‘Forgive me. I should not have said what I said.’
Bertha laughed again. ‘No, you should not. Best steer clear of Aila for a while, for a powerful jealousy eats at her heart. She was once sweet on Peyton. I thought she had put it behind her and found another, as I often see her sloping off over the causeway to torture some poor sot with her favours.’
‘Was Peyton in love with her?’
‘Heavens, no. It did not last long and amounted to a few fumblings in the barn - him putting his hands where he should not because he was young and lusty, and her, free with her favours.’
‘‘Oh, I see.’
‘Young men just want to get their hands on some flesh. That is all it was.’
‘And did he have any more liaisons after that?’
‘That’s a fine word for it. Peyton is a strapping man of five and twenty years, so, of course, there have been ‘liaisons.’ Bertha said the last word with great mockery, and Cecily reddened. ‘Aye, many a lass took a tumble with Peyton, and he’s fine looking, is he not?’ Bertha elbowed Cecily in the ribs.
‘I hadn’t given it much thought while he was bullying me and grinding me under his boot.’
‘Grinding, is it? The way you look at him, it’s more grinding you are after, hah. And if you’ve any sense in that bonnie head of yours, you’ll let him. I would if I were two score years younger.’
Cecily stood up. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Play the innocent, if you like, but you are well aware of how to use those looks of yours. But it will all come to nought, as there is another who has him on the hook. Oh, hush my mouth. I should not have said that.’
‘Who is she?’
Bertha sighed. ‘You might as well know. Lorna Gilpin is a lass he’s had his eye on for a while. Before Peyton became Laird Strachan, he was but a soldier for old Laird Hew, fighting his battles. Some said he might be Hew’s bastard. But never mind that. He was orphaned just coming into his manhood, so he had it hard growing up. He was looked down on – beaten, whipped, thrown into fighting for his laird, risking his life for a place here. But he rose through the ranks, and I think he began to see himself worthy of a wife, so he set his sights on Lorna. She is a bit picky, but as bonnie as may be. Now that he is Laird, he can support a wife.’
‘You think well of him, Bertha?’
‘Aye, and with good reason. Old Laird Hew was a ruthless old misery who once turned on my son.’ Her eyes welled. ‘Magnus was a good lad, but he was green, and on his watch, we lost ten head of cattle to the McColls - sworn enemies. The Laird got a blow to his pride and was in such a temper over it that he threatened to take off one of Magnus’ hands as punishment for his carelessness. It was Peyton who warned Magnus to run. He got him clear and sent him north to the Highlands. He bides there still, and I miss him terribly. He made a life for himself away from Fellscarp. Peyton was loyal to Laird Hew but thought the punishment was too harsh, so he spoke up for my son. He got the skin whipped off his back for his insolence. But then, Hew is a Strachan, and they are not inclined to forgive.’
‘But Peyton is a Strachan. Does he not have the same nature?’
‘No. He is a good man, so I think well of him.’ She frowned. ‘Not sure about you, though.’
‘Why? I have done nothing wrong.’
‘Not yet, but you have it in you to wound him. And you have brought great danger down on Peyton and all of us, Cecily MacCreadie. And the poor wretch was beset with worries before you came along.’
‘What worries?’
‘Not for me to say. But there are some who do not take kindly to Peyton rising to be Laird Strachan, and they plot against him. He never gets a wink of peace from dawn ‘til dusk.’
Cecily’s face burned, and she fought the urge to cry. It was far better to face Peyton’s wrath and get it over with than to face Bertha’s probing looks and sharp words. Cecily left the cellar with shaky legs and a sense of outrage. How dare Bertha hint that she looked on that brute, Peyton Strachan, with admiration.
Oh, but he wasn’t a brute. He had risked his life to save hers, just as he had done for Bertha’s son. He had not laid a finger on her save for that angry kiss. And she had not properly thanked him. Where would she be now if not for Peyton Strachan – dishonoured, beaten and left out on Crichton Moor to limp home to the greatest shame? That is, if that fiend, Edmund, had not killed her.
But Peyton was also angry, pompous, overbearing, and sometimes hateful. He had taken her freedom. But if she hated him, why was her chest tight with jealousy at the thought of him with another woman, especially a bonnie one like Lorna Gilpin?
***
Peyton stomped upstairs to his chamber, searching for Cecily in a fair temper. But it was empty, and the thud of anger in his chest subsided in disappointment, for there was something exciting in sparring with the lass. By God, she gave as good as she got.
His bed was rumpled where she had slept, and the linens were thrown back as if she had just leapt out of it. He lay back and pulled the pillow to his face. It smelled of woman – lavender, rose and sweetness. An image of Cecily crept into his mind – naked, soft and warm, the linens tangled about her long legs, golden hair spread out on that pillow, her turquoise eyes holding his own prisoner, wordlessly inviting him to stroke, to suck, to taste.
He sat up, trying to banish the image. This would not do. Cecily had a mouth like a gutter wench and a temper to rival his own. What cursing! Suddenly, he burst out laughing. To hear such foul words coming from that angelic face had been the surprise of his life. What a sight she had been, all riled up, glaring and spewing words that would make a whore blush. It would take a brave man to tame Cecily MacCreadie and a foolish one to get on the wrong side of her. But if you could tame that temper, gain her good opinion, and turn that passion to more pleasurable ends, what a prize you would have.
And life with Cecily MacCreadie would never be dull.
