Drayton fell silent, a sneer twisting his mouth, chest heaving. There was the old mad brutality swirling in his eyes.
‘Tell me what you did,’ she demanded.
‘You know, you are far too uppity for a woman. You need to learn to keep your mouth shut and only open it when it is useful to me.’ He glared at her. ‘The thought of what you have done with that farm boy and others sours my blood, Maren. I think I should teach you a lesson in wifely obedience.’
He was building up to something. The hairs stood up on the back of Maren’s neck in warning.
‘You favour that Cullan wretch with his refined manners and soft hands, don’t you, lass? Think you can do better than a man like me - gutter born to a whore and left to starve like a dog in the streets. But I have pulled myself up since I slithered out of that bitch of a mother. I am forged in life’s adversity, just like you, and you will never burrow into Bryce Cullan’s life or his heart, no matter how wide you spread your legs. You are no fine lady, Maren McEwen.’
‘My mother was.’
‘Aye, and she sold herself cheap to your father.’
‘And he sold me cheap to you.’
‘Hah. If you like. I know your pride will not acknowledge that we are suited, but it is the truth of it. We were meant to be together. You know it, and I know it. No point in yearning for what you cannot have with that Cullan fellow.’
‘No,’ cried Maren. ‘I never wanted to be your wife. I never wanted you, Drayton.’
Suddenly, his rough hands were tearing at her. Maren wriggled free and ran, but he caught her in a few strides and pushed her up against a wall. Drayton pulled up her skirts, his stubble scraping her neck, teeth sinking into her tender flesh. She struggled to get her hand to the pistol in her pocket as he kicked her legs apart and fumbled with his breeches.
‘It is time to humble your pride. Be still, or I will cut you, bitch,’ he hissed.
Maren clawed and scratched. ‘No,’ she screamed. She’d rather die than suffer Drayton again, and just as she felt her strength had run out, there came a mooing followed by a shout.
Over Drayton’s shoulder, she saw a mass of ginger, shaggy beasts appear through the mist, plodding towards them. Alongside were three men on horseback, most likely, drovers, taking their livestock south to market.
One of the men spotted them and stopped and stared. ‘Hold,’ he shouted to his companions. ‘What have we here? A lover’s tryst, is it?’
‘Aye, now move along and leave a man to his labour,’ shouted Drayton good-naturedly, holding her in a punishing grip.
‘Seems like it’s not labour with such a bonnie lass,’ a younger man shouted back.
‘Aye, true enough,’ he replied.
The whole party slowed to a halt to gawp and laugh. But one older man met Maren’s eyes and narrowed his own. ‘Anything amiss, lassie?’ he said, eyes flicking to Drayton’s. The man was burly and had a belligerence about him, but there was understanding in his eyes. Drayton’s grip softened.
‘No,’ she managed to squeak. ‘But I must return to my master before I am missed and lose my place.’
‘And much else besides,’ shouted the young man, laughing.
Maren wriggled from Drayton’s grip and ran towards them. ‘I am for Penhallion,’ she said, pointing down the track and rearranging her clothes. Her hands were claws of fear, shaking so much she could barely do it.
‘I will see the lass home soon enough once you’ve taken yourself off, gentlemen,’ said Drayton.
Maren stared at the burly man and gave the slightest shake of her head.
The man smiled at Drayton. ‘No need,’ he said. ‘The lassie best walk with us, or else she will get in trouble with the fine folk at Penhallion. I know the Laird well. He takes a firm hand with his servants. The sun is full up, and she will be needed about her duties.’
Maren did not mind that he assumed her to be a servant. She was just relieved to have Drayton’s hands off her. For a moment, she wondered if a fight would ensue, but the burly man nodded a ‘good day’ which suggested he would brook no argument, and he beckoned for Maren to walk with them.
Her legs were lead, but somehow, she managed to hurry off with her protector, and when she glanced back, Drayton was standing before the ruined monastery, eyes fixed on her. ‘Safe home, lass, if that is your wish. I will see you soon,’ he shouted, smiling, but his hands were fists, his face struggling to contain the murderous rage that burnt within.
Some way down the track, the burly man stopped and crossed his arms over his pommel. ‘I don’t want to know what it is between you two, and I don’t know what that black devil back there is to you, but take an old man’s advice and steer clear of him. I’ve been around long enough to read people, and one look in that ruffian’s eyes told me he is a bad sort. Guard your innocence, I say.’
‘He is a bad sort. You are right. I will stay away, and I thank you for keeping me from folly. Now, I must hurry,’ said Maren. She waved goodbye and ran as fast as she could down the track, peering over her shoulder and expecting at any moment that Drayton would ride her down. When she reached the main road to Penhallion, Maren did not pause, speeding along it as fast as her shaking legs could carry her until she was in the safe embrace of its walled garden.
Under the shade of an old oak, Maren allowed herself to stop. Her throat was dry, and her breath ragged. She leaned against its trunk for support before her legs went from under her.
