There was nought to be done for his aching heart but get mindlessly drunk, find a whore and sate his boiling lust on a woman he did not have to care about the next day. He would forget the burden which pressed on him constantly and, just for a few sweet hours, drive away the nagging feeling of unworthiness.
Several ales later, Peyton was doing a good job of getting drunk, but as he slipped into oblivion, an old adversary decided to seek him out. Laird Griffin Macaulay stood over him – thuggish, blunt and as welcome as the pox.
‘I hear you lost sheep, Strachan, and went looking for them on Liddesdale land.’
‘Aye. News travels fast. Did you steal them?’ he replied.
‘No. Why would I steal from a friend,’ said Griffin with an oily smirk.
‘We are not friends, Macaulay.’
‘We were once. We fought together that day with Robert Strachan.’
‘Aye, but you left before he got his head bashed in by Caolan Bannerman, before we were forced to give up Liddesdale to that Glendenning bastard. You turned tail and ran.’
‘Aye, but it was the clever move on the day. You cannot hold a grudge for that. But times are changing. I need to know who are my friends and who are my enemies.’
‘Well, I am neither.’
‘Black Eaden is here. He has reached out to me, so why don’t you?’ sneered Griffin.
That was a sobering thought. Peyton scanned the tavern and spotted Eaden in a dark corner, his eyes on their conversation. When had he come in?
‘Macaulay, if you want to join forces with that black dog, then on your head be it. And if you want to challenge me, come out and say it.’
‘So, you snap at the hand of friendship?’
‘No, I spit on it and on you.’ Peyton stood up with a snarl, and Macaulay stepped back.
‘Now, now. No need for violence,’ said Eaden, intervening with a heavy hand on Macaulay’s shoulder. ‘We are all old friends here.’
Griffin Macaulay stalked off, cursing, and Eaden took a chair opposite Peyton. ‘Macaulay’s harmless enough,’ he said. ‘No need to snarl at him, or me, for that matter. Come on, Peyton, we used to rub along nicely when we were skinny wee lads, me and you.’
‘Aye, as long as I knew my place.’
‘I suppose. But now you think you have risen.’
‘Aye, while you have fallen and squandered any chance of leading the clan.’
Eaden put his hand on his heart. ‘How you wound me, Peyton, as you wound Macaulay. Not good. A man in your position needs all the friends he can get. Have a whisky with me, and let us come to an agreement.’
‘I’ll not get drunk with you so that you can slide a blade across my throat.’
‘You know me better than that. When I kill you, it will be to your face. No sport in stabbing a man in the back, eh.’ He drank from a bottle of whisky and slid it across to Peyton. ‘Remember when we were sowing our oats, when you were less serious. We roamed all over the Marches, looking for women and coin. Ah, I miss those carefree days.’
‘Aye, it was good until you murdered a man who found you in bed with his daughters, and you had to flee with your braies round your ankles to escape the noose.’
Eaden waved his concerns away. ‘Twas a slight misunderstanding, is all. Had the old fool been wiser and taken coin, instead of falling onto my dirk, I would still roam the East March as I pleased.’
Eaden seemed to want to talk of old times, and they did, for hours, as they succumbed to drunkenness. A couple of whores wandered over and sat beside them. Eaden pawed the voluptuous, eager one, but the other was bonnier and softer. She sat beside Peyton, stroking his arm and running her fingers through his hair, but when she reached up and kissed him, all he felt was shame. He should want her, but he could not bear to touch her.
She did not have golden hair or turquoise eyes that flashed fire at him. He frowned and stared into his ale, his mind a lurching muddle of drink. Did Lorna have golden hair? Who was he thinking of, and why did he want her so much?
As he slowly slipped into oblivion, his last hellish vision was of Eaden’s bare behind, thrusting vigorously at a whore laid over a table.
When Peyton woke late the next morning, he went outside and doused his face in icy water from the well. It damned near froze off his face, but it cleared his head.
Eaden staggered out, bent double and vomited into the horse trough. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand, swaying slightly. ‘I thank you, cousin, for a fine night of carousing. Though I had to do the lion’s share. Did you not want that lass? Is your cock as soft as your courage, cousin?’
