‘Griffin Macaulay has come to sell his wares,’ said Peyton, rolling his eyes.
***
Five Macaulay women hung before the fire, warming themselves and casting glances at Peyton, some wary, some wanton. He pitied them, being dragged out in filthy weather to be paraded before him like sows in a market.
Griffin showed no such scruples as he beckoned Bertha to refill his cup with ale. ‘Come forward and show yourselves off,’ he cried, waving the women over. ‘Get in a line so that Laird Strachan can take a good look at you.’
Peyton glanced at Bertha, who huffed and shook her head.
As the women shuffled forward, Griffin rose to the task of selling them. ‘A man needs to know what he is getting, eh,’ he said, slapping Peyton in the back. ‘As you did not yet reply to my invitation to visit my home, I thought I would come to you. The lasses are all shapes and sizes and very eager.’
‘I was worried I’d get my throat slit if I came to you,’ said Peyton.
‘Why? Are we not heading to an alliance through wedlock?’ said Griffin with a venomous sneer. ‘Tell me if I am wrong.’
‘No,’ said Peyton. ‘But I need to be sure I marry a woman I want. We will be joined forever, and that is a long time, is it not?’
Griffin gave a laugh with absolutely no sincerity in it. ‘If you are fussy, then take a good look at your leisure.’
Peyton turned a mortified gaze to the women. They were a plain lot, pale and mousy-haired, apart from one. She had a softly rounded figure, large blue eyes, and a bloom to her cheeks, and she could be called bonnie. His eye lingered on her because she met his gaze boldly, not because she inspired any lust.
‘Ah, I see my niece, Catherine, has caught your eye,’ said Griffin. ‘She is the bonniest - a strong, ripe lass with some flesh on her bones to cushion a man on cold nights. She will do very well. And she’s only eighteen.’
‘I will have to think about it. I’ve only just met the lass.’
‘Well, you can get to know her now. And you’d better be quick. There’s lots of lads sniffing after Catherine.’
‘Lads?’ said Peyton, feigning interest.
Griffin misunderstood him. ‘Oh, you needn’t worry on that score. A guaranteed virgin is Catherine, untouched by a man’s hands. If any of my lasses strayed, I would take the skin off their back.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
Catherine gave her uncle a vicious glare. Griffin ordered Catherine to sit beside Peyton. ‘Tell this fine man what you have to offer as a bride,’ he commanded.
‘I…I don’t know,’ she said, which earned her a clip around the ear from her uncle.
Peyton held out his hand. ‘Stop. We’ll have no more of that. If the lass is shy, that is a good thing. I don’t want a woman who talks my ears off.’
Griffin nudged Catherine in the ribs. ‘Tell him what I told you.’
Catherine’s eyes met Peyton’s. He was not attracted to her, but if he had not been married, he might have taken her just out of pity, for her predicament was so awful.
‘I am healthy and strong,’ she said. ‘I can work hard for your pleasure, Laird, and bear many fine sons to carry on your line.’ She glanced at Griffin, who nodded for her to continue. ‘I can run a household and keep your servants in line with a firm hand.’ She bit her lip. ‘Oh, and I come from a good family, and I think you are very handsome.’ Catherine smiled at the end of her speech, which Peyton was sure she had rehearsed many times.
***
Cecily paced in her chamber, fizzing with anger, her patience hanging by a thread. Bertha rushed in.
‘What is happening? Why is Griffin here with those women? I have been stuck up here for an age.’
‘You know why?’ said Bertha. ‘You are no fool. He has brought lasses for Peyton to choose as a bride. It is awful. He has them all displayed for your husband’s pleasure, like kittens given away to anyone. That Griffin Macaulay is a scoundrel, and Peyton should have nothing to do with this. If he were my son, I would box his ears, but he must have his reasons for stringing Macaulay along.’
‘To hell with his reasons. I’ll not stand for it. What should I do?’
‘Not for me to say,’ sniffed Bertha. Her eyes roamed over Cecily’s dress. ‘Why have you got that red dress on, well, half on, for your bannocks seem to be rising?’
Cecily glanced down to see her breasts almost bursting out of her bodice. She stuffed them back down as best she could. ‘Why should I not have a nice dress on?’ she said.
