CHAPTER NINE
The village ofEly sat nine miles to the southeast of Blackstone on the plain of Fenland, sometimes alluded to as the Isle of Ely in reference to the days when the entire region was an untrained marsh. Bordered by the River Ouse, the hamlet was asleep for the most part as Alec entered the outskirts. It was an unremarkable little town until one lay sights on the Norman cathedral that dominated the skyline; a most remarkable structure with towers that soared to the sky like fingers reaching for heaven.
It was an hour before midnight as Midas’ hoof-falls echoed against the cobblestone toward the cathedral. They passed a tavern and Peyton studied it intently, listening to the singing and laughing and wishing that Alec would take her inside simply so she could see what it was like. Having barely ventured from the confines of St. Cloven, she was understandably curious.
A couple of knights came stumbling through the front doors and immediately made comment of Midas as they rode past. Alec ignored the whooping and hollering, even when the men yelled their highest bid for the magnificent destrier.
Peyton kept the hood of her cloak over her head protectively, shielding her face from the loud men and feeling a good amount of apprehension. She was afraid they would try to steal the horse from underneath them and Alec was unarmed but for his crossbow and a dagger. He wore no sword, something she considered most strange. Suppose he was called upon to defend them both; he would have no ready means of protection. Suppose they fell into danger somehow? Suppose…?
“Why is it that you do not wear a sword and armor?” she asked.
“As I told your sister, I gave up knightly pursuits long ago.”
“But why?” she turned to look at him. “What if I were to need defending, Alec? You have no sword to accomplish this.”
He grinned in the moonlight. “God help the man who provokes you, my lady. You are the last woman in the world who needs defending.”
She scowled reproachfully. “You know what I mean. You are certainly not past your prime, and I know you fought with Edward on the Seventh Crusade. Why is it you do not bear arms anymore?”
His smile faded and he looked away after a moment. “I choose not to.”
She stared at him, perturbed that he was avoiding her question. She had a right to know, after all. If she was to be his wife, then she would know why he chose not to bear a sword like most husbands. But it was obvious that there was far more to her question than a simple answer. Irritated, she turned away.
The cathedral loomed before them momentarily. Alec reined Midas to the monastery that bordered the monstrous church and dismounted, pulling Peyton off with him. Taking her hand, he led her to the carved oaken door and rapped heavily.
A short man with thin hair answered, dressed in coarse brown wool. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Alec, surely the largest man he had ever beheld.
“How may I help you, my lord?” he asked in a soft voice.
“My lady and I wish to be married this night. I would speak with the Monsignor.”
The monk beckoned them inside. “Leave your sword at the door, my lord, and follow me.”
“I bear no sword,” Alec said, almost stiffly.
The monk merely nodded his head and moved silently down the narrow hall. Alec, for his massive size, kept bumping into wall sconces and rosaries as he followed, thankful when the little man stopped and motioned them into a room. Alec ducked underneath the door frame as he entered the small chamber.
“You will wait here, and I shall summon Father Lenardon.”
“He is the Monsignor?”
“He is my superior and capable of transacting such business as you seek,” the monk closed the door softly.
Peyton removed her hood and glanced about the small, vacant chamber. “I feel as if I am in prison.”
Alec gazed at the meager furnishings and whitewashed walls, clean but worn. “I see your point. I myself feel as if I have just entered an abode meant for midgets,” he motioned to a small stool. “Sit, sweetheart. We could be in for a long wait.”
She shook her head. “My backside is sore from so much riding,” instead, she pressed her back against a wall to stretch out the muscles. “I wonder if your father realizes that we are both missing.”
“If he doesn’t by now, he will shortly,” Alec fumbled with his thick leather gloves, loosening them. “But there is naught he can do, even if Jubil tells him what she knows.”
“He shall be angry,” Peyton said softly.
“He shall get over it,” Alec shrugged. “Especially when he sees his grandson next year.”
She smiled, a delightful flush mottling her cheeks and he went to her, taking her face between his huge hands.
“I pray that the past few hours of riding have not made you overly sore,” he said with a tender smile.
