“Lady Summerlin, your husband was beyond magnificent when it came to swordplay. There was not a man in the entire civilized world that could best him. When he competed in tournaments, the melees were always decided before the combatants ever took the field. Everyone knew that Alec Summerlin would triumph, although there were those of us who were foolish enough to take our chances against him. Aye, there was none more brilliant,” Simon chuckled at Alec’s demureness. “Stop acting the blushing maiden, Alec. You know full well your skill and power. When England lost you, she lost her most powerful warrior since Galahad.”
“Galahad?” Peyton gazed at her husband, who merely took another drink of ale.
Simon was enjoying Alec’s embarrassment. “Certainly. But I doubt even Galahad could have held the position against the raiding Muslims those years ago. Nothing short of Godcould have defended thirty English knights against hundreds of barbarian soldiers.”
What had promised to be a glorious tale of Alec’s strength suddenly turned uncomfortable as Simon referred to the fallen fortress. Peyton turned to her husband to gauge his reaction as Simon continued on, fully aware of the tender memories.
“There were very few of us left alive to escape the initial onslaught,” Simon sat forward, his eyes intent on Peyton. “On our retreat we ran headlong into a patrol of Muslims, fifty barbarians against eighteen English knights who had just fled for their lives. Your husband was magnificent as he engaged man after man with only his spear and dagger. It was a sight to behold, indeed, for he killed thirteen men on his own while the rest of us struggled with two or three. ’Twas the last time I saw The Legend in action.”
“He was magnificent, then?” Peyton repeated in awe.
Simon smiled with satisfaction. “Indeed, madam. Alec could fight God himself and win.” Sighing, he gazed at Alec fondly. “Edward has never given up hope that The Legend would forsake his vow and take up campaigning again. With the trouble Edward has from the Llewellyn ap Gruffydd and the Scots, he is sorely in need of Alec’s power. I shall wager he shall never stop begging you to join him, Alec.”
Peyton again turned to Alec with a faint smile of admiration when she saw that he was not smiling; in fact, his expression had turned to stone. She well remembered the personality trait she had learned to hate, but this time she did not shy away from him. Knowing what she did of his past, she realized the facade was an act of self-preservation. She raised her hand and clutched the arm that rested on her shoulder, reassuring Alec silently that she understood his torment.
“Alec is no longer a fighting man, but lord of the manor,” she said quickly, changing the subject. “You will have to come visitus at St. Cloven. Ali and Alec have grand plans on renovating the keep and I promise it will be a magnificent place when they are finished.”
“Ali is a grand designer,” Simon took the bait and followed her lead. “I understand he did a great deal of the planning when Lord Brian added a south wing to Blackstone.”
“Ali has a mind for dimensions,” Alec said quietly, draining the last of his cup. “He can figure exact measurements of the most prolific proportions and they are always correct. I have never known him to be wrong.”
His voice was faint and Peyton felt a distinct melancholy settle. Now that they were fed, her fatigue was increasing and she gently tugged on Alec’s sleeve.
“I am tired, Alec. Can we retire?”
“Certainly,” he set down his cup. “I shall escort my lady wife to our chamber and return to our conversation, Simon. Stay where you are.”
Simon nodded, focusing on Peyton. “’Twas a pleasure to meet you, my lady. And remember my offer should you ever tire of The Legend.”
She glanced up to her husband. “Hopefully, he will keep me properly entertained and I shall never tire of him.”
Simon snorted a chuckle, properly contrite when Alec cast him a menacing glare. He continued to watch as Alec escorted his wife through the sea of men and wenches, wondering how Alec had been fortunate enough to wed such a beautiful woman. Not that he did not deserve it, of course; ’twas only right, considering Alec was the greatest knight in the realm. At least, he had been at one time.
Simon’s finest room was not much to the eye, but it was clean and comfortable and Peyton was sorely feeling her exhaustion as Alec set the satchels to the floor and tossed their cloaks over a chair. She immediately tossed back the bedrug and threw herselfon the mattress, clothing and all. Alec grinned as she jerked the cover over her head.
“You are not even going to undress?” he mused. “My, my, you must be fatigued.”
She sighed heavily, with contentment. “Do not be long. I shall expect you to join me shortly.”
“Aye, General.”
“And tell a serving wench that we will expect a morning meal at sunrise.”
“Aye, General. Anything else?”
She grunted and he chuckled softly, moving for the door. “Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, my Legend.”
In faith, he was exhausted as well, but he was also eager to finish his conversation with Simon. The man had been invaluable support during the long months in the Holy Land and Alec considered him a good friend. Furthermore, were he to retire with Peyton, he was positive he would not be able to contain himself and he had promised that she would be allowed time to recover. He did not want to break his promise; Christ, he might stay downstairs all night in that case.
Peyton heard him leave, nearly asleep. The bed was comfortable to a fault and as she drifted off, she suddenly remembered that she had neglected to ask him what time they were to leave. After all, she wanted to rise and bathe in plenty of time to return to Blackstone and she wanted to make sure there was hot water available for her toilette.
She rolled onto her back, debating whether or not she should go downstairs and ask him, but she did not want to leave the comfort of the bed. It was warm and wonderful and her eyes closed again as she pondered her predicament. But she forced her eyes open, determined to seek her answer so she could sleep with confidence. And besides; she had to use the privy terriblyand she did not see a chamber pot in the room. With a grunt, she heaved herself from the bed.
Somehow, the common room was smokier and louder than she remembered. She immediately spied Alec at the table near the hearth with Simon, a large pitcher of ale between them. Two serving wenches were hanging all over Simon, and Peyton thought it fortunate that the women were staying away from Alec, lest she be so inclined to tear their hair out by the roots.
It was amazing how protective she was of him already, but not so amazing considering the soul-baring that had occurred between them. She felt a distinct need to protect him from those who would be a physical threat or a deliberate temptation.
