‘I cannot. This alliance with the Carstairs family is important to Jasper. He seeks to grow his wealth and power by marrying his sister off. If I tell him to do something, he will do the opposite. You know how he hates my brother, Seaton, since he stole his bride at the altar.’
‘Aye, that is a good enough reason for any man to hate.’
‘Indeed. So if I go with a warning, Jasper will think it a ruse to throw him off his goal, and his pride would never accept taking a Bannerman’s help.’
‘Well, that’s as maybe, but he’s even less likely to believe a Strachan,’ said Peyton.
‘No. You are wrong. Jasper has a grudging respect for you because you always stand your ground with him.’
‘I’ll most likely get a sword to my gullet as thanks for turning up at Kransmuir.’
‘You are not going to Kransmuir,’ said Caolan. ‘He is setting off today for the Carstairs keep at Annancross. You have no time to lose. You must meet him on the road before Jasper encounters Carstairs’ thugs.’
Peyton was wet through. He was angry. He did not trust Caolan, and he owed Jasper Glendenning nothing. And he was tired of the struggle, so very tired. ‘Why should I do your dirty work, Bannerman?’ he growled.
‘Because I am asking you to. I will get off this horse, fall to my knees, and beg if I have to.’
Suddenly, it was clear. ‘There’s more to this than an alliance in jeopardy,’ said Peyton. ‘The Bannermans and Glendennings were friends once. I don’t think you want to see Jasper get murdered.’
Peyton met Caolan’s eye, but his gaze was unreadable.
‘Tell me something, Bannerman. Your brother’s insult to Glendenning, stealing his bride out from under him, was it worth all the strife it has caused?’
‘Aye. Because Seaton found his one true love with Brenna. What man won’t walk through fire, dragging everything with him, just to hold onto that?’
Peyton thought of Cecily snug and safe in bed. How could he face her if he let her sister come to grief? How would he feel if he ever lost her? The thought was a punch to the heart.
‘What road are they taking?’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Cecily’s back ached from churning the butter. The handle of the plunger would leave blisters, but it was all her own fault for offering to help Bertha around Fellscarp. She had a sneaking suspicion that Bertha was still testing her, seeing if she was too lofty to do menial tasks. But Cecily had churned butter many a time at Fallstairs, for there was often no one else to do it save for her father’s servant, Morag, who was as lazy as anything. She was determined to prove Bertha wrong.
Cecily stretched, leaning her hands on the small of her back. The tedium of forcing the plunger up and down in the butter barrel let her mind wander. Where was Peyton? He had not returned since their intimate exchange over the gift of the furs. Her loins flamed at the thought of his lean, hard body surging inside her.
Cecily’s hand slipped off the handle and hit the side of the barrel. ‘Satan’s balls!’ she cried.
‘Look at you - beautiful but useless and with a filthy mouth. Does Peyton know you curse like a slattern?’
Lowri Strachan leaned on the doorway, her face a mask of gleeful disdain. The lass was unnervingly similar to brother - dark, ferociously prickly. She put Cecily on edge, though in a different way from Peyton.
‘Oh, you are back,’ said Cecily, as her heart tightened in her chest.
‘I can tell by the scowl on your face that you are thrilled to see me again,’ said Lowri, sauntering over.
Cecily did not rise to the provocation. ‘I thought Peyton had despatched you south for safekeeping.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Peyton.’
‘He talks at night, does he? I suppose with a face like that, you can get any man to give up his secrets while he slips between your legs for his pleasure.’
‘I have never whored myself for secrets or for a man’s pleasure,’ she said.
‘Are you not my brother’s whore?’
‘No. I am his wife.’
