“You and St. Cloven are all I have. After this night, I fully expect to be disowned,” his expression suddenly went vulnerable and she was shocked by the fragility she read in his eyes. “Do not ever leave me, Peyton. I couldn’t stand it.”
She touched his face tenderly. “I shall never leave you, my Alec. I promise. St. Cloven and I are all you will ever need.”
He was as emotional as she had ever seen him and she eagerly fused her mouth to his, reassuring him that come what may, she would stand by him. He had already sacrificed so very much for her and she would not disappoint him. She couldn’t have left him if she wanted to. She loved him.
…. good-bye, James.
*
Alec had beengone for some time as Peyton paced the floor of her bedchamber impatiently. Jubil, seated by the lancet windows, watched her niece closely.
“Do not fret, sweetheart,” Jubil said quietly. “Alec has merely gone to retrieve the horses, not turned tail for the border.”
“I know that,” Peyton snapped. “But he has been gone a long time. Mayhap I should go look for him. He might have gotten into trouble.”
Jubil did not answer; clear-minded today, she wasn’t sure how to reply. All she knew was that Alec Summerlin had surpassed even her expectations as a husband. Surely no man had made a greater sacrifice for his wife and her family. She furthermore suspected that Peyton realized her good fortune and was already deeply attached to her new husband, whether or not she realized it.
But Peyton was indeed aware, hence her uneasy manner. Her patience evaporated, she halted her pacing and stared at the chamber door as if imagining herself walking forth in search of her errant husband. Not content merely to envision, she moved to the door quickly.
“I shall find him,” she told her aunt. “Wait here, Jubil. For Heaven’s sake, do not leave.”
Jubil nodded faintly. “Take care, sweetheart. The halls of Blackstone abound with threats.”
Peyton slanted her aunt a puzzled gaze; however, the expression was not without some apprehension. She knew her aunt to be free of her stimulants and she pondered the warning. Lacking the time or interest to ask her what she meant, she stole from the room and shut the door softly.
The halls were dim with impending dusk. The torches in their iron sconces were burning brightly with new flame,illuminating the hall as Peyton traversed the stone with soft footfalls. She could hear voices, servants down the corridor, but she ignored them as she made her way to the stairs.
As she mounted the top step, she could hear strains of voices from down below; male voices that caught her attention. She thought she heard Brian, mayhap Nigel, but she could not be sure. The only thing she was sure of was that she did not hear Alec’s voice. Silently, she descended the stairs.
The first floor was bustling with servants in preparation for the evening meal. Peyton moved down a narrow corridor, away from the grand hall and Lord Brian’s solar, in hopes of locating an exit without having to pass by the two larger rooms. Her intention was to find a servant’s entrance and slip to the stables in search of her husband.
The corridor branched off and she took the path to the left, entering a dimly lit passageway. She thought she caught sight of a large door at the far end of the hall and she set her sights on it, knowing from its placement that it must lead to the bailey. The passage was void of activity and the further she traveled, the more hushed it became. It was an eerie silence, cloying and empty, and Peyton heard her footfalls loudly as she moved toward the large oaken panel.
In her quest, she slipped past a door that was not quite closed; an inch of space separated it from the doorjamb. Just as Peyton moved by, she heard the unmistakable sounds of a woman moaning. Shocked, she paused and listened intently, hearing another rattling moan. A deep, throaty echo that made her hair stand on end.
Suddenly deterred from the door she had been seeking, genuine concern welled within her and she took a step toward the cracked door, placing her hand on the panel as she listened. Just as she touched the aged oak, she heard another groan, low and mournful, and she instantly decided that something must beterribly wrong. Someone was in a great deal of pain. Forcefully, she shoved the door open with the full intention of helping.
But what she beheld shocked her beyond belief. A serving wench lay upon her back, her skirts hiked up around her waist as another female of rotund proportions went to work between her legs. It took Peyton a mere half-second to recognize Thia, her face pressed in to the wench’s private parts, moaning with great pleasure as she stroked her long and hard with her tongue. Peyton could scarcely believe what she was witnessing; her throat tightened with bile or a scream, she could not be sure. But the one fact she knew for certain was that she had to leave as quickly as she had come.
Thia’s head came up when she heard the wench gasp. Peyton stumbled back and tripped over her own feet, nearly landing on her bottom as her astonishment nearly incapacitated her. But as she struggled to maintain her balance, Thia was through the door and bearing down on her with the most horrifying gleam to her eye.
Thia was fast, but Peyton was faster. She rolled away from Alec’s sister, scrambling to her feet. Thia snatched at her, snagging her gown and slowing her momentum, but Peyton yanked herself free and dug her heels into the floor with the full intention of out-running her pursuer. Unquestionably, Thia meant to do her serious harm and Peyton’s chest swelled with panic; she had to make it to the safety of the grand hall.
As Peyton bordered on panic, Thia bordered on madness. Her brother’s wife had discovered her secret and must be made to pay. She did not stop to wonder how she would explain Peyton’s death to Alec; mayhap she would deny knowledge altogether. Whatever rationalization she formulated would come later; for now, she had an immediate need to silence the one person who could do her harm. Peyton was unable to get far before Thia threw herself forward and tripped, grabbing Peytonaround the ankle. Peyton fell hard, smacking her head on the stone. Dazed but not senseless, she began struggling violently with Thia, kicking and punching as the woman attempted to enclose her in an iron grip.
Thia struck out and punched Peyton in the stomach, enough to knock the wind from her, but Peyton did not give in to the pain. Instead, she lashed out and raked her fingernails across Thia’s plump face and drew blood.
“You bitch!” Thia’s hand went to her bloodied cheek, to the wounds which would undoubtedly leave scars. Peyton, terrified, slipped out from underneath her and attempted to regain her footing.
But Thia was hell-bent on disabling her victim. She balled her fist and smashed Peyton on the back of the head, but her victim did not waver. Instead, Peyton tried to scratch her again, unsuccessfully, as she wobbled to stand. Thia thrust her big hands out to stop her but Peyton knocked them away, breaking free.
On her feet again, Peyton resumed her run down the hall with much less speed and a good deal more staggering. Thia, exhausted and bleeding, charged after her.
Toby suddenly appeared at the end of the hall, his blue eyes gazing at the struggling women with astonishment. Peyton saw him in front of her and dashed toward him, reaching him a split-second before Thia crashed into her from behind and grabbed a handful of luscious red hair. Screams and grunts filled the corridor.
Toby could scarcely believe what he was witnessing. He thrust his wide frame in between the two women, attempting desperately to unwind Thia’s grip from Peyton’s hair. All the while, Thia continued to slug at Peyton’s head, sometimes making contact, and Toby was beside himself.
“Thia!” he bellowed. “Stop it! You will kill her!”
