‘I have no wish to speak of what happened. It is something I heartily wish to forget.’
‘Good. Then we are agreed on silence from you.’
The horse galloped out of the shelter of the woods, and they were buffeted by the wind. She could barely see a few feet ahead. Water splashed her skirt. Were they crossing a river? Cecily’s limbs stiffened with cold and fear as a dark stone edifice loomed out of higher ground. The top of a tower house was only just visible in the fading light as if it was being swallowed whole by God’s wrath. The wind howled across its roof like a choir of tortured souls. Fellscarp was awful, and what awaited her inside might be worse – a den of thieves, most likely.
They clattered upwards and through a gate where a watchman gave them a steely stare and nodded to Peyton. ‘Welcome back, Laird. I feared you might get caught in this filthy weather and miss the crossing. Most of the clan is inside, sheltering.’
Laird? Surely, she had misheard. This ruffian could not be a laird, and if he was, then laird of what?
‘Not me, Selby,’ her captor replied. ‘I like a warm bed and a blazing hearth to toast my bones. Is Bertha around?’
‘Aye. In the kitchen, bullying the servant girls. Have you brought us a new one?’ said the man, eyeing Cecily. She turned away.
‘Not exactly.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘You will find out soon enough, but I must get her out of this cold. Settle the horse, then fetch Bertha for me. I will be above in the tower, and tell her to bring blankets and wood for a fire.’
The man nodded, and Peyton slipped off the horse and dragged her down. Cecily fell against him and immediately pushed herself off. She would not touch him more than necessary. He shook his head at her, took her hand, and dragged her up some steps to a small doorway. She glanced back. The man, Selby, was staring as he led the horse away, and beyond a high wall surrounding the yard, all she could see was inky blackness and swirling snow.
Inside the house, it was not much warmer than outside. The Peyton fellow grabbed a lantern and seemed in a great hurry to drag her aloft. Cecily’s legs were weak by the time they had climbed four flights up a winding stone staircase. She could barely see where they were going. Her heart picked up its beat when he opened a door in the gloom and thrust her inside a small chamber. It held a bed, a small table, a hearth, and nothing else. He slammed it shut behind him.
In the flickering lantern light, Peyton’s face seemed even more devilish than before, its bleakness intensified in the confined space. He was so big and powerfully built that he could crush her with one blow of his fist. And they were alone now, and no one would hear her scream over the howl of the wind, nor care if they did.
‘What is this place?’ she asked.
‘My chamber.’
‘It looked more like a dungeon than a chamber. What are you going to do with me?’ said Cecily in a rush of terror.
He crossed his muscular arms across his broad chest and sighed heavily. ‘Honestly, lass. I have absolutely no idea.’ He came closer.
‘You stay away from me, you brute,’ she said, backing away until she met a cold stone wall.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, Cecily MacCreadie. Whatever I decide to do with you, it does not include ravishment or any other violence on your person. So you may trust in that.’
‘I don’t trust you at all or anything you say.’
‘It seems you are determined to make me a villain, lass.’
‘You are a villain, stopping me from going home, dragging me to this…this prison. You look like one, too.’
‘How so?’ he said with a smile.
‘Your face. It is awful, all puffed up and cuts everywhere, blood all over you. It is clear that you are the worst kind of ruffian.’
‘Is that so?’ Peyton took hold of her arms and put his face in hers. ‘There’s blood all over you, too. Does that make you a villain? Appearances can fool the unwary. And I am a good deal better than your lover who would have raped you and left you for dead, lass. So don’t be looking down your nose at me. I saved your virtue and, possibly, your life today, at risk of my own, and what do I get in return – a troublesome, haughty little bitch, who does not even have the manners to thank me.’
Cecily could only stare at him, mouth agape, struck dumb by his sudden outburst of rage. His chest heaved as he stared down at her, his brown eyes fiery and his mouth so close she could feel his breath on her face. She shuddered, and they both started at a brisk knock on the door.
Peyton flung Cecily away as if she had stung him and opened the door. A plump, middle-aged woman entered carrying a pile of blankets. She looked at Cecily and then Peyton and frowned.
‘Good grief. What mischief have you done now?’ she said.
Peyton took a blanket and threw it in Cecily’s direction. Donning the other, he swept the woman out and banged the door behind him.
***
