“Not overly,” she replied, her eyes locking with his. “’Tis a bit tender to walk, but nothing more. I am sure it will be gone by the morrow.”
“And I promise I will not aggravate you until such time as you are properly healed,” he said with a twinkle to his eye. “It may kill me, but I shall valiantly adhere to my vow.”
She put her fist into his stomach playfully and pulled from his grasp. “You are a vulgar beast, Alec.”
He pretended to rub the spot where she had weakly punched him. “And you, my lady, are enticing beyond reason.”
Abruptly, her smile faded and she turned away. Alec saw her expression harden and he was puzzled. He reached out and grasped her arm gently.
“What is it, sweetheart? What did I say?”
She pulled free and moved away from him. “Nothing, Alec.”
He followed her, grasping her chin gently and forcing her to look at him. “If there is one thing I will demand in this marriage, it is honesty. What did I say to upset you so?”
She heard her own words echoed in his voice and she sighed with resignation. A terribly clever man, her future husband. Slowly, she sat on a sturdy little stool.
“James used to tell me I was indecently enticing,” she murmured, turning to him after a moment. “You simply reminded me of him, that’s all.”
He gazed down at her, again feeling the peculiar stab of jealousy he had experienced once before. The more he pondered her statement, the more he needed to clarify the entire Deverauxrelationship. It was as if something inside him demanded to know what, exactly, he was up against. He’d not particularly cared until this moment.
“Did you love him terribly, Peyton, or were you simply resigned to the fact that he would be your husband and felt a duty to be fond of him?”
Instead of becoming angry, a painful expression washed her features and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. “I loved him. Love him, I mean. I was looking forward to spending my life as Lady Deveraux until all of my dreams were destroyed by the point of a spear-tipped joust pole,” she lowered her gaze, remembering the event once again but, strangely, without the wrenching pain that usually accompanied the memory. “Do you know that the spear went all of the way through him? By the time I reached him on the field, he was laying on his side and six inches of the spear protruded from his back. I tried to hold him but…. it was awkward. I could only cradle his head.”
“I am surprised that the marshals allowed the spear-tipped pole to be used. They ceased using those poles long ago; in fact, I have never competed against anyone who wielded a spear-tipped shaft.”
Peyton turned her pensive face to him. “As I said, the knight had broken his primary pole and they allowed him to use his spare. Have you competed in many tournaments?”
He eased his enormous body onto the solid oak table, scrubbed until it was nearly bleached pale. “Quite a few. Peter and I used them as personal competitions, each man trying to out-do the other.”
She found it surprising to hear him refer to his mysterious, deceased brother. “And who won?”
Alec smiled as if remembering the rivalry. “Me, most often, which thoroughly angered my brother. He was two years older than I and convinced that the eldest should always be the victor,”he chuckled softly. “I remember one year at a tournament in Cheltenham I won both the melee and the joust competitions. Instead of congratulating me, Peter tried to punch me in the nose. As our father stood by in horror, we wrestled about until another knight, the man I beat in the melee, shouted encouragement to Peter. My brother promptly stopped our brawl, calmly walked over to the other knight and knocked out four of his teeth. It would seem that only Peter had permission to provoke me in a fight and no one else.”
She smiled, forgetting her sorrow as she was drawn into his recollection. The mood was light and comfortable and she felt comfortable asking him a most discomfiting question. After all, she was to be his wife, was she not? Surely he would not fault her for wanting to know.
“How did Peter die, Alec?”
His smile faded. Stone-faced, he stared off into the dimness of the room, his gaze averted from Peyton and she was suddenly sorry she had asked. He had told her quite firmly that he did not speak of his brother and she should not have pushed. Yet…. she felt as if she had to ask. He was to be her husband, yet she knew virtually nothing about him. This man who did not bear a sword, who refused to wear armor.
“I am sorry,” she whispered. “I know you do not like to speak of him. Forgive me for asking.”
He continued to stare off into the room a moment longer before turning to her, his face masked with pain. Immediately, she stood up and wrapped her arms around his thick neck, pulling his face into her soft shoulder. He responded instantly, embracing her in massive arms.
“’Tis a natural question, and I will answer you,” he whispered against her. “But it is difficult….”
“Then do not,” she shushed him quietly. “You do not have to tell me.”
He pulled his face from her silken flesh, instead, Peyton ended up resting her head on his great shoulder as he stroked her hair absently. As if it was she who needed comfort. But he eventually spoke.
“When Edward, then the prince, embarked on the Seventh Crusade, Peter and Ali and I were sent ahead to secure a particularly valuable garrison that would have made the seizure of Acre more simplified, if such a thing is possible. Being young and eager, we went willingly in a group of thirty knights that constituted the advance party for the prince. I led the assault group, and Peter and Ali acted as my generals. It was a well-formed group of brave men that took shelter in an abandoned fortress a few miles from Acre, and from there we launched raiding parties into villages to weaken the Muslim resistance for Edward’s approach,” his voice grew soft. “I was twenty-one years old at the time. I thought I knew everything and I furthermore believed that the abandoned fortress where my knights were hiding was a perfect refuge the Muslims would never find. Not only did they find us, but they attacked our garrison with three hundred men and caught us completely unaware. There was nothing to do but escape. Peter died when I thought he was an adversary and killed him myself.”
Peyton’s eyes widened and she raised her head from his shoulder, staring into his sky-blue eyes. “You killed him? Good lord, Alec, what happened?”
“It was dark in the catacombs where the knights had retreated,” he said quietly. “It was explicitly understood that when we traversed the catacombs, there was to be an established signal to identify you as an ally. In the midst of the panic of retreat, Peter did not give the signal, whether he simply forgot or did not feel it to be necessary anymore, I do not know. I heard him coming and waited for him, thinking him a foe. Whenhe appeared in the darkness, I jumped from the shadows to gut him.”
Peyton’s mouth opened in shock and sorrow. Gently, she touched his face as he struggled to maintain his calm. “Oh, my Alec, I am so sorry. No wonder you do not want to speak of it.”
