‘If I am, what is it to you? This girl has disrespected me and needs to be punished. So mind your own business, and I will mind mine.’
‘And what is your business with her?’ said Peyton quietly. ‘Why did you make her bleed?’
‘Why do you think? Blood on a man’s hands increases the pleasure of coupling tenfold, I always say. If you let me take her back into the bushes, you can take your turn when I’m finished. There’s no one about to stop us. How about that? Look at her. She’s prettier than any you’ll ever get, my friend, and I’ll even hold her down if you like.’
‘Again, I am not your friend. Take your hands off the lass or lose them,’ said Peyton, drawing his knife.
‘She’s just a common slut trying to up her price. Why trouble yourself?’ sneered the young man.
‘Because I don’t much like you.’ Peyton spat at his feet.
The man thrust the lass aside and growled, ‘Ignorant cur. Don’t you know who I am? I can slit you open like a pig.’
Peyton planted his feet and braced. ‘Then what are you waiting for? Are you afraid, Englishman?’
‘My father will have your entrails pulled out of your mouth for crossing me, filthy Scots dog,’ he spat, and then he charged at Peyton full pelt.
Peyton leapt back as a knife missed his throat by an inch. The man swung at him in a frenzy. He was quick and ferocious, but enraged, so Peyton dodged his clumsy swipes. He had been in enough knife fights to know how to hang back and take his chance.
Frustrated that Peyton remained out of reach, the young man charged impulsively. Peyton ducked, then surged upwards, grabbing him and throwing him onto the ground. His knife clattered away, but the young man was strong. He grabbed onto Peyton’s arm and began to aim Peyton’s knife towards his throat. A silent deadlock ensued for a moment, both men staring into each other’s eyes as the knife quivered between them. Peyton summoned all his strength and twisted the knife downwards. The blade plunged into the side of the other man’s neck. Blood gushed over Peyton’s hand, hot, lots of it.
A shriek tore the air behind him, and he turned to see the lass screaming at the top of her lungs. ‘No, no, no!’
Peyton’s knife came out of the man’s neck with a wet, sucking sound. He leapt off the man, leaving him thrashing on the ground in a widening pool of blood, feet kicking at the mud.
‘Curse you to hell,’ gurgled the man, his mouth an evil gape of teeth reddened with blood. His hands clawed uselessly at the wound.
Father Luggan came running down the path. ‘Peyton, what in the name of all that is holy?’ he shouted. ‘I heard screaming.’
It hadn’t stopped, for the lass was still shrieking. Peyton could not think straight with it ringing in his ears.
‘Oh good heavens,’ cried the priest when he spied the man on the ground.
‘He came at me when I tried to stop him hurting this lass.’ Peyton rushed over to her. ‘Stop. It’s alright now.’
‘Get away from me,’ she howled, clutching her arms about her.
‘Can you not come and calm her down so I can think?’ he snarled at Father Luggan.
The priest hurried over. ‘All will be well, my child,’ he said, approaching the lass with outstretched palms.
‘Do not touch me, you blackguard,’ she screamed. ‘I will see you in Hell if you do.’
Father Luggan retreated. ‘I think it best that I check on your opponent. He needs tending,’ he said. ‘You can deal with her.’
Peyton sighed and held out a hand. ‘There now. Calm yourself, lass. We mean you no harm. I am Peyton. What is your name?’
‘Ce…Cecily,’ she stammered, her chest jerking with trying to get her breath.
Peyton tried to calm the lass in case all her carrying on brought others to the bloody scene. ‘How did you find yourself here, lass?’
‘Find myself?’ she spat. She pushed herself upright on legs that wobbled like a newborn foal’s.
‘Why did that man hurt you? Is he your husband?’
‘Husband? Oh, God save me.’ Her face crumbled, and she began to utter hysterical, gulping sobs which threatened to choke her. ‘I did not find myself here. We have been meeting on the moor.’ She cast a glance at the young man bleeding into the mud and began rocking back and forth. ‘Oh God, what is to become of me? What have I done?’
‘Lass, look at me. What have you done?’
