The Legend (16 page)

Yet it was far more than simple
envy; every time she and Alec seemed to be getting comfortable with each other,
something would occur and the chasm between them would widen. The more she
watched Thia interact with Alec, the wider the chasm yawned. Peyton wasn't
feeling hatred so much anymore as she was simply feeling despondent and
uncertain. Her entire world was out of sync.

"Helping the cook with the
lambs," Thia replied to her brother's question. "Sometimes she isn't
strong enough to snap the necks and requires my help."

"There are plenty of male
servants to accomplish that task," Alec said reprovingly. "Hardly a
duty for a well bred young woman. I believe we have had this discussion
before."

"We have, but I choose to
ignore you," Thia said stubbornly. "I like to work."

Considering she looks like an ox,
I am not surprised
,
Peyton smirked inwardly. Past the point of remaining on her best behavior in
the face of Alec and Thia's rejection, she crossed her arms and looked away,
pondering her own thoughts. If they were going to be rude, then so would she.

The more Alec and his sister
conversed, the angrier Peyton became. It would have been polite to have
included her in the conversation and she was incensed that they did not
consider her worthy of their attentions. She listened to every word between
them and prepared to give her own rebuff when the conversation turned toward
St. Cloven. She would give them a taste of their own medicine.

"Lady Peyton is a marvelous
artist," Alec said, finally turning his attention to Peyton. "How
long have you been painting?"

Peyton ignored him; she was
looking away, pretending to study the tapestry on the wall and Alec moved
toward her.

"My lady? I asked you how
long you have been painting?"

Slowly, and with great contempt,
Peyton focused on the two of them. There was no mistaking the hostility.
"Are you addressing me, my lord? Forgive me for ignoring you, but I
thought you were speaking to your sister. Still."

He gazed at her, seeing that
battle lines were drawn again and having no idea why. "I was speaking to
you."

Peyton cocked an eyebrow,
shooting Thia a most baleful glance before responding to Alec. "Then I
shall answer you. I have been painting since I was old enough to hold a
brush."

Thia bristled at the open
animosity. "Are you going to allow her to speak to you in such a
manner?"

Alec would not be pulled into a
confrontation and his expression remained calm as he turned to his sister.
"What manner? She simply answered my question."

Thia's mouth opened in outrage.
"Surely you are not that blind, Alec. 'Twould seem that your betrothed is
somewhat of a disrespectful shrew. And you say you agreed to this
arrangement?"

Peyton refused to be intimidated
or insulted by Alec's sister. She fixed her with a pointed look. "I would
rather be a shrew than an ox. And furthermore, at least your brother has found
a mate. I doubt the same can be said for you unless, of course, your father
intends to raid the barnyards for a suitable consort."

Alec's eyes widened at the insult
and he choked off a loud guffaw, coming out as a harsh series of coughs.
Instead of being angry, he found he was actually proud of Peyton for refusing
to allow Thia to belittle her. His sister could be a sweet woman with a heart
of gold, but she had a sharp tongue and a bullying manner. He was immensely
pleased to see that Peyton would not allow his sister to demean her and he
stepped back, carefully observing the unfolding battle.

Thia's eyes narrowed, surprised
that the petite, fragile-looking lady was bold enough to return the insult. But
Lady Peyton's moxy only served to fuel her anger.

"You are an ill-bred little
wench. How unfortunate that the Summerlins are to be saddled with your
sickening presence," she shook her head at Alec regretfully. "My
sympathies, Alec. I sincerely hope St. Cloven is worth the asking price."

Peyton stood up; she did not want
Alec forced into taking sides, for he would undoubted ally with his sister and
she did not need any more reason to loathe him. Instead of losing her control
and raging at Thia as she did with Ivy, she smiled thinly.

"At least I have something
attractive to offer a prospective husband, my lady,” she said. “I doubt the
crown jewels would serve as enough bribery in your case. But try not to let
your bitterness show; mayhap a blind man shall hap across your path someday who
will be impervious to your appearance. One can always hope."

Thia glared at her, seeing that
Lady Peyton was able to match her insult for insult. Acid-tongued chit. Since
her own venomous mouth was unsuccessful in humiliating Lady Peyton, she
resorted to the next weapon in her arsenal. Her size.

"Do not make light of my
appearance, my lady. What I lack in physical beauty I make up for in power. Any
man at Blackstone can tell you that my strength in nearly equal their own. I
would wager to say you would not last long in a challenge."

Peyton couldn't help it; she
started to laugh. Loud, bright laughter pealed from her lips and Alec smiled
simply because she was so beautiful when she laughed. And he was enjoying
himself, too, oddly enough.

"A challenge?" Peyton
repeated incredulously. "Surely you jest, Lady Thia. Only men issue
challenges and only men fight them. But.... in that case, I suppose it is
perfectly natural for you to propose a duel then, isn't it?"

"'Twas no challenge I
issued. Call it a promise."

Peyton raised a well-arched brow,
not the least bit intimidated. "And I promise you will regret it for, you
see, I have a sister a sight larger than you. Were you to do me any harm, she
would see to it that it would be your very last transgression. Call
that
a promise."

Thia shrugged. "As you wish."

Peyton regained her seat, still
shaking her head with mirth. "I am weary of this conversation. Do you not
have lambs to slaughter or peasants to terrorize?"

Alec could see that the next step
in their argument would most likely entail a physical brawl. Choosing to intervene,
he stepped forward and put his hand on Thia's shoulder. "I am afraid you
cannot bully my future wife as you do every other woman. Call a truce and I
will hear no more hostile words between the two of you. Understood?"

Thia's small blue eyes gazed at
Peyton a moment longer. "Only for you, Alec. But I cannot guarantee future
peace."

"I realize that," he
said quietly. "Just as there are mere civilities between you and Rachel.
It would seem, moppet, that you are not destined to be chummy with either of
your brother's wives."

Thia snorted and looked away.
"Rachel is a stupid bitch. And it would seem that at least one of those
terms describes Lady Peyton as well."

Peyton had moved past anger and
found a strange sense of satisfaction clashing with Thia. Mayhap in some way
she was taking out her anger on the woman's brother. But the fact that Alec had
not taken sides made Thia's attitude far easier to deal with, and she was
furthermore pleased to demonstrate that she could not be harassed. She smiled
genuinely at Thia.

"I will not dispute your
opinion. But I would rather be a bitch than a bitter, empty spinster with only
brothers for male companionship."

Thia's jaw twitched and Alec
stepped in between the two to remind him that he had ordered their insults ended.

"Enough, both of you. If
this is to be the extent of conversation between you, then I would prefer that
you did not speak to one another at all. I shall not spend the rest of my life
pulling my sister and wife apart."

Brian returned to the room then,
bearing two dark bottles of wine. His face was flushed with pleasure as he
breezed across the room to where several pewter goblets were shelved.
"Burgundy!" he announced, handing Alec a bottle to open. “The very
finest! I have had it in storage for years simply waiting for the ripe
opportunity to consume it."

Alec drew out the cork and
returned the bottle to Brian. As Thia moved to assist her father, Alec moved to
Peyton and stood next to her chair. She sat stiffly, as if waiting for the next
hostile barrage from the Summerlin sibling. He found himself gazing down at
her, studying the myriad of colors in the magnificent red hair and amazed with
the perfect beauty of his betrothed. It would seem that every moment, every
hour brought about a new discovery, and he was intrigued.

Shortly, the room was filled with
people. Olphampa and Sula, Ali and Ivy and Celine arrived in a cozy group and
Peyton was amazed to find not one, but three black-skinned people living at
Blackstone. Olphampa, a stocky little man nearly half the size of his massive
son, seemed to be charming and his slight wife appeared very pleasant. And the
two were warmly receptive to Ivy, who seemed to be warming to them in return.

In fact, Ivy seemed far more at
ease than Peyton herself and Peyton was envious and baffled with her sister's
relaxed mannerisms. She found herself again wondering what Ali had said to Ivy
to cause such alleviation, such approval within a woman who not hours earlier
had been intent on accusing him of being a beast. The frustration, the pure
puzzlement as she watched her only sibling converse with coal-hued people left
her virtually speechless.

As Brian was pouring the wine,
another pair entered the hall and Peyton turned to them curiously. The man was
slight of stature and build, with dark hair and brown eyes. He would have been
handsome were it not for the strange expression on his face and his slightly
disheveled appearance. The pregnant woman beside him was slight as well, a
plain face and unremarkable brown hair. But she smiled politely at Peyton as
Alec introduced the couple as his older brother, Paul, and his wife, the Lady
Rachel.

Paul moved directly to a corner
and stood as if he were being punished. His eyes darted about nervously as his
wife retrieved a goblet of wine for him, and he drank deeply before anyone else
had even been served. He slurped the drink and wiped his mouth on his sleeve,
looking uncertain and tense.

Peyton tore her eyes away from
him after a moment. Obviously, there was something terribly wrong with him.
Either that, or he was a horribly ill-mannered lout just like his sister. His
petite wife stood next to him vigilantly, admonishing him softly as a mother
would a child. Puzzled, Peyton tried not to let her confusion show.  

The congratulatory toasts went
well into the evening. Brian and Alec imbibed a good deal of wine, whereas
Olphampa declined all offers and drank fruit juices instead. Paul drank
heavily, too, but remained in the corner away from the rest of the group. Ivy
and Ali stood with Sula and Celine and chatted amiably, leaving Peyton seated
alone.

Yet it was by her own choice; the
verbal confrontation with Thia had left her drained and it was all she could do
to reply politely when spoken to much less keep up a gay conversation. Thia, still
next to the thin windows, drank her wine in moody silence.

Peyton would glance at Alec
occasionally, angered that he was not making an attempt to converse with her,
yet convincing herself that she was glad he wasn't attempting the venture. She
had no desire to speak with him at the moment, but in the recesses of her mind
she wanted him to talk to her so that she could show him that she had no
interest in addressing him. It was pointless to ignore someone if they weren't
striving to capture your attention in the first place.

It was the most peculiar
craziness and she knew it, but it did not occur to her that she was wallowing
in self-pity because her betrothed, whom she admitted to loathe, was neglecting
her.

I am going mad
, she told herself calmly.
Alec
is driving me insane with his feverish kisses and icy, callous demeanor.
She certainly did not want a cold, bitter man paying attention to her.

....
did
she?

"You are beautiful,"
came a soft male voice.

Peyton was jolted from her train
of thought and glanced up to see Paul staring down at her. He was perspiring
heavily and she instinctively drew back from him.

"I.... thank you, my
lord," she replied warily.

He continued to stare at her
until she felt terribly uncomfortable. She found herself wishing someone would
rush to her aid, for she had no idea how to deal with the man. Peyton rose from
her chair to put a safe distance between them, frantically wondering where his
watch-dog wife had gone to.

"Your hair is so
bright," he said gently, reaching out and grasping a strand. "It
looks like molten metal. Have you ever seen molten metal when the smiths fire
broadswords?"

She was trying to remain calm as
he fingered her hair in front of a room full of people who were not paying any
attention. The urge to jerk away from him was overpowering.

"I have never seen molten
metal," she replied steadily. "Do you like to watch the smith?"

He did not answer, his eyes
raking over her body in a most unnerving manner, and Peyton was growing quite
apprehensive. There was something about the man that was just not right,
something odd, and she took another step back.