‘I want this off you,’ he said as he tore down the bodice of the hated amber dress, ripping the sleeves down over her shoulders, freeing her breasts to his mouth and his hands. When he raised her skirt and thrust at her, Cecily took him inside her and wrapped her legs around his back. It was all over in a rush, with a rough passion which shamed as much as it excited him. She reached her peak and cried out, digging her nails into his back so hard it hurt. Peyton’s intense release followed soon after. They lay panting and red-faced.
‘You’ve never been like that before,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Like what?’
‘Purging your anger instead of making love. It was as if you thought I was your enemy.’
Cecily pushed him away and stood up, letting her fine dress fall back around her. She carefully smoothed it down and straightened her bodice as if she had not just spread her legs for him, as if their shared anger and lust had not affected her at all. It was as if she felt nothing.
In the silence, Peyton stared up at the ceiling. Dust-blackened cobwebs hanging from the rafters danced in the updraft from the fire. He was frozen. He could not move from that bed. Had he forced himself on Cecily? Must he become a brute to get what he wanted?
And who was that woman he had just taken? The lass took him inside her like a dutiful wife instead of a passionate lover, and as he surged into her soft body to a release, he felt that he was alone in the world, loved by no one and wanted by no one. His enemies were circling. A dread hand seemed to have reached into his heart. Inside, he was bleak and cold and pitiless.
He could not lie frozen like a fool. He stuffed his manhood back into his braies. Peyton rose and turned Cecily to face him. She would not meet his gaze. ‘My anger is not at you,’ he said. ‘Lass, there are things that I must do to protect this clan and you. And I have a past which it is best you know nothing of.’
‘Is it not honourable?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Will you not tell me, share with me?’ she said in a voice thick with tears.
‘I cannot. The less you know, the better.’
‘Because you do not trust me. But if you tell me your secrets, who am I to run and tell? I have no one, and it seems I don’t even have you.’
He sighed, defeated. ‘Do you even want me, Cecily?’
‘Have I not shown you that I want you these last weeks? Have I not been willing enough, eager enough, Peyton? Have I not opened my legs enough?’
‘Do not talk like that.’
‘Like a whore, you mean. I talk like that because that is how you make me feel, making love to me in the shadows.’
‘It is not how I would have it, and it won’t be for much longer.’
‘Why?’
He laughed bitterly. ‘Because I will not survive.’
Alarm widened her lovely eyes. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘My clan think I am unworthy to be a laird. Perhaps I always was. I stole everything I have – even you. Cecily, don’t you understand? I took control when Robert Strachan led us into a war we could not win. It was all such a pointless waste of lives, so I thought it was the right thing to do. And yet, I have no legitimate claim to it, and the more my people lose through raids and violence, the more voices speak against me. And then there is you, lass. I took you because I wanted you, and you were under my power.’
‘Peyton…I…,’
‘It is true, Cecily. Even the dress on your back is stolen. And if you knew its previous owner, you would think of it as poison against your skin.’
‘Tell me, then. Tell me why I should hate this dress. I just want you to tell me something. Peyton, I am not a bairn to be kept in the dark and cossetted. Or a doll to be taken out and used at your pleasure. I want to be a wife to you, in your bed and out of it. So tell me why you tore my dress and why I should not have worn it.’
‘Forgive me. I cannot.’
‘Then we will stay as we are, the two of us.’
‘What does that mean?’
She glared at him, fiercely beautiful in all her anger and outrage. ‘Forgive me. I cannot say,’ she said quietly and stalked out of the chamber, leaving him in a mire of his own folly and pride.
Chapter Twenty-Two
