She smiled and reached up a frail hand to touch his face. Shaken, he kissed her fingers. “He really said that?”
She nodded slowly. “He said there was nothing to forgive.”
He blinked and tears glistened on his thick lashes. He was so choked with emotion that he could not speak. Had he been hesitant before, there was no lingering doubt that Peter had indeed appeared to Peyton as she drifted in the realm between life and death.
Only Peter would have humiliated him by mentioning an embarrassing nickname. Only Peter would have known how very much Peyton meant to him, breaking whatever bonds confining him to the Netherworld to help her return to her frantic husband. As Alec had taken from him, only Peter would have given his brother his life back.
He clutched Peyton tightly, kissing her forehead tenderly as she dozed against his chest. The world around him, though fading in the weak light, was bright and new.
“I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too, my Legend.”
EPILOGUE
1283 A.D.
The early morningsun had barely crested the horizon as a single rider pounded down the road toward the fortified manse of St. Cloven. The early May weather was beautiful and clear, quite wonderful after the harsh winter England had suffered through.
The rider was laden down with hundreds of pounds of armor, well-used. The horse, a silver charger of magnificent heritage, kept steady pace as St. Cloven came into view. Up on the battlements, the shouts from sentries filled the damp morn.
The heavy gates swung open, welcoming the master returned. Sir Alec Summerlin reined his massive steed into his bailey, barely giving the animal a chance to slow before he was dismounting. Immediately, he was met by several men.
“Where’s my wife?” Alec demanded breathlessly.
The soldiers were grinning like fools. “Inside, my lord, with your mother and father,” answered one.
Alec had the answer he sought. Without another word, he charged head-long into the cool interior of his manse.
Jubil was the first familiar face he saw. Greeting her with a distracted kiss, he patted her swollen belly fondly. “How much longer, love?”
“Too long,” Jubil growled. “Where is my errant husband? He was supposed to return with you. Do not tell me he is still on the damnable Welsh border!”
“Toby is at Blackstone,” he held up a hand to silence her when she opened her mouth to protest. “He shall be along shortly. ’Twould seem he has a surprise for my son, something he has been working on himself, and wished to retrieve it.”
Jubil smiled. The woman hadn’t touched any of her medicaments or potions in nearly a year and had never looked so young or beautiful. At forty-four years of age, she had recently entered into her first marriage and was expecting the miracle of her first child shortly. Content for the first time in her life, she had all but given up her mysterious ways. Alec only knew he had never seen his brother happier.
“He made the babe a little cart, with wheels, so Peyton can push him around,” she said fondly. “He is ever so proud of it.”
Alec grinned, moving for the stairs. “Is Ivy here?”
Jubil shook her head. “She is still at Wisseyham. Her babe is due any day and Pauly refuses to allow her to travel. She is a sight, Alec; Ali is going to have his hands full with her until this child is born. All she does is eat and cry.”
Alec paused on the steps. “Ali is still with Edward. He is helping the king design a string of fortresses along the Welsh border to protect and manage Wales. Edward has always recognized Ali’s talent and swears he cannot do without his greatest architect. In fact, he has taken Ali off the front lines entirely and commanded him to devote all of his time to the construction of these bastions.”
“Truly? That’s wonderful, of course, but Ivy will have his head if he is not here in time for the birth of his child.”
“I understand, but at the moment Ali is in the middle of constructing his greatest fortress yet. ’Tis called Caernarfon Castle, the most massive thing I have ever seen. Most impressive.”
Jubil cocked an eyebrow. “I hope you can explain that to Ivy before she rips your tongue out and shoves it up your nose.”
Alec moved to unlatch his helm from his breastplate. “I do not intend to explain anything to her,” he gave her a thin, humorless smile. “I shall send mother instead.”
He mounted the stairs and moved down the corridor, his excitement growing with leaps and bounds. The last he saw of his wife, she was very pregnant and very hysterical. As much as he wanted to be present at the birth of his son, Llewellyn and his brother David, after betraying Edward’s trust, had rallied a full-scale rebellion against the English crown. Alec had been forced into service far sooner than he had hoped.
Leaving his stricken wife had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do. As the fighting lasted through March and April, he waited eagerly for word from St. Cloven announcing the arrival of his child. Then, when the fighting seemed to be easing around the first of May, the long-awaited missive had come. His son, healthy and whole, had arrived.
He’d ridden night and day to make it to Peyton’s side. As eager as he was to see his son, he was far more eager to see his wife to make sure she had come through her ordeal unscathed. Childbirth to him was a miraculous, frightening thing, and he had been absolutely terrified that Peyton would somehow suffer in the event. But God had blessed him with a healthy son and a recovering wife, and he had never been more grateful for anything.
