‘I deserve this.’
Cecily stopped halfway down the stairs and put a hand on the wall to steady herself. She was sore between her legs and sticky, but still, a throb of pleasure came at the thought of Peyton’s hard, muscular body pressing down on her, the thrill of it, the comfort of being held in his strong arms. And her body had been so willing, even as her mind screamed at her to stop, that she would be ruined, shamed.
Was that lovemaking? No, no, no. It was vile and wicked, and she should not have let him. He was a beast who held her prisoner and had his way with her innocence.
Footsteps clattered on the stairs behind her. Peyton was coming. She could not face him, so Cecily determined to hide until she had gathered herself. She rushed down the last few stairs and out to the yard, only to be pulled up by a hand on her arm.
Peyton swung her around to face him. ‘Stop, lass. I would explain. I am sorry.’
‘No. Let go. Please.’
He took hold of her by the arms in a tight grip. ‘There is no need to run from me. I would not willingly hurt you. Come back inside. It is cold out here, lass. We must talk.’
If she went inside, back to that chamber, he would do that thing again. He would hurl her onto her back, and she would be as helpless as an overturned beetle. Cecily struggled to free herself, but suddenly, there came a clattering of hooves, and Peyton glanced across the yard. He took his hands off her as if he was scalded. His mouth fell open.
‘God help me!’ he gasped.
Cecily turned to see a bonnie lass dismount a horse. She was brown-haired, with a sweet, soft face and a buxom figure. The lass stormed up, narrowing her eyes at Peyton and then turned to her.
‘Who the hell are you?’ she demanded of Cecily.
‘And who the hell are you?’ said Cecily, returning fire.
‘I am the woman who was offered marriage by this villainous man, that’s who,’ snapped the woman.
Onlookers began to gather around them.
‘Lorna, what are you doing here?’ said Peyton.
Cecily could only stand there like a fool, mouth agape. So this was the perfect Lorna Gilpin, who had captured Peyton’s heart. No doubt, she had withheld her favours, not letting him use her ill. Cecily squirmed in shame.
‘So this is your mistress,’ spat the lass. ‘When the rumour reached my ears, you had one, I could scarcely believe it, but now I see it is true.’ She eyed Cecily up and down, making her acutely aware of her messy hair and dishevelled dress. ‘I must say, she looks well-used, your whore.’
‘Name me that again, and I will flatten you,’ shouted Cecily.
‘Whore,’ screamed the lass into her face for all to hear.
The insult was all the worse for being true. Cecily launched herself at the lass and knocked her off her feet into the muck of the yard. Lorna Gilpin looked prim and proper, but she was far from it as she tore at Cecily’s hair and kicked and scratched like an enraged cat. Cecily sprang free and got to her feet, and when Lorna stood up, she aimed a kick at her backside, sending her sprawling into the mud again.
She was about to give her a good kicking when strong hands dragged her away.
‘Shame. Let them fight,’ shouted one man, followed by a chorus of ‘ayes’.’
‘That’s enough,’ snarled Peyton.
‘It’s not nearly enough. She called me a whore,’ howled Cecily, struggling to get back to Lorna, who was being helped to her feet by Bertha. Cecily could have sworn the older woman was trying to stifle a laugh. More folk came to see what the fuss was about. Muttering spread about the yard.
‘Go inside,’ Peyton hissed at her. ‘Stop shaming yourself.’
‘No, I will not go. And as to shame, you already did that for me well enough.’
‘Please do as I say, just this once. I beg you. Just go.’
Lorna was not finished. ‘That slut should burn in Hell’s flames for her sins,’ she spat, wiping mud off her bottom.
‘You will not speak of her that way,’ bellowed Peyton.
The lass went very still. ‘Why shouldn’t I? Have I not cause to be aggrieved? How can you come courting me when you have a mistress?’
