The Legend (5 page)

"I have not had a chance to
tell you how lovely you look," Ali purred seductively, strolling up behind
him.

Alec raised a dark blond brow.
"Thank you, lover. Might I say I find men in armor most arousing. Come
closer; I must have you now."

"Stop it, Alec, you will
have me blushing," Ali raised his visor, grinning a full smile of
brilliant white teeth.

They smirked at each other,
mutually trained gazes roving the bailey to make sure all was running smoothly.
Nearly all the guests invited had arrived and soon they would close the gates,
protecting the valuable houses inside. With parties as large as this, thieves
were not far off and a full complement of soldiers would be mounted on the wall
to discourage raiders.

"Did you see Isabeau?"
Ali asked softly. "Why did not you tell me she was invited?"

Alec did not look at him, lifting
his massive shoulders carelessly. "Because it would have upset you
prematurely. As it is, you have only been unnerved since you saw her but an
hour ago."

Ali drew in a deep, steady
breath. "Her father actually spoke to me. What a surprise."

Alec glanced at his friend. Ali
had been in love with the fair Lady Isabeau for as long as he could remember.
But her father, a lesser baron with a large grain mill, had forbid Ali any
contact with his only daughter. Isabeau was promised to be married come the
fall and Ali was still having difficulty coming to grips with the fact. In a
land of whites, his suit had been outright rejected because of his color and
although the refusal had not been a surprise, the knowledge of prejudice did
nothing to ease the ache.

Young Ali Boratu grew up the only
black child among whites, reminded every day of his life of his stark
difference. The English looked at the black boy as somewhat of a great
curiosity, something to be scrutinized and studied. Some accounted him little
more than an animal. To this day, he continued to struggle with the prejudice
that plagued him from those too ignorant to realize he was a man, like any
other.

In spite of his distinction, Ali
went the usual route of a noble bred lad. Brian had managed to convince a
relative, the Earl of Havenwood, which the young black lad was intelligent and
capable of learning and should be allowed his education. Reluctantly, Ali had
been able to foster along with Alec and Peter, but growing up amongst arrogant
English lads had been a daily struggle against intolerance and hatred. It had
been more of an education than he could have possibly imagined. But as the
years passed, he managed to prove his worth somewhat and had even squired for a
very fine knight.

Still, he was different. Even if
Alec and Peter accepted him regardless of the color of his skin, the same could
not be said for the other Englishmen he worked, lived, and slept with. Once,
Ali had grown frantic with the bigotry and had tried to lighten his skin by
applying an arsenic paste. The only result had been a terrible sickness, and
Alec had forced him to promise that he would never try anything so foolish
again.

It had been a promise not easily
extracted. Even if the paste hadn't worked, he refused to give up. England was,
after all, his home and he desperately wanted to be sanctioned by those around
him. All he had ever wanted was to be accepted.

Even as his color hindered the
process of growing from a lad into a young man, he tried his best to maintain
his dignity.  But when it came time for him to be inducted into the knighthood,
the deepest blow was yet to come. The church would not overlook the color of
his skin and since Ali was not white, he bordered on bestial. Animals, apes,
were not intelligent enough to be knights.

Brian had battled viciously on
Ali's behalf. So had the knight for whom he had squired and his liege where he
had fostered. But the church was firm, and the apostolic delegate reaffirmed
the original decision. Ali was not man enough to be a knight.

Twelve years later, he was still
bitter. Especially in lieu of the fact that King Edward had considered him a
fine enough soldier to accompany Alec on the advance team to Acre, clearing the
way for the monarch's approach. A man with no true country, no true people,
faced the biting truth of his difference every day of his life.

Alec broke into his thoughts,
jolting him from the all too familiar anguish. "Mayhap Isabeau's father
will allow you to dance with her this eve. What harm can one dance do?"

Ali sighed, wrestling against the
habitual depression that usually accompanied his deeper reflections of
dissimilarity. "It can destroy my soul. To hold in my arms what I can
never have? Nay, my friend, I do not believe Lady Isabeau and I will be doing
any dancing tonight."

A small black man emerged from
the innards of the castle, making his way towards the two inordinately tall
young men. He smiled amiably as he caught sight of his son and the youngest
Summerlin male.

"Olphampa," Alec
scolded. "Father will have fits if he sees you are not properly dressed
for his orgy."

"Party, Alec," Ali
reminded him, forcing himself from his gloom.

"Sorry. I meant party,"
Alec corrected himself, winking at Ali as he gestured at Olphampa. "Why
are you not dressed in the ordered colors?"

"You are not in the commanded
colors either," Olphampa pointed to Alec's sapphire blue tunic. "What
did your mother say when she saw that you had refused to wear red?"

"She hasn't said anything -
yet. When she comes toward me, I make haste and run the other way."      

Olphampa laughed deeply. "She
shall box your ears when she catches you," he turned his attention to his
son. "Which brings me to the point, Ali. The de Fluornoy's left a satchel
in their rooms and it is full of belts and other valuable accessories. I
suspect it will be sorely missed when discovered."

"Indeed," Ali agreed.
"I suppose I should return it to them before the celebration begins."

"Absolutely," Alec
agreed. "If you do not, they might be forced to turn about and seeing them
within my beloved bailey one time was quite enough. I have no desire to
experience a second encounter."

Ali made a wry face. "Good
lord, no. I shall return it right away."

A figure in scarlet silk appeared
in the castle entrance and Alec caught sight of his mother's displeased face
immediately. Rather than face her wrath as a result of his negligent host
duties, he gave Ali a shove in the direction of the stables.

"I shall go with you,"
he told his friend. When Ali looked puzzled, Alec gave him another shove.
"For protection."

Ali caught sight of Lady Celine
and understood. "And in return, I shall protect you from your mother?
Hardly a fair trade."

Olphampa turned to see Lady
Celine scowling at her son. "I shall retrieve the satchel and meet you at
the gate!" he called to the retreating men. "Cowards," he
muttered as they fled.

Alec, mounted aboard his
magnificent silver destrier, accompanied Ali and four soldiers down the road
St. Cloven's party had taken. The warmth of the weather brought out the
fragrance of the summer flowers and they rode through heady pockets of jasmine
and primrose. The ride to St. Cloven was at least three hours, but Alec
estimated they would catch up within the hour for as slow as the party was
traveling. A minor errand, and then a night filled with drinking and merriment to
follow.

After only a half hour, St.
Cloven's group was sighted and Alec spurred his horse faster. The sooner they
dealt with the unpleasantries of the de Fluornoy sisters, the sooner they could
return. Ali shouted to the caravan and slowly, the wagon ground to a halt as
the chargers closed in.

Alec reined his horse toward the
wagon, his eyes finding the turquoise blue gown of the older sister. The woman
that had once been considered to be a prospective wife until, thankfully, he
and his father had been slapped to their senses. With a deep breath for
courage, he reined his horse in the direction of the blue dress.

"My lady," he began in
his deep, melodious voice. "When you left Blackstone, this valuable bag
was left behind and...."

His eyes came up reluctantly to
meet her face and when their gazes locked, he almost choked on his tongue. His
eyes widened in surprise as he stared into sapphire blue eyes of such intensity
that they took his breath away.

But it wasn't merely the eyes;
the porcelain face of curvaceous lips and pinkened cheeks was utterly beautiful
and he heard an appreciative sigh, unaware that it had come from his own
throat. The woman before him possessed beauty only given credence to in myth;
she certainly wasn't the hideous hag that he had met up with at Blackstone. But
he had been understandably lured by the blue dress.... the red hair…. Alec was
suddenly very confused.

"I apologize, my lady,"
his brow furrowed. "I was looking for St. Cloven's party. Is this
not..?" he glanced at the wagon; aye, it was the same wagon. And the
soldiers were familiar, clad in fine tunics of St. Cloven gold and black. And
the sister, dressed in yellow.... he observed a very pretty face of clear skin
and blue eyes and was deeply puzzled. He found himself turning back to the
woman in the turquoise gown, once again enraptured by her utterly divine
features. "Is this not St. Cloven's party?" he asked.

Peyton's gaze was fastened to him
firmly; she could not have torn her eyes away had she tried. Blond hair, a
granite jaw and piercing sky-blue eyes left her gasping for every breath. Had
he not been so tremendously large, she would have considered him extremely
handsome. Masculine, powerful, virile.... everything a man should be. It was a
magnificent combination and she would have been completely enchanted had she
not been swept with darker, guiltier thoughts.

She couldn't consider him
handsome. Only James was handsome.

Peyton struggled against her
bafflement to form a reply. "It is," she responded as evenly as she
could. "Where is our bag?"

Alec motioned lamely to Ali, who
rode up beside the wagon and deposited the satchel neatly amongst the packs.
Moving beyond puzzlement to suspicion, Alec returned his attention to Peyton.

"Who
are
you?"

She hesitated a moment. "You
will tell me your name first, my lord. I do not speak with strangers."

"Sir Alec Summerlin."

Peyton's eyes widened.
Jubil's
Sir Alec!
Good lord, their brilliant scheme would be ruined if she revealed
her name! She could feel a nervous sweat glossing her back as she glanced to
Ivy's anxious face; even her sister knew there was no possibility out of their
predicament. Being an intelligent man, he had most likely surmised his own
answer and she suspected additional falsehoods would not be well received.

He heard her sigh heavily.
"Lady Peyton de Fluornoy."

Alec eyed her a moment before
leaning against the pommel of his saddle, scratching his head with confusion.
"But.... what in the hell was all of that back at Blackstone? The
fighting, the grotesque appearance?" his confusion suddenly gave way to
annoyance and he cocked a stern eyebrow. "I would hear a plausible
explanation, lady."

Peyton's nervousness moved to her
hands and caused them to shake. "I....I know not what you mean, my
lord."

Alec's irritation became full-blown
with her evasive answer. In the blink of an eye, he dismounted his destrier and
moved to Peyton's small palfrey. In a great whoosh of turquoise silk, Peyton
was removed from the animal and she yelped in surprise.

"Unhand me, beast!" she
found herself in the most powerful grip she had ever experienced.

"Not until I have had an
explanation," his voice was calm and characteristically controlled.

Ivy bolted from her horse to aid
her sister but was immediately halted by an armored figure. Ali had hold of the
big woman and was not surprised to discover her to be extremely strong.
"Hold, demoiselle," he commanded quietly.

Infuriated and frightened, Ivy
took a swing at his helm and cried out when the metal bruised her fist.
Undaunted, she took to kicking and twisting in his grasp, but he simply
tightened his grip.

Around them, the St. Cloven
soldiers tensed but were quickly quelled by well-armed Summerlin men. And
through it all, Jubil sat atop the wagon and smiled foolishly.

"Spank her, sweet
Alec," she murmured. "She is a naughty girl at times."

Alec heard the purred words but did
not give the older woman a second glance as he pulled Peyton into the trees,
away from the party. Peyton screeched and struggled, fought and grunted as he
hauled her through the undergrowth for several yards before coming to rest.

He loosened his grip and Peyton
slapped his hands away, managing to yank herself free. Once loose, she
attempted to turn away from him, but he grabbed her with hands of steel and
trapped her against his massive chest.

Frightened sapphires met the blue
of the sky. "Now," Alec's voice was a growl, "you will tell me
what prompted your little performance back at Blackstone. And no lies, else I
will take you over my knee."