The Legend by Kathryn Le Veque

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,