Edward rode intothe bailey of St. Cloven grinning like a fool. Alec stood by, hands on hips, as King Edward I came to a halt aboard his gray destrier. Tall and lanky, his fair hair barely shadowed with gray at thirty-seven years of age, he dismounted his steed with grace. His gaze never left Alec’s face.
In spite of his irritation, Alec couldn’t help but grin. When Edward approached, he bowed deeply, only to find a hand thrust in his face. He took it.
“The Legend,” Edward murmured appreciatively. “God’s Blood, Alec, how long has it been?”
“Not long enough, Your Grace,” Alec insulted his king softly. “I do not recall sending you an invitation to visit.”
“Any missive from you is considered an invitation,” Edward replied. “I came as soon as I could.”
Alec cocked a blond eyebrow as Edward turned his attention to Ali. Long ago, the then Prince Edward had been one of the only men who had been able to see beyond the ebony skin, accepting Ali for his strength and fighting ability. He had come to appreciate the dark man’s wit and intelligence and thefondness was still evident. “Ah, my black soldier. The years have been kind to you, Ali.”
Ali bowed gracefully. “Thank you, Your Grace. ’Tis good to see you again. How is Queen Eleanor faring?”
“Well enough. She is expecting a child and unable to travel,” he returned his focus to Alec. “And you. What’s this that you have married without my permission?”
“Indeed, sire,” Alec replied, his attention turning briefly to the ministers that had accompanied Edward. Men he had not seen in years who gazed back at him as if they were beholding God himself. A bit unnerved by the adoration, he returned his focus to the king. “My wife is inside, I am sure, having fits with your unannounced arrival. I shall leave you to soothe her irritation.”
Edward snorted. “She is your wife, Alec. You calm the woman,” his gaze traveled over the massive structure before him. “God’s Blood. So this is St. Cloven.”
Alec’s proud gaze followed his king’s. “The finest ale in all of England.”
Edward nodded firmly, turning to Alec with a twinkle in his eye. “Does this mean I do not have to pay for my ale any longer?”
Alec cocked an eyebrow. “The price is double for you, sire.”
Edward laughed heartily, clapping Alec on the shoulder. “I am weary, my friend. Let us retire to your hall and drink ourselves sick. We have much to discuss, you and I.”
With a smile, Alec and the king crossed the bailey towards the expansive manse. Peyton and Ivy met them at the door, dipped low in a customary display of respect. It did not take a trained observer to note the quaking hands and quivering knees, indicative of their level of shock as the King of England entered their home. Had their faces not been parallel with the ground, their surprise would have been easily interpreted.
Edward eyed the two women but before he could demand to know which was Lady Summerlin, Alec reached out and pulled Peyton to her feet.
“Sire, may I introduce you to my wife, the Lady Peyton Summerlin.”
Edward looked Peyton over from head to toe. Much to Alec’s amusement, Peyton was as white as plaster and her eyes were so large with shock that he actually thought they might pop from the sockets and roll across the floor.
“A pleasure, Lady Summerlin,” Edward said after a moment. “Alec has delightful taste in women.”
Peyton nearly choked on her own tongue as the king took her hand. In lieu of a complete seizure, her cheeks suddenly flushed a dull red and she lowered her gaze. “Thank you, Your Grace. Welcome to St. Cloven.”
The corner of Edward’s lips twitched, noting her horror and Alec’s mirth over his wife’s pallor. “I am pleased that your husband was gracious enough to invite me to his home, considering I was excluded from the wedding,” he cast Alec a long glance before allowing his gaze to rove the great foyer of the fortified manse. “I would greatly enjoy coming to see this grand ale empire for myself.”
Peyton looked to her husband, who reached out and took her hand, gently, from Edward’s grasp. “My wife and I would be delighted to escort you on a tour.”
“Do you have to come?” Edward cocked a disappointed eyebrow.
Alec chuckled, tucking Peyton’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “I am afraid so. My wife has a nasty temper and I fear for your safety.”
Edward shook his head reprovingly at Alec, but Peyton was mortified at her husband’s jest. Moving beyond the insult dealt to Lady Summerlin, the king turned his attention to theelaborate entryway and the strong smell of cedar. Alec was eager to show off his most prized possession, next to his wife.
As Alec took the king and his retainers on an in-depth tour of the bottom floor of St. Cloven, Peyton clung tightly to her husband, hardly daring to believe that the King of England was treading the floors of their beloved home. Ivy and Ali followed at a distance, as did the rest of Edward’s retainers as Alec displayed his remarkable manse. Edward seemed intent on questioning Peyton, who was gradually overcoming her shock. Eventually, she took over the tour and presented a most charming, intelligent picture of the perfect chatelaine, as befitting The Legend’s wife. Silently by her side, Alec couldn’t remember ever being so proud.
A tour of the second floor inevitably brought them to her painting room. Suddenly very self-conscious, Peyton attempted to close the door and divert the king’s attention, but he was not so easily duped. He had caught a glimpse of color, wonderful color, before Lady Summerlin had moved to shield his view. The tantalizing glance had been enough to intrigue him.
“What is this magnificent place?” he demanded softly, moving past Peyton and into the chamber.
“My painting room, Your Grace,” Peyton replied as Alec came up behind her. He patted her shoulders gently as Edward milled about, studying the pieces of parchment with great interest.
“Did you paint these?” he asked seriously.
