The Legend Read Online Free PDF Page B

likely we will be forced to
wed."
    Peyton nodded sincerely. "I
hope so. I only pray that I can keep from laughing when Lord Brian sees what a
treasure he has in the de Fluornoy women. You must stick to the scheme, Ivy.
Follow my lead and do what I do.”
    Ivy continued to giggle as they
rode up on the gate. They were met by several soldiers, led by three knights.
One knight on a great brown destrier reached out to halt Peyton's mount.
    "Announce yourself, my
lady," he asked politely.
    No time like the present to begin
their act. Peyton smiled brightly and was positive she could hear a collective
gasp of horror go up among the men.
    "Lady Peyton de Fluornoy and
party,” she said brightly. “We are expected."
    "Aye, you are," the
knight replied in a peculiar voice. "Move forward into the bailey and you
shall be met by a steward who will direct you."
    She batted her dark-circled eyes
at the knight and spurred her horse forward, followed by the rest of the group.
Ivy made sure to smile at the knight as she rode past. Visor down, she couldn't
see his face but hoped he was disgusted with her appearance.
    The knight turned to watch them
as they rode into the open mouth of the courtyard. Ali did not know what to
think.
    The bailey was a vast thing,
extremely well kept. It appeared more as a manicured drive than a bailey,
servants with decorated dogs standing at spaced intervals and shaped dogwood
trees flanking the main entrance to the castle. It was a busy courtyard, servants
and residents alike moving about in chaotic order in anticipation of the
impending arrivals. The excitement of a celebration filled the air and it was
difficult not to catch on to the thrill. Even for the most recent reluctant
guests, the excitement was intriguing.
     A brightly colored steward in
the Summerlin colors of red and silver stepped forward to greet them. Dressed
in a satin tunic and hose with a satin cap, he bowed deeply.
    "Might I have your house
name, my lady?" he asked politely.
    "De Fluornoy," Peyton
handed her reins to a servant and dismounted with help from one of her
soldiers. The St. Cloven man peered at her most strangely and Peyton suspected
that her cover would be blown before she had a chance to complete her
objective. Pursing her lips threateningly at the dense soldier, the man hastily
moved away from her.
    "Ah yes! We have prepared a
suite of rooms for you and your sister," he turned sharply and snapped
orders to a group of soldiers hovering a few feet away. Immediately, the men
moved forward to collect the baggage.
    As their parcels were efficiently
removed, the steward returned his attention to Peyton. His eyes widening as he
received a second, closer look at the lady; outrageously pale with
black-shadowed eyes, he took an unconscious step away from her as if she
carried the plague.
    Peyton played into the man's
shock, beaming foolishly at him. "Thank you, sirrah. Would you be so kind
as to show us to our rooms?"
    "Are there going to be lots
o' men at the party?" Ivy chimed in loudly, making sure to exhibit her
disgraceful teeth.
    "Indeed! Men!" Peyton
agreed eagerly, and the two of them cackled like witches before a cauldron.
    The steward visibly flinched.
"Aye, my ladies. There will be many.... uh, men," he swallowed hard.
"But.... but married men. There will be very few single men, or
those who are unbetrothed. In fact,..."
    Ivy cut him off. "Who cares
if they are unwed or not. Just give me a good arse to pinch and…."
    "Ivy!" Peyton
admonished, half-serious. "Surely you must not think of a man as a
fleeting pinch. After all - 'tis that very attitude that has driven two men to
their grave already."
    Ivy sniffed, tossing hair that
she had purposely mussed with leaves for a completely squalid effect. "Old
badgers, both of them, with the potency of custard."
    "You made them old before
their time," Peyton retorted, laughing silently at the steward's horrified
expression.
    Ivy put her hands on her round
hips. "Do not portray yourself