‘Allow me to do the thinking and confine yourself to obeying my orders. You are a donkey, a beast of burden, not a prize stallion. You would do well to remember that.’
The man blinked rapidly and coloured. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘But, Lady, if it is not my place to murder Strachan, then what am I to do?’
‘Oh, you will get blood on your hands, just not his. It is time to tighten the thumbscrews on Peyton Ruari Strachan, and I know just how to do it. Now get out of my sight and don’t return until you have tried harder.’
The drizzle soon turned to rain, falling in sheets as the day wore on. She waited patiently, lost in a daze of her thoughts, just staring, until the sound of hooves brought her to alertness again.
She went to the door of the cottage and watched the beast dismount. Now, there was a man who attracted notice, much like the Devil clip-clopping into church on cloven hooves in the middle of mass. He was a giant lumbering bear, swaggering and coarse. If she wanted to keep him on her side, she would have to brace herself, grit her teeth and endure his rutting attentions.
But then, she’d had worse.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Cecily stared at the grey, churning estuary. The wind’s nip was spiteful, but it was refreshing to get beyond the dark walls of Fellscarp and clear her head. She needed to decide whether to run towards Peyton or away. In her wildest fantasies, she could never have imagined rough, swarthy Peyton Strachan as the type of husband she would end up with. He was blunt, wild-eyed, often angry. But he was also gentle, tender and protective in those quiet moments in his bed. He made her body sing when she lay with him.
She offered a little laugh to the wind. Her imaginings of what happened between a man and a woman had been so wrong – sighs, longing looks and hand-holding as a man fell to his knees worshipping one’s beauty. It was all vanity and folly.
The reality was very different. Lying with Peyton was a delicious joining of her body to his, a frenzied invasion that she endlessly craved. It was sinful and shameful, yet it gave her the most sublime feeling of joy, almost beyond endurance. Peyton Strachan had enslaved her with his mouth, hands and manhood.
Cecily did not know much about love and desire, but deep down, she knew that what she felt when Peyton entered a room was more than just passion. She worried for his safety every time he rode out. She missed him terribly when he was away from her. She wanted to protect him from his enemies, and since horrible Griffin Macaulay had come visiting, Cecily wanted to tear out the eyes of any woman who set her cap at him.
Was she lost in love? It was a far more savage feeling than that insipid, girlish notion she’d held for Edmund Harclaw. She had yearned for someone like Edmund – cultured, charming, handsome and perfect. But she had come up against the hard wall of reality, and now she knew the folly of judging a man by his looks.
That first time with Peyton, she had not succumbed because she was afraid or because she wanted to get on his good side. She had lain with him because she could not help herself. She was already lost back then. There was no point in denying it any longer. But her pride could never let him know. Away from Peyton and all the ways he made her feel—weak, impassioned, joyful—she had to be strong and clear-headed.
As if her thoughts conjured him, she spied Peyton walking down the shoreline with a bundle in his arms. He would be angry at her for walking out on him. He had a temper that could turn from kindness to wrath, just like hers. She was coming to recognise the tipping point. Yet she knew with great certainty that it would never be turned on her with violence. He might yell and rage, but he would never lay a finger on her in anger. And she trusted in that.
But there was no anger on Peyton’s face as he came to stand beside her and said, ‘I am sorry if I have not told you about myself, lass. I am beset by enemies and in the fight of my life, Cecily. I cannot afford to make mistakes. The people here depend on me. So I am guarded with my words and my secrets.’
‘I know you have troubles, and I am sorry you feel you cannot trust me,’ she said.
He scowled. ‘Perhaps I can learn to. Lass, do you really hate Fellscarp?’
‘I spoke in anger when I said that. But it is colder here than Fallstairs. It is the damp air blowing in over the estuary. I cannot seem to get warm.’
He flashed a grin. ‘Well, I have something for that and to make amends.’ Peyton shook out the bundle. It was a spectacular fur cloak. He folded it about her, instantly cutting the wind. ‘Wolf pelts. Ferocity turned to softness,’ he said with a longing look deep into her eyes.
Cecily stroked her hand along its silvery softness. ‘Are you a poet now, Peyton?’
‘Far from it. I will never have the words for how beautiful you look in that fur.’
‘I never owned anything so precious,’ she said with a choke in her voice.
‘It will keep the cold of Fellscarp at bay. And me, as well, if that is what you want.’
His eyes were hot with some emotion as he stared at her, fit to scorch the skin off her bones. Cecily felt her knees weaken at that look.
Peyton gave a bitter laugh to the water. ‘It belonged to the old laird’s daughter, Elene Strachan, as did those dresses you wear that are so fine and costly, that fit you so well. You are the same as her – blindingly beautiful, like looking into the sun.’
‘Then why did you say I would tear off my dress if I knew of its previous owner?’
‘Because she was awful. I think she is the worst woman I ever met – the most vicious, sly, evil creature. I told you I might be a bastard, that my mother was free with her favours, even with the laird.’
‘I know that much of it, aye.’
‘Well, I may be the laird’s bastard son and half-brother to his legitimate children, Robert and Elene. When we were young, they were high, and I was low. I knew nothing of my parentage. But Laird Hew had a liking for me and gave me a place. I fought for him and was always a bit of a scrapper, so I helped win his battles. I was valued for that, at least. But he never acknowledged me as his son.’
‘Why was Elene so awful? Did she resent your connection with her father?’
