‘He has been similarly wounded, or so I hear.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time he played the victim while he preys on others.’
‘That’s as maybe, but he cannot ally with me due to his recently marrying some drab of a MacCreadie lass. And what I am proposing must involve marriage.’ Griffin fixed Peyton with a weasel-like stare.
‘I can’t marry you, Griffin. My heart belongs to another,’ laughed Peyton.
Griffin stood, his face reddening. ‘I came here in good faith, not to be mocked by the likes of you.’
‘The likes of me, is it?’
‘May I talk, or am I wasting my time?’ snarled the Macaulay Laird, ever a powder keg of bad temper and grievance.
‘I suppose you may. Go on,’ said Peyton.
‘I propose an alliance between our two clans, sealed in marriage.’
‘And who do you propose I marry?’
‘There are many Macaulay lasses who would be willing, and if they are not, my boot up their arse will change that quickly enough. You are a young, virile man in need of a wife, and I want to offload some twittering women. I have too many mouths to feed as it is. It does not matter which one you choose. I will line them up so you can pick the bonniest. I’ve daughters, cousins’ daughters, the offspring of loyal men, all with good, strong Macaulay blood.’
‘I thank you for the honour of your proposition, but I’m in no mood to marry just now, Griffin.’
‘Because of that blonde strumpet? No point in paying for milk when you bought the cow, eh? Can she not be shuffled somewhere for the time being while you plant your seed in a Macaulay field? Once the deed is done, you can carry on pleasuring yourself with her as before. Wives are for heirs, and mistresses are for pleasure. I have no argument with that.’
‘Nor do I. A wise man marries for gain and goes hunting for sport elsewhere.’ Peyton decided it was best to get down in the dirt with Macaulay.
Griffin Macaulay smiled, which just made him look more sinister. ‘Excellent. So you will think on this matter?’
‘I will consider it.’
‘Come to my home and get a look at the wares, eh,’ said Griffin.
‘No. I will not set foot in your keep, or else I might get my throat slit.’
‘Then the lasses can come here. Why not host a small gathering of like-minded clans, your friends, loyal men? I’ll bring the whole lot of them here, and that way, you can choose a bride, and I might get rid of a few more mouths to feed by handing them off to your fighting men. You would get the first pick, of course.’
Peyton tried to keep the disgust off his face at Griffin’s coarse manner of selling off his womenfolk as if they were little better than sheep to the slaughter. But the longer the man thought of him as a potential husband, the better. He could string Macaulay along better if the old weasel thought his lust was pointed at Cecily, and that was the source of his reluctance to marry. Yet his honour screamed at him to do right by Cecily and declare his marriage to the world.
‘We can still unite before a common enemy and have an alliance without marriage,’ offered Peyton.
‘Bah! Not one that I would trust. There has to be some sacrifice on your part, Strachan, to bind us together. Let us speak honestly. The Macaulays and the Strachans are pressed between the ambitions of more powerful clans and the English Warden. We will be ground to dust, like grain in a millstone, if we do not act, our wealth stolen, our clans broken up.’
Peyton felt the crushing pressure of that millstone.
‘Marriage is a small price to pay to save your clan from that fate, is it not?’ continued Macaulay.
It seemed he would have to slither with the snakes for now. ‘I will think on your proposal, Macaulay,’ said Peyton, lying to a man who would slit his throat in an instant if the fancy took him. Griffin Macaulay was an unpredictable friend but an implacable enemy.
When the man took his leave, Peyton went in search of Cecily and found her pacing in their chamber. She gave him a strange, lost look when he rushed in and took her in his arms.
‘Has that awful man gone?’ she said.
‘Aye,’ he murmured, kissing her thoroughly. ‘And I don’t want to think of that cur Griffin Macaulay when I am kissing you.’ Peyton flung her onto the bed. She gave a little yelp as he raised her skirts and lowered his head. ‘I need to relieve my frustration, wife,’ he said.
Cecily’s fingers grasped onto his hair hard enough to hurt, but he didn’t care as he spread her creamy thighs to taste her sweetness. She stiffened as he stroked his tongue along her centre, the way she liked, his lust and frustration now at boiling point. But as he worked to give her pleasure, her body was icily still.
Peyton raised his head. ‘What is wrong, lass? You lie like a corpse under my mouth when you liked it last time.’
