was unwilling for his friend to be pitied by yet another woman. As the hours passed and Ivy grew more and more comfortable with Ali’s appearance, Alec found himself growing more willing to believe in spite of his natural reserve. More than anything he, like Ali, wanted to believe. He realized that he did believe.
Gazing down at Peyton’s pale face and bloodied hand, he could only remember regretting one other incident with greater sorrow; when he had mistakenly gored his brother. Although he had not meant to hurt Peyton, he had nonetheless. Just as he had not meant to kill his brother.
Mayhap that was why Alec maintained such strong composure in the face of almost anything; the few times he had lost his control and acted rashly, the consequences had been severe. Remorse and sorrow swept him.
“Oh, Peyton,” he whispered. “I…. oh, Christ,” he sank to the floor in front of her, his face etched with despair. “Forgive me. You are right, of course; I should not have overreacted.”
Peyton stared at him, her terror replaced by a deeper sense of ache and offense. She was reduced to a huddled ball by Alec’s rage and as the fear died she could only gaze back at him with disgust. Where she had once seen her death in his eyes, she now only saw the greatest sorrow. Unable to respond to his apology, she turned her face to the wall.
Alec was gripped with sadness as she cowered from him. His chest was constricting so tightly that he could barely breathe, more anguish than he ever thought possible gripping him. He was a man unused to such volatile emotions and he hated himself for terrorizing her so.
“Peyton, sweet,” he said softly. “Get up and let me tend your hand. Come and sit….”
He touched her gently and she lashed out at him, slapping his hand away and splattering him with her blood. “Leave me alone! Go away and leave me alone!”
If he had possessed a dagger at that moment, he would have turned it on himself; surely it would have been less painful compared to the hurt he was experiencing. “Please, love. You can never know how sorry I am for losing my temper, but….”
She kicked at him then, scattering pieces of wood. Her movements were jerky, full of terror and anger. “Go away, you bastard. You will not touch me.”
He rose heavily, gazing down at her beautiful red head. “Please, Peyton, do not…. please let me….”
She wrapped her arms over her ears as if to block out his voice, pulling herself into a tight little ball. Her body tensed so terribly that she looked ready to snap and he stepped back, away from her, hoping she would calm were he not hovering over her.
He stumbled backwards, dazed and pained by what he had done, wandering away from Peyton until he bumped into his father’s desk. Never taking his eyes off her, he perched himself on the edge of the desk and continued to stare at her, wondering if he could ever make restitution to her for his violent actions. There were no words to describe his torment as he watched her shaking, huddled form.
Time passed slowly, painfully. Peyton remained huddled in a ball and Alec sat frozen on the end of the oaken desk. She did not move or speak; neither did he. He was so deeply shocked at his outburst that he swore silently he would spend the rest of his life making amends to her, whatever it would take. He thanked God that he had still possessed sense enough not to have physically attacked her.
As it was, his father’s valuable Egyptian vase with the strange writing had been destroyed, as had a heavy cherrywood table. The upended chair could be repaired, but he seriously wondered if Peyton’s wits would ever heal.
“Peyton,” he whispered finally. “Please get up, sweetheart. I promise I won’t….”
“Go away from me, Alec Summerlin,” her voice was a breathy whisper.
He sighed heavily and stood up, wondering if he should not simply force her to sit in a chair so that he could speak with her rationally. She had to understand that he hadn’t meant to erupt so violently, but there were deep reasons as to why he had acted so irrationally. Mayhap if she understood his reasons, she could forgive him.
