‘What do you mean?’
‘You are a clever lass. Think about it.’
‘You mean he has been playing both sides since,’ said Maren, feeling sick. ‘Is that what you are saying?’
‘No, not both sides. He pledged to the English cause and theirs alone because his life depended on it. Lawson pretended to glean secrets for the Stuart King in exile and, in so doing, sniffed out any Scot who was loyal to the Jacobite cause. He fed those fools to the English Crown, and it is a ravenous beast, always eager for meat. I wonder why he did not throw you into its gaping jaws? I suppose it is because you are a biddable little thing, dazzled by his charm and sailor’s easy manner. Your loyalty amused him, and he wanted the triumph of coaxing you into his bed.’
‘Was Lawson your creature too, Drayton.’
‘Oh aye. Once you get hold of a man’s grubby little secrets he will do anything to keep his head above water. Now he is many leagues under it.’ Drayton laughed at his own jest.
Anger was like a tide in Maren’s chest sweeping away fear – anger with Lawson, her father and Drayton. Enough. She was weary of the struggle. She was weary of evil men. Now this monster would do his grisly work no matter what she did or said.
‘I am tired of humouring you, Drayton,’ said Maren. ‘You bore me, so do what you will, and let us be finished with each other.’
Drayton grabbed her in cruel hands, threw her onto the bed and stood over her.
‘Such iron in your soul, Maren. It won’t bend for any man, will it? Not even one who would kill for you, kill to be with you.’
‘Go to hell,’ she hissed.
His weight came down, crushing, pinning her. For a moment, her courage faltered. It would be easier to give in and endure. Maren was taken back to her wedding night and the awful moment when Drayton had taken her forcefully, without tenderness or care, turning her girlish curiosity and hope into bewilderment.
Drayton put his cheek to hers. He was heavier than she remembered. ‘What a beautiful, perfumed whore you have become. If you will not have me willingly as you once did, then you must have me the other way, the hard, painful way. And afterwards, when I have taken my fill, I will take your life. What a fine surprise for your lover to find your broken body when he returns. I wish I could stay to see his face. It will make a pretty picture.’
‘No,’ she croaked as Drayton’s mouth covered hers, stifling the scream of revulsion that longed to burst out.
He would be too heavy to push off. She would have to roll him. Drayton began to pull up her skirts and fumble with his breeches. ‘Never fear. I do not intend to neglect that fool you lie with. I will visit Cullan when he least expects it. I will take everything he values and then take his life.’
There was a suck of breath through his nostrils as he drank in her scent like a hunting dog, the rasp of his stubbled jaw against her chin, his black hair in her face. Maren thought of Bryce in bed, his tender hands, his bright hair flopping over his eyes, which he always brushed back until she insisted on cutting it. Was that really just a day ago? Her eyes flicked to a small table near the bed, crowded with trinkets.
Maren went limp under Drayton’s hands, and he stopped tearing at her clothes and stared down, locking eyes with her. The anger in his expression faded. ‘Why do you not fight me, lass? Could it be that you want me?’
‘I…I cannot. Drayton I….’
Maren let her mouth fall open as if in invitation and braced one leg against the mattress. Drayton swallowed hard, and as his mouth came down on hers, Maren heaved him aside with all her strength. She had but an instant to leap off the bed before a howl of rage came from behind her.
Drayton caught her from behind, and they stumbled into the little table, sending brushes, jewellery and a jug crashing to the floor. One of his hands came about her throat, the other crushing her waist. She didn’t have much time.
‘Back to bed, my love, and finish what we started. And trust me, I will not be gentle,’ he growled.
Maren brought the scissors down to his thigh. They sank deep into his flesh, sending him recoiling with a screech of pain. But still, he held her. She swivelled in his grip, brought the scissors to his neck, and drove them blindly in. Drayton pushed her off and staggered back, blood gushing, clutching his throat.
‘What have you done, you bitch,’ he gurgled, blood spurting. He stumbled wildly, his free hand flailing, but he did not come for her. His breeches were soaked with blood, so much blood.
In a matter of moments, Drayton had sunk to his knees. He fixed his black eyes on her, swaying, his hand ribboned with rivulets of blood where it clutched the wound in his throat. Maren could not move. She could only watch as all his evil slowly drained away, and he turned into a wet, broken thing, like a puppet with its strings cut.
‘Maren. Why? I have loved you,’ he gasped.
‘No. Never. You never did,’ she sobbed.
His devilish eyes met hers, all the malice gone and only surprise remaining. ‘End it then,’ he croaked.
Maren ran to the fireplace, took a heavy poker in both hands, and staggered over to Drayton. She was so weak, and the room was spinning. Then, before her courage deserted her, she swept back her arms.
***
It was as if she had entered a nightmare. Maren could not seem to wake up, and she was icy cold, yet her palms were clammy with sweat. For hours, she had remained in the same spot where her knees had given way. She had moved only a few trembling inches in that time, and only because the pool of Drayton’s blood had widened and was snaking across the floorboards towards the edge of her skirts. Even in death, the fiend was reaching for her.
