Before she could reply, Alec spoke. “An extraordinary talent, would not you say?”
Edward was scrutinizing a landscape scene. He raised his head to glance from the lancet window facing east, and then returned his focus to the vellum. He shook his head in wonder.
“Magnificent,” he murmured. “You have captured the eastern horizon perfectly. The colors of sunrise are masterful.”
Embarrassed for an entirely new reason, Peyton blushed faintly at his praise. Alec patted her shoulder proudly as if to confirm that his same observations had not been merely those of a loyal husband.
“Will you sell this to me?” Edward focused on her, almost demandingly. “I must have this. In fact, I see several paintings that I would like to purchase.”
Peyton was stunned. She turned to Alec helplessly, unsure of how she should answer. Certainly, she was flattered, but there was tangible fear in having her personal paintings displayed at Windsor for all to see. Her paintings were her release, emotions captured from her soul. She did not want her soul displayed for public analysis.
Alec read her hesitation. “We can certainly discuss the possibility, sire, although I must say that I am uncertain as to whether I want my wife’s talent exhibited publicly.”
“God’s Blood, why not?” Edward demanded, looking to the half-finished sunflowers. “Alec, if my wife had half the talent that your wife displays, I would exhibit her ability all over the damn country. How can you be so selfish?”
Alec gripped Peyton’s hand gently. “For the simple reason that she is my wife and I do not wish to share her with all of England. And the paintings are a part of her.”
Edward raised a disapproving eyebrow. “I choose to ignore you,” he focused on Peyton, moving to take her hand. Gently, he tore it from Alec’s grasp and tucked it firmly into the crook of his elbow. “You and I have much to discuss, Lady Summerlin. I should be mightily proud to have your paintings exhibited at Windsor. Mayhap we could add another legend to the House of Summerlin.”
Peyton allowed the king to lead her from the chamber, turning to glance at Alec, Ivy and Ali as they brought up the rear.
“Another legend, sire?” she inquired politely.
“Indeed, my lady. The legend of your magnificent artwork,” he gazed at her. “Haven’t you heard of your husband’s own legend?”
She nodded faintly. “A little. He is quite modest.”
Edward laughed loudly as they reached the stairs. “Then he has changed a good deal.”
*
Peyton sat througha wonderful meal. Alec introduced her to the small group of men who had accompanied Edward; Anthony Bek, the king’s secretary, Robert Burnell, his chancellor, and the Earl of Gloucester, Gilbert de Clare. Peyton was overwhelmed once again to be in the presence of such powerful men, but she soon calmed with their easy manner. In fact, as awed as she was of them, they seemed even more impressed with Alec.
The earl was determined to occupy all of Alec’s time, grilling him endlessly on his life for the past twelve years. He appeared to be a nice enough man, but Peyton rapidly grew impatient at his attempts to monopolize Alec. Across from her, the king and his chancellor were focused on tasting a new ale Alec himself had devised a recipe for.
He had yet to come up with a name for the nearly-black liquid, but the general opinion seemed to be one of approval. Peyton hadn’t tasted it yet; for the past week, any attempt to taste ale had led to gagging, which left Ivy, Ali and Alec in the delightful position as official tasters. She trusted Ivy far more than her male counterparts; if it was good enough to get drunk by, it met with their endorsement.
Olphampa and Sula had kept a discreet distance since Edward’s arrival. Even though they sat at the same table with the king, they took seats at the far end and seemed more intent to serve than to enjoy the company. Ali had to continuously insisthis parents sit and enjoy their meal, going so far as to become angry with his mother when she tried to pour him more ale. Ivy, playing the mediator, bade her husband to be silent and allow his parents to assist if they were more comfortable doing so.
The one person who had been conspicuously absent from the beginning had been Jubil. Peyton and Ivy had been too caught up in the king’s arrival to lay search for their aunt, and a servant had returned shortly after the meal had commenced to inform Peyton that Jubil was not in her rooms. Puzzled but unconcerned, Peyton continued to enjoy the evening.
Until Jubil showed herself. One look at her aunt told Peyton that she was flying again and she cast a panicked glance at Alec as the woman entered the room. Jubil’s face was slack, her eyes bright, as she made her way toward the table.
“Christ,” Alec muttered, leaping to his feet.
Swiftly, he moved to intercept the older woman, who merely smiled at him dreamily. “Sweet, sweet Alec,” she murmured. “Peyton’s Alec.”
Alec smiled weakly and turned the woman around. But not before Edward caught sight of her.
“A relative, Alec?” he asked casually.
Alec paused, Jubil clutched in his grip. “This is the Lady Jubil de Fluornoy, my wife’s aunt. She is…. not feeling well.”
Edward, half-drunk with fine ale, eyed her. “She appears well enough. Bid her join us.”
Seated down from the king, Peyton shook her head faintly, fearfully. Alec caught her silent pleas.
“I am afraid not, sire. Lady Jubil should not exert herself.”
