As he passed down the corridor lined with Peyton’s paintings, he found himself smiling as he remembered how difficult it had been to convince her to display her portraits.She had staunchly balked at the suggestion until one night, after she had fallen asleep, he and Toby had nailed nearly two dozen of her paintings to the walls of the upstairs corridor. Peyton had awoken to her openly-displayed talent and had promptly slugged her husband in the jaw. But the exhibitions of her skill remained.
He passed by her painting room en route to the master chamber when, suddenly, something inside the room caught his attention. Retracing his steps, he peered into the chamber.
A familiar red-head greeted him. Facing away from the door, Peyton was seated in front of her easel, delicately shading the vellum before her. His heart surged wildly into his chest at the sight of his wife, more love than he could ever express flooded his veins. Far more involved in his silent approach, he failed to notice the picture she was painting until he was nearly upon her.
It was a portrait of a man with red-gold hair. Alec nearly swallowed his tongue when he found himself staring into a perfect likeness of his dead brother.
“Peter!” he gasped.
Peyton started violently, dropping her brush and spilling her paints. But the spill and the brush were forgotten as Alec immediately took her in his arms and silenced her sobs of amazement with his joyful kisses.
“You spoiled your surprise!” she whispered, responding to his fevered lips with her usual abandonment.
“I care not,” he murmured against her mouth. “All I am concerned with is you, and my son. Christ, Peyton, it’s been so long.”
“Nearly three months,” she gasped as he suckled her lower lip. “Too long, my Alec. Thank God you have returned to me whole and sound.”
His kisses slowed, being replaced by reverent caresses, meaningful gazes. “And I thank God that you have come throughthe birth of our son uninjured. I think I was more frightened for you than you were for me.”
Her hair was pulled away from her face, revealing the beautiful features as she gazed into his eyes. How could she tell him that his son had been born blue, the cord wrapped around his tiny neck? Recollections of Rachel’s dead child had haunted her since the day she had witnessed the event; fortunately, her son had recovered. He was perfect, as was his father.
“It was not as difficult as I had been told. Jubil gave me an ergot potion for the pain and the entire birth was over in three hours.” A slight omission of certain facts. She knew, without a doubt, that he would not have taken the whole of it well.
“Three hours?” his eyebrows rose in surprise. “Christ, woman, I have had stomach aches that have lasted longer.”
She giggled and he kissed her teeth, her nose, her chin.
“Where is my son?”
She made a wry face. “Where else? The only time I am allowed to hold him is when I feed him. The rest of the time, your mother and father fight over him. Truly, Alec, you would have thought I birthed the Christ child.”
He grinned, helping her to rise slowly. “Are you supposed to be out of bed yet? You gave birth less than a week ago.”
“I am fine,” she said, avoiding his question as they moved for the door. Pauly had told her to stay in bed for three weeks; naturally, she disobeyed. But she did not want Alec to know, not just yet, for she knew he would insist that she take to her bed immediately. She wanted a few precious moments with him before he forced her into confinement.
She paused in the archway, returning her attention to the portrait she had been painting to divert his focus away from her. “You recognized your brother immediately. I must have a very good memory.”
His gaze rested on the perfect likeness. “’Tis as I remember him. As if he had never left. Christ, you are amazing.”
She smiled. “Your mother cries every time she sees it. I suspect you will have quite a fight on your hands when it is finished. Your mother has already declared her want for it.”
He touched her face, kissing her cheek tenderly. “I will share it with her. But I shall not share my son. Take me to him.”
Peyton curled her hand into the crook of his arm and led him, albeit stiffly, down the hall. There was a smaller chamber directly next to the master bedchamber, a room Alec had once claimed as his personal retreat. Peyton, however, had made it into a nursery.
The door was open and they could hear soft voices floating upon the warm air. Pausing in the doorway, Alec drank in the sight of the room; his father was seated in a large, comfortable chair, a small bundle cradled in his arms. His mother hovered over Brian, cooing sweetly at the swaddled parcel. And Thia, seated by the window and folding linens, was gazing at the wall with sightless eyes and telling her parents how foolish they were acting.
Alec had to smile at his sister; he and Peyton had long since forgiven the woman and Peyton had even gone so far as to demand that she reside with them at St. Cloven. Alec suspected that Peyton felt a certain amount of guilt for her misfortune, misplaced though the blame might be. But Peyton insisted there was no guilt involved; Thia was a good deal like Ivy and she missed her sister terribly after she and Ali had moved to Wisseyham. Somehow, Thia helped heal the void.
The two women had become the best of friends and Peyton had been delighted to discover that Thia’s delicate palate for ale matched her own. Peyton had been unable to tend her duties as the official ale taster during her pregnancy, duties which Thia had taken on gladly. Although Colin had robbed her of her sight,it had not dampened her spirits and she had melded into the life at St. Cloven admirably.
He snapped out of his train of thought when Peyton tugged at his arm. His parents were cooing and carrying on so that they did not notice when Peyton and Alec stepped into the chamber.
“I would hold my son, Da,” Alec said softly. “That is, of course, if you can pry him out of your arms.”
Faces stricken with surprise, Brian and Celine faced their mighty son. Thia dropped the linen she was folding, her sightless eyes turning toward the source of her brother’s voice.
“Alec!” Celine cried, rushing into his crushing embrace. “We heard the sentries but did not look to see if it was you!”
