“St. Cloven! Pah!” Simon snorted. “The best ale in all of England, but too damn expensive. My customers’ lowly palates do not require such extravagance. Were I to purchase St. Cloven ale, I would go broke because no one could afford it.”
Peyton and Alec exchanged grins. “No more, Simon. I happen to know the lord of St. Cloven personally and I will see that you are treated most fairly,” Alec said.
“Truly?” Simon said thoughtfully. “Do you think I could purchase St. Cloven ale for what I am paying now?”
“What do you pay now?” Peyton asked.
“Forty pence a barrel.”
Peyton considered that price. St. Cloven ale was priced nearly three times higher. “Would you purchase ale from St. Clovenfor sixty pence a barrel if, for every two barrels you purchased, a hogshead-barrel was given to you without charge? You could conceivably purchase five barrels for the price of four, ten for the price of eight, for nearly the same price you pay your present supplier for his inferior ale. The quality of St. Cloven’s drink would overshadow the slight increase in your cost.”
Simon scratched his chin. “Aye, I would do that. Were word to spread that I supplied St. Cloven ale I would likely have more business than I could handle.”
“Done,” Alec said firmly, his gaze warm on his wife. Not only was she beautiful and brave, but she had a head for business and that pleased him immensely.
“How can you do this, Alec?” Simon queried. “Did your father annex St. Cloven, perchance?”
Alec smiled and took a healthy drink of the bitter ale. “I married it.”
Simon stared at him a moment before turning an astonished expression to Peyton. “Youare St. Cloven ale?”
Peyton felt Alec’s hand on her back gently. “I am Lady Summerlin, formerly heiress to St. Cloven.”
Simon’s mouth went agape with surprise and he slapped himself on the cheek as if to regain his senses. Then he laughed. “God’s Blood! I have ties to St. Cloven!”
The food came then, great trenchers of roast pork and gravy, huge chunks of fresh bread, butter, and boiled carrots and apples. Peyton dug in with gusto and ate until she could hold no more, but her voracious appetite could not compare with Alec. He must have eaten half the pig as his wife wallowed in over-stuffed misery.
“Tell me, my lady, how did you come by your name?” Simon asked, his mouth full of food. “’Tis a man’s name, usually.”
Peyton sighed with contentment as her food settled. “’Twas my mother’s maiden name and she swore she would give one ofher children the name, male or female. The Peytons come from the Isle of Arran in Scotland. They still inhabit Brodick Castle on the island, although I have never been there. I understand it is very lovely.”
“Scotland is a wild land,” Simon agreed, eating loudly. “But it breeds the most beautiful women. Wild, delightful women.”
Alec lifted an eyebrow, unwilling for Simon to pursue that particular line of conversation. “You have only to look at my wife to know that Scotland does indeed breed beauties. Her sister is to be Ali’s wife, by the way.”
Simon smiled broadly. “Ah! The black lad did indeed find a mate. You know, Alec, the only time I ever saw Ali comfortable with a woman was in the Holy Land where all of the women were nearly his color. I thought he might find a Saracen bride.”
“He was far too young for a bride at that time,” Alec said softly. “Lady Ivy has accepted him as her husband and it is a most agreeable arrangement.”
“No doubt.” Finished, Simon sat back in his chair and belched loudly, stretching his huge body. “Imagine that I know two men who are related to St. Cloven ale. ’Twill prove to be a gold mine for me. My lady doesn’t have any more unattached sisters, perchance?”
Peyton shook her head. “Nay, my lord. There are only two of us.”
“Pity. Imagine what I could do if I were married to St. Cloven,” he raised an eyebrow at her. “You would not consider leaving Alec and marrying me, would you? I would be more than happy to dispose of your husband.”
She grinned and Alec pulled her chair over to him, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I might reconsider my vow and wield a sword if I thought you to be serious. You’d not take her without a fight.”
“In that case, I recount my offer. I would sooner go up against the Devil himself than meet you in a swordfight.”
Peyton leaned against Alec, content and happy, basking in his heat. It occurred to her that Simon had seen Alec fight at one time and she was curious to know the man’s complete opinion of Alec’s skill.
“He is a great knight, then?” she asked.
Simon’s eyes glittered at Alec through the smoke. It was the first time all evening he seemed to calm somewhat. “Do you not know the man you married, my lady? There was no better knight in the entire realm.”
“Simon….” Alec shook his head faintly, modestly toying with his cup.
Simon grinned, propping a huge boot on the table and knocking his empty trencher to the floor. Underneath the table, fat dogs scuffled for the scraps and Peyton raised her legs to avoid being bitten.
