She did not answer for a moment and he looked at her expectantly as he straightened his tunic. Seeing his attention, she blushed and lowered her gaze. “I…. thank you.”
He half-grinned, snatching his leather over tunic from the dirt floor. “For what?”
“For waiting.”
He stopped his movements, leather tunic half-way to his head. After a moment’s contemplation of what she meant by her short answer, he continued to pull the tunic over his head.
“You are welcome.”
She lifted her gaze again, watching him dress. “I suppose what I mean to say is that I am glad you waited for me. Sometimes I think it is rather unfair that the woman is expected to remain a virgin until marriage and not the man. I feel better knowing that no woman has marked you before.”
“Lady, not only have you marked my heart, you have tattooed yourself onto my body,” he touched his shoulders with a grin. “I am verily proud of my battle wounds.”
Her eyes widened with astonishment. “I have marked your heart?”
His humor faded and she could see his confusion as he reached for his studded leather belt. “Of course you have,” he said softly. “Why do you think I am willing to defy my father to marry you?”
He was being completely honest in spite of his confusion and she felt a surge of courage. As puzzled as she was by her conflicting feelings and her love of James, deep down, she knew the truth.
“I think you have marked me, too,” she whispered.
He looked at her, the porcelain face and incredible hair, and felt a rush of joy at her admission. But he was still frightened and confused; this woman had power over him and that scared thewits from him. It frightened him that his heart could so easily control his head.
A tin cistern of water was a few feet away. He retrieved a handkerchief from his traveling satchel and dipped it in the water, bringing it to Peyton. He turned away as she quickly washed away her blood, and then moved to the stable door to watch the activity of the castle as she dressed privately.
It was still quiet on the grounds as the sun set and his mind moved ahead quickly to the journey that await. Peyton approached him, shaking the straw from her hair and he smiled at her, picking out bits of chaff from the golden-red tresses.
“I shall saddle Midas and we will be on our way,” he said quietly. “There should be a comb in my satchel for your hair.”
She cocked an eyebrow, eyeing the large bag on the floor near the wall. “You were certainly confident that I would agree to your proposal. Pray, what else is packed for me?”
“I do not know,” he replied, moving to Midas with a bridle. “Ali packed the bag.”
“Good lord,” she muttered, digging through the bag. Tunics for Alec, some sort of rough garments for her, soap, a heavy cloak, a battered metal mirror and a tortoise shell comb. “Where did he get this clothing? ’Tis nothing of mine.”
“He made do with what he could collect.” Bridled, Midas stood still as Alec swung a heavy woolen saddle blanket onto his silver back.
Peyton continued to dig about in the bag and finally stood up, brushing off her hands. “Unacceptable. I would gather my own things.”
“There is no time, sweetheart.” The saddle Alec placed on Midas must have weight one hundred pounds, but Alec lifted it as if it were made of fluff. Peyton watched him, marveling at his strength. She couldn’t have managed to move the saddle much less lift it.
“I will only take ten minutes. Can we spare ten minutes?”
He slanted her a gaze as he cinched the straps. “Peyton, if we are discovered there will most like not be a marriage this night, if ever. The longer we remain, the better the chance of us being detained. We must leave as soon as my horse is readied and we cannot spare even a moment longer.”
She frowned at him, realizing he was most likely right. Resigned and pouting, she retrieved the comb from the bag and combed the straw out of her considerable mane.
He concentrated on preparing his horse, every so often glancing at her bright head and hardly believing what he was about to do. He was about to elope with a woman he never wanted in the first place. He shook his head at the irony, knowing how very wrong his father was; they were perfect together in every way and nothing short of death could force him to relinquish her.
He was nearly finished with Midas when Peyton suddenly dropped the comb and rushed to him. “Alec! I think I hear someone coming!”
He grabbed her, pulling her into the shadows of Midas’ stall and motioning for her to remain hidden. Then, casually, he returned to his horse and finished his task just as Jubil rounded the corner to the stable. Alec looked to her with some surprise, eyeing the bag in the woman’s hand.
“My lady,” he greeted. “What are you doing out here in the stables?”
Jubil entered the dim livery, her gaze darting about. “Where’s Peyton?”
Alec stopped fumbling with his saddle and leaned an arm on his horse. “What makes you think she is here? As you can see, I am preparing to leave and….”
