‘A fine offer, Greer, but my affection lies elsewhere,’ he said, thinking of turquoise eyes and blonde hair a man could get lost in, and fresh, unspoilt youth.
‘Bah. A dull fish is that Lorna Gilpin,’ said Greer. ‘And you look backed-up with lust to me, so she’s not giving up the goods. There is a look in your eye. I know these things.’
‘I must be true to where my heart lies,’ he said as a flush of shame hit him for forgetting Lorna.
‘You are wasted on that Gilpin lass. There’s not enough fire in her belly to satisfy a virile man like you. And besides, her heart is not true.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing,’ she shrugged. ‘Tis idle rumours, is all. But I hear there is another suitor sniffing around Lorna - a tavern keeper from way down south. He’s a lot more respectable than you, though not near so pretty.’ She patted his cheek, got up and walked away.
Peyton’s mind whirled. He sought answers, but they would have to wait until his temper cooled. He was just contemplating another ale to dull his senses when Selby approached him.
‘I’ve news, Laird, and you will not like it. There’s gossip around the tavern that Jasper Glendenning’s men have been riding around Strachan land, Macaulays’ and Irvines’ land, too, asking questions about a missing lass, a MacCreadie, no less. Haven’t heard much of that clan in a good while.’
Peyton kept his face impassive. ‘If I find Glendenning’s thugs on my land, I will deal with them.’
‘They say that the lass is blonde and beautiful.’
Peyton held his breath.
‘If you want my opinion…’ continued Selby.
‘I don’t,’ he snapped.
‘I think another of Glendenning’s brides has run away at the altar, just like the last one. What a blow to his pride.’ Selby guffawed. ‘Always humbled by a lass, that one.’
Peyton smiled along with Selby’s gossip. ‘A blow indeed. But do not set such store by rumours. Glendenning is wily. This missing lass could be a ruse, a chance for him to see what’s worth stealing.’
Selby frowned as he swallowed the lie. He was not the brightest of men. ‘Aye, you could be right,’ he said. ‘Folk are getting scared and don’t sleep easily in their beds. With livestock being carried off, farmers threatened, well, if Glendenning is bold enough to come onto our land, maybe he is readying for an all-out attack.’
‘And if he is, I will deal with him.’
‘Well, better make it soon, or Black Eaden will say you are weak.’
Peyton stood with a glare. ‘Any man who calls me weak will not live long. ‘Now, seeing as we are in such great peril, gather the men. We ride home at once.’
‘Aye, Laird.’ Selby swallowed hard and scuttled off.
Peyton cursed under his breath. No matter how hard he tried to do the right thing by his clan, God seemed intent on spitting on him. Raids on his land, Eaden baiting him, and possibly a new Warden to contend with, just when he was at his weakest, trying to hold onto his position as laird. And now, Jasper Glendenning was sniffing around after Cecily MacCreadie. What the hell did that mean? Had the lass lied to him? Had Lorna, too? Could she have another suitor?
Peyton quaffed the remnants of his ale. He was not nearly drunk enough to calm the anger smouldering in his breast like hot coals.
***
Sweat dripped off Cecily’s forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. She twisted the spit, and fat hissed as it dripped from the pig’s carcass. Cecily sat back down on her stool. It was horribly hot, so close to the kitchen’s roaring flames, and she regretted the boredom that had driven her to ask Bertha if she could be helpful. Now, she was stuck in Fellscarp’s dark and smoky kitchen after being dragged all over the house by Bertha on a series of mundane tasks.
‘Just because you don’t want to be here doesn’t mean you can’t get used to us and find your place,’ she had declared. ‘I know everything about you, and it is best to find a way to laugh at your troubles. Then, they are easier to bear. Take your mind off things with hard work and good victuals, I say.’
‘It’s not my fault that I am here,’ Cecily had replied.
But it was.
‘Keep an eye on the spit and turn that pig, else it will burn,’ Bertha shouted from across the kitchen, so Cecily resolved to do her best and not ruin it. She was sure that the older woman had set her to turning the spit just to humiliate her. And the task was made harder by the stares and whispers of the servant lasses who seemed to find her fascinating.
Bertha shuffled off somewhere, and three lasses came closer, cruelty all over the face of one of them, who was as plump-breasted as a goose, with pale eyes and straggly hair.
‘Thought she was too grand to get her hands dirty,’ said the lass to the others.
