“I have never seen this before,” he said with a weak grin.
“I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“You did not,” she wrapped her hands around his muscular elbow and smiled brightly. “But the last wagon is gone. Have you had enough of the brewery for one day?”
He returned her smile and shrugged, glancing about the empire he had acquired. The amazing process of ale making was still going on about him, a procedure refined by generations of de Fluornoys, now to be his. He could scarcely believe it all belonged to him. It almost made the pain of his estrangement bearable.
The dark sorrows that had constituted the previous day threatened him once again, almost stronger than before. But he fought back the grief, refusing to allow it to dampen his joy. Gazing down at the head of his wife, he knew he had finally found his place in life.
No longer was he the coward son, The Legend who had laid down his sword in dishonor. A disinheritance long in coming did not matter anymore. He did not need it.
He was Alec Summerlin, Lord of St. Cloven. Patting Peyton’s soft hands, he led her out into the sunshine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jubil was abat for nearly a week. She continued to hang upside-down in the solar, shut away from the rest of the world as Peyton raged her irritation and then, finally ignored her. Alec went to the solar one evening after the meal and seated himself next to the hanging woman, pelting her with gentle questions as to why she must remain a bat. All she would tell him was that she must be made aware of the danger, and it puzzled him. He knew better than to ask Peyton for clarification; she thought it all a load of silly nonsense.
When Jubil finally descended from her cloud of toxin-induced visions, she could not walk and could barely speak. Toby had carried the woman to her bower where she proceeded to sleep for three days. In truth, Peyton was very concerned for her aunt and spent a good deal of time by her bedside in silent vigil, ready to offer watered ale or a bit of food should Jubil desire it. One moment she’d be terribly angry with her aunt for the self-abuse, but in the next moment she would pray for her recovery. She’d never seen Jubil so drained.
As Jubil recovered from her experience, Alec delved deeper and deeper into the workings of St. Cloven. His days were filledwith ale-making and his Saracens, and his nights were filled with his wife. His life seemed to hinge on the bright red-gold head, eager to catch a glimpse of her as he went about his duties, more than eager to taste of her with a stolen kiss or a lingering embrace.
Peyton occupied every corner of his mind that wasn’t busy learning about the ale process or focused on his foaling mare. There was so much to learn and be joyful of that he had little time to linger on the family he had left behind.
But linger he did. Sometimes at night after Peyton had fallen asleep, he found himself thinking on his sister’s fate. Had she indeed married Colin? Or had his father shown an ounce of courage and denied the petition? God only knew how badly he wanted to contact his father, to apologize for actions he was not sincerely remorseful for committing. But he would apologize all the same, simply because he was sorry he had defied his father. He had never taken pleasure in the disobedience, but he knew in his heart that he had to do what was right.
Thrust into a new world he had fallen in love with helped ease the ache of separation from his tightly-knit family, but he still felt as if a piece of his life was missing.
The days were growing cooler. October was approaching and the winds of fall were upon them. The trees in the surrounding forests were changing with the season, turning colors of brilliant orange and yellows, and the animals were beginning to store their food for the winter.
One night, Alec and Peyton had spied a family of raccoons moving to a warmer hovel, and Peyton had taken delight in counting the five babies. He had simply taken delight in her, wishing he could summon the courage to tell her of his love. More than ever, his emotions for the woman were consuming and he cursed himself for not being strong enough to confess, strong enough to confront her rejection.
As fall deepened, so did his adoration for his wife and there were several times when he had literally bitten his lip raw in an attempt to keep from admitting his feelings. There were frequent moments when her gaze would scream of deeper emotion, a depth of caring he had never before witnessed, and he was quite content to believe that it was love. But he could not be sure.
Alec liked autumn. The days passed and he went about his usual duties, which now included shadowing the brewery steward to better understand his job. Moving across the bailey with the servant on his heels, he passed a glance into the nearby cluster of woods and noticed that some of the leaves were the color of his wife’s hair. His mind wandered to Peyton for the hundredth time that day as the brewery steward, a thin man with the unlikely name of Job, rattled on about a delinquent account.
Increasingly disinterested with the steward’s chatter, he began to seriously consider seeking out his wife for an afternoon encounter. But both men were abruptly cut short from their pressing thoughts when a shout erupted from the fortified wall.
Riders were approaching.
St. Cloven possessed no moat, nor portcullis within her broad walls, but the gate securing the complex was over a foot thick. The two heavy slabs of oak were already closed per Alec’s command, since he did not feel comfortable with the bailey open and exposed, and he was therefore unconcerned with the manse’s safety as he mounted the ladder to the narrow battlement. Joined by his sentries, he peered down the wooded road.
The south-facing thoroughfare was lined with brilliantly changing trees, but he could clearly make out one horse and two riders. It took Alec all of a split-second to recognize the charger; bounding from the wall, he sent a soldier running for Peyton.
Ali and Ivy were returned.
The heavy gates rolled open with a steady rhythm, yawning wide to greet her native daughter and new husband. Alec was standing at the gates as they rode in.
“Ali!” he shouted, motioning the gates closed before the destrier came to a halt. “You have returned!”
Ali brought his steed to a jerky stop, raising his visor with a dazzling smile. “My wife couldn’t stay away. She hated France.”
Alec put his arms up for Ivy, who slid into his brotherly embrace and pecked him dutifully on the cheek. She smiled brightly at him. “Where’s Peyton?”
“Probably breaking her neck on the stairs in her rushed attempt to greet you,” he said drolly, but he was smiling. “You look ravishing, love. I see that married life agrees with you.”
Ivy flushed prettily as Ali dismounted and put his arm around her affectionately. They gazed sweetly at each other. “She is my wife, Alec, in the eyes of God and England.”
Alec looked puzzled. “What…. what do you mean?”
