“This is your quiet inn?” she asked.
He shrugged feebly and pulled her off the charger. Gathering their two satchels as well as his crossbow, he took Peyton’s arm and led her inside.
The common room was warm and fragrant, smelling of roasted meat and old ale. Smoke from the blazing hearth cast a faint fog in the room, shrouding the occupants like a mist. It was a busy place, full of ladies and knights, men-at-arms and loud whores, and Alec drew distinct stares with his enormous presence as they made their way into the depths of the noisy room. His sky-blue eyes grazed the room for his friend, but the man was nowhere to be found until a whooping shout pierced the air.
“Alec!” came a boom. “I thought it was you, you blond devil!”
Alec and Peyton turned to see a large man bounding toward them, almost plowing over a serving wench in his eagerness. Peyton instinctively stepped back, pressing against Alec as the man came upon them; he was nearly as large as Alec with unkempt black hair and black eyes like polished onyx. A well-manicured beard was the only characteristic that singled him out from the rest of the shabby crowd and he reached for Alec’s hand, pumping it hard in greeting.
“How is it that you have come my way?” he said happily. “God’s Blood, it’s been at least a year since I have seen you. And where’s that black bastard Ali? The whoreskin still owes me five gold pieces, you know.”
Alec grinned broadly. “Always a pleasure to see you again, Simon. You certainly know how to make a man feel welcome.”
“Welcome? Ha!” Simon snorted loudly. “I practically owe you this damn hovel, with all of the gambling you and I used to do….” his eyes suddenly fell on Peyton and his eyes widened, clearing his throat in surprise. “Oh…. my. Who is this exquisite creature and what in the hell is she doing with the likes of you?”
“This is my wife,” Alec replied, answering both questions and feeling a good deal of pride at the announcement. “Peyton, this is Sir Simon de Clerc. Simon, this is my wife, the Lady Peyton Summerlin.”
Peyton bobbed a curtsy as Simon’s eyes opened wide with astonishment.
“A wife?” he repeated. “God’s Blood, Alec, you have actually taken a wife? And look at her; my God, she is beautiful. I am completely speechless.”
“Good,” Alec replied with a smirk, glancing about the room. “Is business so good that you would not have a room to spare us?”
“Never!” Simon declared. “My very best room is still available because no one here can afford it. It’s yours for the night, free of charge.”
“Naturally. And we expect a full meal, also free of charge. I will consider it your wedding gift to us.”
Simon bowed deeply. “Naturally. I shall send up the best fare I have to offer.”
“Better than that, I hope,” Alec slanted the man a distrustful gaze. “Point us in the right direction so that I may remove my wife from this ribald atmosphere.”
“Can’t we eat down here?” Peyton asked, tugging on his sleeve. “I have never been to a tavern.”
“Would you be so good as to eat with me?” Simon asked hopefully, looking to Alec. “Come, come! I have a cozy table by the hearth. Surely you will not deny me your company after all this time?”
Alec passed an uncomfortable glance at the room once more, but the expression on Peyton’s face made his decision for him. With a slight nod, he allowed Simon to lead them over to a large table where three wenches were eating loudly, drinking like men. Simon promptly removed the women, all but kicking them from the table. Scolded and humiliated, they passed challenging glares at Peyton as they retreated.
“Have you something to say to me?” Peyton immediately bristled at the harsh looks. “It shall be your last statement before I rip your tongue out and wrap it around your neck!”
Simon laughed loudly as Alec pulled his wife to sit, but Peyton was still riled and glared daggers at the trashy women as they disappeared into the kitchen.
“God’s Blood, Alec, I like her already,” Simon declared, bellowing for food and ale with the same breath.
“Turn around,” Alec rumbled to his wife. “Behave yourself.”
“Did you see how they looked at me?” she demanded, still outraged. “Why did they do that when I did nothing to warrant it?”
He sighed and leaned close to her. “They are simply jealous of your beauty, sweetheart. You must learn to deal with such hostilities calmly.”
Somewhat sated, Peyton accepted the cup of ale offered by Simon and took a deep drink, immediately choking on the swallow. Simon looked concerned.
“What is it, Lady Summerlin? Is something wrong with the ale?” he asked earnestly.
She made a face, pushing her cup away. “Nay, my lord, nothing abnormal….” she licked her lips and shuddered. “Where did you purchase this ale?”
“From a man in Mildenhall,” Simon replied. “He brews it especially for me. Is it not acceptable?”
Peyton cast a helpless glance at Alec, who was smiling faintly at her over the rim of his cup. “Why on earth would you purchase ale from a man in Mildenhall when the very best ale in the realm comes from St. Cloven?” Alec demanded.
