‘Take those damned cattle south with Lowri tomorrow. Be swift and secret about it, and do as Lowri tells you.’
‘Aye, Laird,’ said Donnan.
He was about to walk away when a thought occurred to him. ‘Whose cattle are they?’ he asked.
The brothers exchanged glances, then chorused, ‘Jasper Glendenning’s.’
Peyton walked away quickly lest they see the smile on his face. It broadened as he mounted the stairs to his chamber. It was time to, once more, lock horns with his wife-to-be. Cecily’s stubborn nature was about to crash into his. He had decided to take her as a wife and would not be turned from his purpose. The remembered softness of her body underneath him brought a rush of heat to his face.
Selby came rushing up the stairs behind him and doused cold water over it in a heartbeat. ‘Word has come. There is a Truce Day gathering two days hence. The clans are meeting at the Gunn stronghold.’
‘Why there? It’s always out in the open at market day.’
‘It does not bode well, not well at all.’
Peyton waved Selby away and stood on the stairs for the longest time as the day wore on, enveloped in a feeling of doom. Murtaugh Dunn was a slimy cur whose loyalty was for sale. The man was ever sniffing after coin and advantage. There was every chance that those who conspired against Peyton would slit his throat when he got inside the Dunn castle.
The sun was lowering. The day gave way to night early in a Scottish winter. He could toss and turn all night contemplating that fate or find something to take his mind off his mounting troubles.
Chapter Seventeen
Peyton burst into his chamber to find Cecily with her shift pulled down to her waist, washing herself over a bowl of water. Now, there was a sight to take his mind off his troubles.
She shrieked and tugged up her shift when she saw him. ‘Don’t you knock?’
‘Don’t you know how to bar a door?’ he countered. Cecily wasn’t doing a good job of washing, as there was still a smear of dirt on her neck. Her muddy dress was in a heap on the floor, and her hair was damp, going fuzzy on the ends as it dried. The fact that she looked less like a lady and more like a poor peasant only served to heat his blood.
Peyton grabbed a blanket and put it around her shoulders. He took up a strand of her hair.
‘Bertha leant me over and tipped a bucket of cold water onto my head,’ she said.
‘That wasn’t very kind,’ he said as gently as possible. Cecily’s lip trembled as if she was on the verge of tears. ‘You missed a bit,’ said Peyton, licking his thumb and wiping away the dirt on her neck. She flinched but held her ground. ‘So, how do you like being my betrothed, lass?’
‘Not one bit. And I said I’ll not marry you, Peyton.’
‘Why not? I am young, in good health, and I can support a wife.’
‘I’m not suitable. Your sister says I should do it – sacrifice my happiness for the sake of others. Did you put her up to that?’
‘Ah, so you’ve met, and no, I didn’t.’ He cursed under his breath. ‘I might have known she would seek you out. Whatever Lowri said to you, ignore it.’
‘She knows all about my shame with Edmund and how it ended. Why did you have to tell her, Peyton? She thinks me a harlot. I saw the judgement on her face.’
‘That lass is in no position to school others on their behaviour. And I keep no secrets from my sister. I would trust her with my life.’
‘And mine, too. But it seems you’ve not told her everything.’ Cecily’s gaze slipped to the bed.
‘Aye, well, that was not well done by me, and there are some things a man keeps from his sister. Forgive me if her words were harsh, Cecily. That is just Lowri’s way with strangers.’
‘It doesn’t matter what Lowri or anyone says. I’ll not marry you, Peyton. You think I am ridiculous, you and all of Clan Strachan.’
Peyton chuckled. ‘Only when you are brawling with other lasses. And you think I am a mindless thug.’
‘You are.’
‘I can’t argue with that.’
‘Everyone is laughing at me for fighting with Lorna,’ she cried.
