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a
substantial dowry, mayhap if I make him quite appealing financially to a
prospective bride, she will be more willing to.... accept him, as it
were."
    Alec's face was like stone; hard
and immobile. He had always been fiercely protective of Ali, ever since he had
been old enough to realize that some people were not inclined to accept him as
a human being. Ali was more a brother to him than his only surviving brother.
    However, his father was correct.
There were no black females available for marriage in England. In fact, outside
of the Holy Land, Alec had never even seen a black female. It was only logical
that Ali marry an English girl, someone he could feel affection for and bear
him sons. A woman who could accept him for what he was, but the hope was
unrealistic at best; Alec had never known a woman to approve of Ali's color.
Yet in spite of his obvious difference, why should his dark friend be excluded
from the normal rites of an English male?
    Alec sighed, setting down his
chalice. "Say nothing to him for the moment. At the festivity, I shall
make sure to point out the younger sister and see if he expresses any
interest."
    "Fair enough," Brian
agreed. "I suppose proceeding on the basis of attraction is acceptable. If
Ali likes what he sees, I shall broach the subject."
    Alec moved for the door.
"What about me? What if I Do not like what I see?"
    Brian shook his head faintly,
exhausted with the arguing. "We will cross that bridge when we come to it.
Go now, your mother should be serving afternoon refreshments."
    Alec quit the room, leaving Brian
drained and thoughtful. Whether or not Alec found his prospective bride
agreeable, Brian's mind was made up. Pleasant or not, Alec would marry the lady
of St. Cloven and reap the rewards of the keep. 
    But, of course, there was the
little matter which Brian had neglected to inform him, and that was the
Warrington petition for the lady's hand. He'd never tell Alec, of course; it
would be one more excuse to refuse the betrothal.
    Brian was no fool; he knew that
Nigel Warrington had set his sights on obtaining what he believed rightfully
belonged to him, and St. Cloven was an auspicious beginning. He had no
intention of seeing a Warrington as lord of St. Cloven; it would be a
Summerlin, no matter if he had to tie his mulish son to the front gates to keep
him there. Alec would be lord of an ale empire and damn well be pleased about
it.
    In faith, he wished he could tell
his son the whole of it. But some things in life were better left unsaid, some
things better left buried.
          

 
     
     
    CHAPTER TWO
     
    Three ladies and seven soldiers
made up the party from St. Cloven. Behind them, a wagon carted six barrels of
their finest dark ale as a gift to their liege, Baron Rothwell. Traveling to a
celebration, the mood should have been light and gay. The weather of late
summer was delightful and the sky bright, but there was little talk and even
less joviality.
    To Peyton, it felt like a death
march. A forced trek into the gaping jaws of fate. Lord Brian had summoned her
and Ivy to discuss their betrothals under the guise of inviting them to a grand
party in honor of his wife's birthday. The birthday was a convenient excuse,
Peyton was positive. It was all a ploy to force her into doing what she so desperately
loathed; to accept a husband.
    Dressed in a lovely turquoise
blue silk that complimented her golden red tresses perfectly, she looked
entirely delicious seated atop her brown palfrey. But her mood was anything but
delicious; it was bitter and distasteful. She hated that fact that she and Ivy
had been forced to dress like fine horses for the auction block so that Lord
Brian could get a good look at them.  The prettier the girl, the wider range of
suitors there would be.
    A thought suddenly struck her as
she mulled over her fine appearance and she turned to catch her sister's
attention. Ivy was mounted astride a dark gray warmblood, a difficult animal
that would have given