‘I will get you a new dress,’ he said.
‘It doesn’t matter what I look like any more,’ she said sadly, walking away.
‘I will come with you.’ He could at least spare her the stares of his clansmen.
‘I don’t want you to.’ Cecily hurried away without another word or look.
Peyton cursed at himself. If only he’d held her in his bed, comforted her in his arms after lying with her, stroked her hair and told Cecily how lovely she was, how strong and joyful she made him feel. But he had let the lass slip his grasp, and now her wounded heart would never trust in his. The most he could hope for was that Cecily would marry him so that he could keep her safe.
He settled on a rock, stared at the water, and let the day wear on despite the cold nipping at his bones. He needed to cool his ardour and think clearly. It was time to be a laird, to be ruthless and take what he wanted.
Hours passed, and still, he did not move as he felt his character shift and harden. It was as if he was frozen between two paths, splitting into two men – one selfish and lustful, the other hopeful yet unworthy, with a longing that ached in his heart. It was not until he heard a faint lowing carried on the wind that he stretched and stood up.
‘Christ in heaven! What devilry is this?’ he muttered.
Twenty head of russet cattle were on the shore opposite Fellscarp, calmly drinking at the water’s edge.
Chapter Sixteen
Peyton rushed back to the house only to be confronted by Selby. ‘Trouble just turned up, and she’s in the hall and eager to speak to you,’ he said with a sheepish grin.
Laughter greeted him when he burst into the hall, and several servant girls scattered like a flock of hens, leaving a comely, black-haired lass nonchalantly swilling ale. She was dressed in braies and a jacket, mud-splattered, and there were bits of leaves in her hair.
‘Good God, look at the state of you,’ Peyton declared. ‘Where the hell have you been?’
‘Well, this is quite the welcome home, brother. Don’t fash, for I’m not staying. As to my appearance, the roads were dirty, and muck will wash off, whereas you look like a man covered in very bad judgment.’
‘I have been beside myself with worry, sending men out looking for you. Explain yourself, Lowri.’
‘I’m not the one who needs to explain myself. I have heard the most shocking gossip from the servants.’
Peyton said nothing, and she smirked.
‘Tight-lipped, as usual, brother.’ She gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘At least you cleaned yourself up, shaved off that blackberry bush of a beard. Who has shorn you like a sheep, I wonder?’
She picked up a strand of his hair, and he could feel ridicule about to descend. ‘You smell like a midden, Lowri.’
‘And you smell of desperate infatuation, brother.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Why didn’t you stay put at the abbey?’
‘I’ll no longer nest with those withered old crows,’ she cried. ‘By God, they are a miserable bunch, wallowing in their own piety. I think it is because they have never felt the touch of a man.’
‘Well, I hope you haven’t.’ Peyton picked some grass out of her hair, anger stirring.
‘Who is plotting against you? I’ve heard rumours.’
His sister was infuriating, as always. ‘Don’t change the subject, Lowri.’
‘Then, don’t ask questions you don’t want answered, brother. And don’t fash. I’ll not make that kind of mistake and end up with a brat clinging to my skirts, dragging me down. You may be assured of that. As to the touch of a man, the only one I got was Bishop Croucher pinching my bottom on his frequent visits to the abbey, the dirty old hypocrite. Does that count?’
‘I will take his head for such lechery.’
‘No, you won’t, and he did it to all the lasses. I wasn’t singled out for his special attention. And while we are on the subject of virtue, I don’t see you restraining yourself where that blonde lass is concerned. I saw you swallowing her whole down by the water. Poor lass, having to suffer that.
‘What do you know about her?’ said Peyton.
‘Oh, she’s quite the subject of gossip around Fellscarp. Rumour has it, she is a fallen woman you have taken as a mistress. I also passed Lorna Gilpin on the road here. I thought I had better stop and plead your virtues, as I know you have been following her around like a lovesick puppy, but she was in no mood for polite pleasantries. We only talked briefly. Let me recall her exact words. Ah, yes. ‘That brother of yours is a fiend and a lying rat of a man. May he burn in hell.’
