“Not another word!” Celine snapped savagely. “I shall not hear you defend my son to me, you conniving wench. You coerced my son to the altar and now you have succeeded in convincing him to reject his family. Be out of my sight before I take a dagger to you!”
Alec was suddenly between them, his hands clutching his mother as he had never gripped a woman in his life. Celine gazed up into angry sky-blue eyes that she did not recognize, and fear immediately swelled in her breast. The eyes that blazed upon her were not the eyes of her beloved Alec.
“Were you a man, you would be drowning in your own blood for making such a threat. As it is, I shall thank you never to speak to my wife in that manner again,” he released his mother as quickly as he had grasped her and turned to Peyton. “Mount your horse. We leave.”
Without another word, Peyton did as she was told. She did not dare look at Lady Celine, fearful that she would be able to read the woman’s hate in her eyes. When Alec reined Midas beside her a scant few seconds later, she was more than willing to retreat from the great bailey of Blackstone.
It was latewhen they began their return trip to St. Cloven, and later still two hours into their journey. The Saracen stallion was not traveling well and Alec had to walk beside the horse to keep him calm. Midas, tethered to a wagon, snorted his disapproval to not be leading the caravan.
With Jubil in one of the wagons, Peyton found herself riding alone with Toby and several men at arms. In spite of his mother’s anger, Toby felt compelled to accompany his brother to his new keep, if only for the fact that he knew Alec would sorely miss Ali’s organizing presence. While Alec tended to other concerns, Toby would see to the security of his new keep.
In truth, he looked forward to the task; he’d not had a chance to prove himself to his brother with Ali’s constant presence. He was eager to further establish his responsible nature by confirming to Alec that he was a mature, capable knight. Though it was never Alec’s intention, Toby was positive his older brother still viewed him as an eager young lad with bucked teeth and a knack for trouble-making. Even if he was a fully grown man, Alec still saw him as his younger brother and Toby was certain the opportunity before him would sway his brother’s opinion.
As the caravan traveled into the night, Alec was having better luck controlling the Saracen. The animal seemed to be calming somewhat and he was considering remounting Midas when a soft voice floated up beside him.
“Do you mind if I walk with you?”
He looked down to see his wife smiling up at him, the coarse road crunching under her delicate slippers. His first reaction was to sternly direct her back to her palfrey, but he found that he could not. It was nearly the first smiling face he had seen all day.
He reached out and took her hand. “Who allowed you to dismount?”
“Toby,” she said. “’Tis amazing what a bit of sweet-talking can accomplish.”
He raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Do not think to turn your feminine wiles on my younger, weaker-willed brother. You will ruin him.”
She snickered. “I will not. But, in truth, he is terribly cute when he blushes. He turns red enough to ignite kindling.”
Alec fought off a grin, gazing to the head of the column where Toby rode astride his chestnut destrier, dutifully leading Peyton’s palfrey beside him. He shook his head. “You are an aggressive, terrible woman to take advantage of a noble knight. He’d do anything for you regardless of my wrath.”
Her smile abruptly faded and she lowered her gaze, watching the road beneath her feet. Alec studied her bowed head and squeezed her hand gently. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, preparing to evade his question, but she remembered well their mutually spoken requests of honesty. She swallowed and brushed at the threatening tears. “’Tis just…. that’s what your mother called me.”
His own smile vanished. Leaving the Saracen to nibble on his alfalfa, he whisked his wife across the moving caravan to where Midas was tethered. Deftly, he mounted her astride the plodding horse and bolted on behind her. With a clucking noise, he reined Midas to the very front of the column, away from the others.
Once alone, he kissed her head, her cheek, and the top of her ear. Peyton sighed raggedly, collapsing against him.
“I do not want you to fret over my mother’s words,” he said softly. “She was angry, a state which consumes her quite often, and she habitually says things that she does not mean. You must remember that.”
“She hates me,” she whispered.
He sighed deeply, hearing the song of a distant night bird. “Nay, she does not. She is simply overwrought with the turn of recent events.”
Peyton did not say anything for a moment. “Did your father truly disinherit you?”
“So he says. That will remain to be seen.”
“Is that why you were gone so long this evening? You said that you were merely going to see to your horses and nothing about speaking with your father.”
“’Twas my intention to secure my Saracens and assemble a traveling party, which I did. The confrontation with my father was secondary.”
“Confrontation?”
He snorted softly. “Indeed. After the lashing he’d been dealt by the Warringtons, it was inevitable that he would come after me with a vengeance. I half-expected the Warrington dogs to hound me as well.”
“Why should they? They have Thia now.”
He did not say anything for a moment. “Not if I can think of a way to release her from her bind.”
