She picked up the dress Bertha had left her. It was dark blue silk and rather finely made, with swirls of pleated flowers down the front and extravagant bows. The sleeves were frothy with delicate lace. It was finer than anything she had ever owned, even her best yellow dress that Edmund had tried to tear off her. Cecily shuddered, then quickly wriggled into the blue dress.
The more barriers she had between her flesh and that awful Peyton fellow, the better. Even now, the remembered brush of his fingers on her skin as he fastened his jacket around her body made her cheeks flame. Cecily sighed and let some of the tension coiled in her breast slowly unwind. The dress was a little tight across the bust, and she was overflowing it a little in parts, but now, more respectably clothed, she felt as though she had some armour, some defence against these awful people.
What would Rowenna do in such strife? She smiled. Her sister would probably have run Peyton through, stolen his horse and ridden back to Fallstairs. Cecily’s smile faded. Her sister would never have fallen for Edmund’s pretty lies in the first place, nor would she have abandoned her family and duty to run away.
From below came clattering, shouts and doors banging as her prison came alive. Cecily rushed to the small window and pulled open the shutters. The world was white. Huge snowdrifts swathed the yard and frosted the roofs of several outbuildings. Her eye was drawn to the source of some colourful cursing. Down below, a dark beast of a man was dismounting a splendid dapple grey horse. He pounded on the door. Another criminal, like her captor, no doubt. He disappeared from view, and Cecily was left staring out at a vast expanse of grey-green water and snow-capped hills. Where the hell was she? Had she been taken to an island? Her muddled head could not make sense of it.
Cold, hard reality set in. She was a long way from her sister’s protection, so she had to get out of this pickle on her own wits. Maybe if she was contrite and flattered that great oaf, Peyton, he would set her free. Her father always said she was bonnie enough to charm the birds from the trees if she set her mind to it. Aye. That was some kind of plan. Cecily sat back on the bed, smoothed her skirts and prepared to be charming to Laird Peyton.
***
Peyton was weary to his bones, and it was a long, cold ride from Crichton Moor. Cecily MacCreadie’s heart-stopping eyes had got between him and sleep, and he had been up just before dawn to dispose of her lover’s corpse. Winter had turned the ground to stone, his horse had to high-step through the snow, and he had almost broken his back, digging a hole deep enough to keep the corpse from being scavenged by wolves and foxes. His hands ached with cold. Damn that MacCreadie lass and Edmund Harclaw to hell. He’d had no intention of harming anyone yesterday, and here he was, with blood on his hands and the direst peril facing his clan.
He had to do something about that lass, and he had to do it today. He clattered into Fellscarp’s yard to see a grey horse tethered at his door and snapping at a passing stable boy. His heart sank.
‘Where is he?’ Peyton called to Selby.
‘In the hall, warming his bones and frightening the servants. I’d not have let him pass until you returned, but he said he had dire news and threatened to skewer my belly if I did not.’
Peyton sighed and rushed inside, where the Devil’s spawn applied his charms to Merren, one of Fellscarp’s servants.
‘Sit in my lap, lass. I have a present for you.’ Eaden Strachan grabbed his crotch and shook it at Merren. She shrieked and ran out of range of his hands. ‘Come back with that ale, lass,’ he shouted at her.
He noticed Peyton and said with a smirk, ‘She’ll seek me out later.’
‘Leave her be. What dragged you out from under your rock in such foul weather, Eaden?’
‘I dragged myself out of a bed of sweet whores to bring you news.’
‘Which is?’
‘I am here to tell you that you may set down your burden of being a laird. I will take control of Clan Strachan.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘If you like.’
Peyton stared him down. Eaden always hated it when you didn’t rise to his provocation.
‘I hear you had a cockfight with Usher, and I see you got a good beating,’ Eaden sneered.
‘He looks worse. Next time, send someone with a brain in his skull to challenge me on your behalf.’
Eaden leant forward. ‘You cannot keep doing this, cousin. Eventually, there will be one challenger too many, and when more of the clan come over to my side, I will simply reach out and take Fellscarp.’
‘Get out of my hall.’
Eaden did not move. ‘I’ve other news to impart,’ he said smugly. ‘And I’ll not do it without ale.’ He beckoned Merren. ‘Come back with that jug and warm my cock, lass. ‘Tis a shrunken thing in this weather, but I am sure it will swell with some kindness.’ He winked at her.
‘Leave him, lass,’ said Peyton. ‘He can do without ale, for he’s nought but a filthy lecher.’
‘I do my best,’ said Eaden, placing his muddy boots on the table with a thud and a smile. ‘Is your sister still bonnie?’ he said.
‘Aye, as you are still ugly, and Lowri still hates you, by the way.’
‘Why. Did I break her little heart?’
‘I’ll break my fist on your face if you ever come near her again.’
