The Legend (12 page)

His hot breath sent rivers of
heat down her spine and she found herself melting against him, fighting the
liquid fire that threatened. Swallowing hard, she could only gaze impotently as
her sister struggled against the dark warrior. Whether or not she wanted to,
she believed Alec. She trusted him.

"But...." she licked
her dry lips, highly aware of Alec's searing body against her. "'Tis....
improper for them to be alone together, unescorted. I would prefer...."

Alec had not the chance to
respond as Ivy brought up a balled fist and tried to wreak havoc on Ali's face.
The warrior, however, was quick as lightning and effective halted her assault.
"Resistance is futile, demoiselle. Kindly walk with me or I shall take you
over my shoulder."

Ivy's struggles increased.
"You would not dare, you filthy barbarian!"

Without hesitation, Ali bent at
the waist and tossed the woman over his shoulder. As Ivy kicked and twisted,
Ali carted her quite effortlessly from the storehouse.

Peyton was left staring at the
open door, her eyes wide and her mouth agape. In her shock, she had nearly
forgotten about Alec's presence until he shifted behind her, brushing against
her back.  Swallowing hard, she turned to him. With one last valiant effort,
she attempted to protest Ivy's betrothal.

"Why.... why did not you
tell me my sister was intended for him?"

His gaze was even, although she
could detect an underlying hint of disturbance. "Does it matter? Her fate
was decided along with yours, and there is nothing either of you can do about
it."

Her eyes clouded with
uncertainty, distress. "But he is not like us, Sir Alec. He is obviously
different. How could you allow....?"

Alec knew what she was going to
say before the words spilled forth from her delicious lips. Aye, he knew what
she was going to say and he would not hear it. He would not allow her to voice
what she was thinking, rekindling the blaze of anger that had so recently
abated against Ivy. Once the blaze escalated, it was extremely difficult to
douse and could quickly grow out of control. Sharply, he held up a warning
finger to prevent any further slander from being cast.

"Not a word, my lady,"
his voice was low. "It is no longer your concern and I shall not hear another
word. Do you understand me?"

Peyton read the fluctuating
emotions in his eyes and a spark of fear ignited deep within her heart. It was
obvious that Alec was deeply protective of the black man and she resisted the
urge to defy him, to speak her mind. Instead, she lowered her gaze and nodded
faintly. Head-strong and vocal though she might be, she was not daft.

"Excellent," he
whispered, his tone laced with sincerity. He was glad to see that she was
obedient when it was truly required of her. After a moment, he sighed. "As
they are becoming better acquainted, so shall you and I. You will show me my
new keep."

 
His
keep. It had an alien
ring to it. Resignation in her expression, Peyton forced herself into
compliance.  "What do you wish to see first, my lord?"

His gaze lingered on her red
head. Thank God she hadn't given him a reason to despise her. He was so coming
to enjoy her spirit, her fire, her unearthly beauty. He was coming to enjoy
her, more than he realized.

"We will start with the
manse."

***

Ali had no idea where he was
going. Ivy was an armful in every sense of the term, kicking and hollering over
his shoulder as if he was causing her great torment. But he ignored her shouts,
her demands and rude comments as he continued to march purposefully toward the
manse. As the wide door of the massive structure beckoned him wordlessly into
the cavernous rooms beyond, he found himself strolling into the foyer.

He glanced about the elaborate
entry as Ivy attempted to dislodge herself. Slapping her sharply on the
buttocks, he grinned when she cursed him soundly for his brutal manners and
sought to locate a more private chamber where he and the lady would be
uninterrupted. What he intended to accomplish with his future wife would take
time, patience and privacy. Although he could not vouch for the first two
requirements, he intended to have the third.

Truthfully, he did not understand
his own motives. He could not comprehend why it was so important that he force
this woman to understand that he was not a beast or an animal, but that he
possessed the finer qualities sought of in a husband. He did not understand why
he was so determined to waste his time; only that he had to try. He had to make
her understand.

There was a dim corridor under
the winding stairs. Thinking it to be a rather logical place to start, he
entered the hall with Ivy still squirming against him. He passed a curious
glance at the first two rooms he came to, unsatisfied until he came to a third
such chamber. Moving into the lightly furnished room, he closed the door and
bolted it before setting Ivy to her feet.

Ivy's face was flushed with anger
and apprehension as she faced off against the tall ebony warrior. Although her
first instinct was to charge at him and push her fist into his eye, she resisted
the urge and, instead, took several steps away from him.

"How dare you handle me like
a common wench," she snarled.

He crossed his thick arms.
"Your actions dictate mine, demoiselle. If you had not acted like a common
wench, I would not have treated you as one."

She was shaking with emotion,
more fury and confusion that she could grasp. "Let me out of here. I told
you once that I have nothing to say to you."

He raised an eyebrow. "But I
have a great deal to say to you," when she clenched her jaw and looked
away, he pondered her lovely profile a moment before moving to dislodge his
gauntlets. The mood between them settled into one of brittle tension. After a
moment, he spoke. "Do you truly find my black color appalling?"

Her gaze averted, Ivy rolled her
eyes with frustration and bewilderment. "You are not English."

He peered at her curiously,
loosening a glove. "Define this statement to me."

Her brows drew together and she
cast him a sidelong glance. "What is to define? You are not from
England."

"I was born in England. Does
that not make me English?"

She exhaled sharply in
exasperation. "But you are black."

"And you are white. Does the
color of my skin make me less of an Englishman that yourself? In truth, I was
born in England before you; therefore, I was English before you were. Would
this not make me more of an Englishman that you?"

She frowned, contemplating his
statement with the growing realization that, indeed, he appeared to have a
point. Her hostility, her anger, cooled as a dark confusion swept her; why was
she even listening to the beast? He was attempting to cloud the issue, to
confuse her. Fervently, she attempted to find a crack in his logic that she
could latch on to, but there were no such footholds in his solid argument.

For whatever his appearance, she
was forced to concede that his reasoning was sound.

She lowered her gaze, staring at
the cracks in the wall. "My family has been in England for two hundred
years. This makes me more of an Englishman that you."

"But your roots are not
indigenous to England. Nor are mine. Two hundred years or twenty years, there
is no difference. Who is less of an Englishman between you and I?"

She stared at the wall a moment,
mulling over his argument. Through her bafflement and anger, the strength of
his wisdom rang true and she was further weakened, further crushed. But a
strong portion of her still demanded to resist, to defeat him, to dash his
words and his dignity.

"You are, I suppose. You are
not white like the English, but different. You are as black as sin."

Ali gazed at her a moment,
feeling her words like hammer blows in spite of his feigned indifference. He
sighed imperceptibly, unlatching his helm. Removing it cleanly, he set it and
the gauntlets to a small scrubbed table.

"I am indeed black, demoiselle,
but sin has nothing to do with it." He turned to her fully, crossing his
arms once again as if to show her that she could not harm him with her slander.
He began to wonder if forcing her to understand his nature had been such a wise
concept; the further she resisted, the further his confidence and patience was
weakened.

"Look at me, Ivy."

Hearing him speak her name sent a
bolt of fire through her, shocking her, although she knew not why. Mayhap it
was the fact that he had disregarding her respectful title. Or mayhap it was
the fact that his voice, as rich and deep as the finest wine, caressed her name
with unimagined beauty.

The latter thought never occurred
to her, as truthful as it might be. She was only aware of her pounding heart,
her swirling thoughts as she resisted with every fiber of her being not to obey
his command. Opposition or not, she suddenly found herself looking at the
exposed head of the black soldier.

She had only caught a glimpse of
his face from beneath his raised visor, a small taste that did nothing to
display his true features. His skin was smooth and glowing, like the most
exquisite polished wood, and his eyes were as black as a moonless night.
Although the shape of his features differed from those of a white male, they
were nonetheless extremely well-formed.

Ivy found herself studying him,
her gaze roving over his features, coming to rest on the kinky nest of black
hair that carpeted his skull. Ali watched her closely, his entire body taut
with anticipation. Would she turn away in disgust after a thorough inspection?
Would it merely serve to reaffirm her opinion that he was nothing short of a
marginally intelligent ape? Had he, in fact, created further damage by
revealing himself to her far too soon? Judging from her non-descript reaction,
it was difficult to tell.

In faith, Ivy did not know how to
respond. Certainly, he wasn't the horrible, hairy beast she had imagined
underneath the polished armor. Deep confusion consumed her as she found herself
moving from his hair to his face once again, pondering the sculpted ebony
features. His skin was so unbelievable smooth and glossy that she repressed the
urge to stroke his face purely for curiosity's sake. She simply had never seen
anything quite so perfect and she could feel the harsh resistance fading.

Ali continued to watch her face,
fighting the powerful apprehension simmering in his chest. 'Twas difficult to
combat the silence he was facing, even more difficult to bear than a blatant
rejection or sneer. He could meet open disapproval far more easily than stony
silence.

After an eternity of uneasy hush,
he could stand it no longer. Averting his gaze, he took slow steps towards the
lancet window facing onto the bailey. Ivy's eyes followed him closely, growing
more uncomfortable with the rising bewilderment she was feeling. She should
have been disgusted by his appearance, but she simply couldn't find it within
herself to disapprove of the picture presented before her. There was nothing
distasteful about it in the least.

Underneath the window was a
carved chair built for two, decorated with tapestry pillows, and Ali lowered
himself carefully onto the bench.

His black eyes came up to her.
"Would you sit, demoiselle?"

Her first reaction was to refuse.
But something made her pause, reconsider, and she realized that she was
actually contemplating his request. More than that, her legs seemed to already
be moving toward him. Without knowing how or why, Ivy found herself sitting
next to the black warrior.

Ali's expression was gentle as he
gazed into her blue eyes. "You are curious about me. 'Tis perfectly
understandable."

Ivy was mesmerized by the black
orbs and she swallowed hard, attempting to regain the composure that was so
rapidly slipping away. "I.... I have never seen a black man before."

He smiled, revealing an even row
of brilliant ivory. "You already said that."

Ivy couldn't help but stare at
his open smile, facing the most perfect set of teeth she had ever seen.

"'Tis the truth," she
stammered. "I have never heard of your presence at Blackstone, either. How
long have you lived there?"

"All of my life," he
replied, his gaze never leaving her pretty face. "I am surprised you have
not heard of me. Nearly everyone in the barony is aware of my family and
I."

Ivy's brow furrowed slightly. "I
saw another black man yesterday, in the bailey at Blackstone. Was that your
brother?"

"My father," he
corrected. "And my mother resides at Blackstone, as well. There are three
of us."

Ivy watched his mouth as he
spoke, his delightfully smooth brown lips. "How odd that there are three
black people at Blackstone and I have never heard the tale. You say that the
entire barony is aware of your existence?"

"Indeed. Most tolerate us,
but there are a few who have extended what they consider to be friendship. For
the most part, they tend to ignore our presence like one would ignore a senile
relative. 'Tis better to pretend that we do not exist, I suppose."