Alec snorted, pouring himself more ale. “Warrington is not a threat. My father could snap the man’s neck with two fingers.”
Olphampa wagged a finger seriously. “Nay, Alec, not a physical threat. ’Tis more than that. A deeper, more devastating danger.”
“What do you mean?” Alec asked, passing Ali a curious glance.
Olphampa sat back in his chair thoughtfully. His eyes were distant. “I do not know, Alec. I wish I did. Your father fears Nigel Warrington for reasons we may never know.”
Alec rose, cup in hand. He pondered Olphampa’s words, puzzled and worried. “Have you asked him?”
Olphampa shook his head, fingering his tunic. “Once. He avoided the subject as if I had asked him to pledge loyalty to the Devil. I never asked again.”
Alec stopped his pacing and looked to the small black man. After a moment, he slammed his chalice to the table with a resounding clang. “I have had enough of this. Something is occurring and my father islacking the simple courage to tell us. I have never known the man to have a cowardly day in his life until Nigel Warrington arrived,” he jabbed his finger at Olphampa. “I am going to find out the reasoning behind this ungodly fear and do something about it. No man intimidates my father.”
“And just what do you plan to do?” Ali asked quietly. “Call Nigel out in a duel? Burn down Wisseyham? Refuse him ale shipments? Think about what you are saying, Alec.”
“I am,” Alec snapped, his usual control loosened considerably. “I am thinking that Nigel Warrington has been too much of a problem and shall continue to be so until someone does something. He has harassed St. Cloven for years, he has been a party to rapes and unspeakable other crimes, and now he has my father whipped into submission for an unknown reason. I shall not tolerate his abhorrent presence any longer.”
“What are you going to do?” Ali repeated his original question, eyebrows upraised intently. “Kill him?”
Alec paused a moment, turning to his ebony friends. His expression cooled considerably, like a man blessed with unquestionable confidence. “Hardly. I will not need to when I press Edward to confiscate Warrington lands and, in turn, annex the property to St. Cloven.”
Ali and Olphampa looked at each other, surprised, before returning to their white-skinned companion. “Edward would confiscate all of England if you demanded it. You must be serious about this if you plan to contact our king.”
“I am and I do,” Alec said decisively. “I will not allow the Warringtons to destroy my family anymore than they already have. They must be neutralized.”
“And thereby you hope to return to your father’s good graces?” Olphampa asked softly.
Alec’s confident stance wavered slightly and he lowered his gaze. “’Tis as good a start as any. Do you disagree?”
“Not at all. But you must do it before Thia weds Colin. If Edwardconfiscates the lands after they are wed, your sister will be in an even worse bind than she is already. She shall be the wife of a destitute,” Olphampa stood on his short legs. “Were I you, young Alec, I would send a missive to London tonight and demand that Edward send word to Brian opposing the marriage between Colin and Thia. With the wedding postponed or dissolved, ’twill buy you time to petition Edward for the Warringtons’ obscurity.”
Alec nodded shortly and summoned a servant. As the woman went running for the brewery steward, he turned to his friends with regained confidence. “I do imagine Edward will be surprised to hear from me after all this time.”
Ali smiled and returned to his ale. “His heart will probably stop from sheer shock.”
“Christ, I hope not. I would hate to be indicted for murder.”
Laughing at Alec’s expense, Olphampa moved for the cedar-molded doorway that led from the great hall. “I must walk off your grand meal, Alec. Will you do me the honor of showing me your magnificent acquisition?”
The subject of Brian and the Warringtons faded as Alec took pleasure in displaying his new home.
*
“How’s your head?”Ivy asked, smirking at her sister’s discomfort.
“Awful,” Peyton rasped, eyes closed as she slouched against the back of her chair.
Ivy laughed softly. “Jubil’s willow potion is not helping?”
Peyton tore off the cold compress that she had been pressing to her forehead. “It tastes terrible and makes my stomach hurt. I have had this headache for four days and it has not gone away,” she replaced the pack and sank even lower into the chair. “I think I am dying.”
“Good,” Ivy snorted, leafing through the book in her hand. “Now, shall I finish the story? Where was I?”
Peyton tossed the compress to the floor and stood up, weavingdizzily a moment. Ivy watched her with concern. “Now what?”
Peyton shook off her unbalance and moved for the door. “Nothing. I am going to paint for a while. Mayhap that will help my head.”
Ivy’s smile faded as her sister quit the room. Peyton wasn’t feeling at all well; she hadn’t been well for over a week. At least since she and Ali had returned to St. Cloven. The usually vital woman was sleeping longer and her fast temper was surely faster. Between the absence of appetite and the constant headaches, she had been a taxing companion. Alec, even though he had been very patient and sweet with her, had been preoccupied with his own problems and Ivy found herself with Peyton constantly, listening to the gripes.
