The Legend by Kathryn Le Veque Page B

betrothals."
    Alec gazed at her a moment before
loosening his hold. Peyton yanked free and stumbled back, eyeing him warily.
    "So you made yourselves up
to look like ghouls?" he asked.
    "Aye," she whispered,
then swallowed hard and forced her courage. "We will not be married, to
anyone. We do not want to marry."
    Alec crossed his arms and
Peyton's breathing began to come in peculiar gasps again; they were the biggest
arms she had ever seen, every magnificent muscle straining against the
restrictive silk. "Why not?" he asked.
    She had expected a reprimand or a
lecture; certainly not a question and was caught off guard. "Because....
because we do not need men. We do fine by ourselves and we do not need the
nuisance of men dictating our every move."
    "I see. So you sought to
make your own decision by deterring my father from selecting husbands for
you?"
    "Exactly," her initial
fear faded, replaced by her standard boldness. "I would wager to say that
after what he has seen this afternoon, we will not have to worry about husbands
any longer."
    Alec looked at her, long and
hard, before depositing his considerable weight on a stump. Thoughtfully, his
eyes grazed her. "'Tis your duty to marry and provide heirs to carry on
the tradition of St. Cloven,” he said. “What will happen if you and your sister
die old maids, with no children to continue the legacy? The tradition of St.
Cloven ale will die."
    Peyton's brow furrowed and she
lowered her gaze. She opened her mouth to retort but found she could not find a
suitable argument to his calm rationale. "I.... I did not say we did not
ever wish to be married,” she replied quietly. “We simply do not want to be
married any time soon. Eventually, we will marry and bear children and pass the
tradition on.”
    As she said it, she thought of
marrying and of betraying James' memory. A wave of pain rippled across her
delicate features.
    Alec saw it. "Why does the
thought of marriage distress you?"
    "It doesn't," she
snapped, fighting off the melancholy and focusing on her annoyance instead. She
faced him and put her hands on her hips. "Are you going to return to your
father and tell him what we have done?"
    He raised a slow eyebrow.
"Nay. You are going to tell him."
    Her jaw hung slack with surprise.
"What?"
    He rose and she was startled anew
by his  size. "You will be my guest at the party tonight and will be given
the chance to explain your actions to my father personally."
    "I will not!" she
retorted hotly as he moved toward her. "If I return to Blackstone, it will
be kicking and screaming all the way!"
    "If you so choose." He
was still moving toward her.
    She backed away from him,
frightened and angered. "You will not lay a hand on me, Alec Summerlin! You
will be sorry!"
    He actually smiled. "Nay,
lady, I guarantee I will not be sorry. But you will be."
    "How dare you threaten me!
If you so much as..!"
    He suddenly bent over and grabbed
her about the waist, throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more
than a child. Grinning, he carried his struggling burden back to the waiting
party.
    "Ali, the ladies will be
returning with us to Blackstone," he said pleasantly, eyeing Ivy.
"Lady Ivy will be your guest at tonight's party."
    Ali turned his helmed head to the
blond sister, thinking her to be quite lovely without the dark circles and gray
skin. "My pleasure, my lord."
    But Ivy scowled at him. "I
shall not be anyone's guest! We are going home!"
    On Alec's shoulder, Peyton's
struggles increased. "Defend yourself, Ivy! Do not let him force
you!"
    Ivy took her sister's advice and
shoved Ali hard enough to cause him to lose his balance. Another kick to the
stomach had him stumbling off the road, almost falling down a slight decline.
She dashed toward the wagon to spur the team onward, but Ali regained his
footing and was upon her before she could carry out her mission.
    Clutching the struggling buxom
woman against him, he turned to Alec. "This will prove to be an
interesting