Had powerful Jasper Glendenning been as excited by Cecily as he was? Peyton hung his head. He must stop this madness. Tomorrow, he must go to Lorna and get an answer from a lass far more deserving of his hand than Cecily, with all her tantrums and high and mighty ways. If only he did not want that MacCreadie lass so badly. If only she did not set a fire in his blood and excite and infuriate by turns.
‘I am sorry I fought with Aila.’
Cecily stood at the door, biting her lip. Peyton leapt up and stormed towards her in a fit of guilt at his lewd thoughts and frustration that she had to choose this moment to be contrite, to stand before him all loveliness and vulnerability. His words abandoned him as he hovered between the urge to spank the life out of her or kiss her into surrender. He sighed and shook his head.
Cecily’s eyes darted to the bed, and the abject horror on her face burned him. ‘Forgive my behaviour,’ she said. ‘I know I have not been as grateful as I should for your rescuing me from Edmund. I am truly sorry for all the vexation I have caused.’
‘Aye, so you should be,’ he said uncharitably.
‘It’s not my fault. Edmund was a monster.’
A bitter laugh escaped him. ‘Stop holding onto the lie that you are innocent in all this, Cecily.’
‘There is no lie,’ she stammered.
Suddenly, the day’s events seemed to exhaust him. ‘Stop playing the victim and start taking responsibility for your own part in this mess.’
‘I said, I am sorry.’
‘You lied to me. You said you hated Jasper Glendenning.’
‘I do.’
Her contrition was false. He could not believe it. ‘Then why is he scouring the glens for you, lass? What are you to him?’
Her brow furrowed. ‘Nothing. Less than nothing.’
He put his face in hers. ‘I do not believe a word that comes out of your mouth.’
She did not defend herself, which only confirmed his suspicions that there was some arrangement with Jasper Glendenning, from which Cecily had fled with her lover. And now he had her in his keep, and if Glendenning had designs on her, the danger had increased tenfold. Cecily stared up at him - wide-eyed, fearful, and he had the sudden impulse to discipline her by kissing her again.
Instead, he said, ‘If you know what’s good for you, stay in this chamber until my temper has cooled.’
She bit her lip and then asked tremulously, ‘Are you sleeping here tonight?’
‘No. I will sleep with the men below.’
‘But can we not talk? You must let me make amends for the fight and explain about Jasper.’
‘Jasper, is it?’ he said jealously, walking away.
‘Oh, go if you like, but are we not supposed to be lovers to keep up the ruse?’ she spat in his wake.
Peyton glared back at her. ‘As far as my clansmen think, I am spurning the company of my mistress as she is a liar, has a foul mouth, the manners of an alley cat and does not show me the respect I deserve.’
‘And will they believe that?’
‘Aye, for it is true.’
Chapter Thirteen
After an uncomfortable night sleeping before the fireplace with his men, Peyton woke with a firm resolve to set his life back on the right path. He was Laird Strachan, and he would force life to give him what he wanted. If only he knew what that was. Several hours of pacing down at the water’s edge brought him no peace, and he rode out once the causeway was open for him to pass. Thank God for the protection of the tide, making Fellscarp more defensible than its crumbling façade would suggest.
A brisk ride brought him to Greycroft Farm. As he rode up, the sound of laughter carried from within, and a strange horse was tethered outside. Peyton banged on the door, and silence fell for the longest time. He banged again, and Lorna’s father, Douglas, opened the door.
‘What do you want?’ he snarled.
Another man shouted from within. ‘Who is it?’
