‘When I brought it out for airing the other day, you turned up your nose. You said only a slattern would wear something so daring. Too low in the bodice, you said.’
‘It suits me better now,’ said Cecily, tearing her hair from its bun and shaking it out.
‘What are you up to, lass?’
‘Nothing. Peyton should have sent the Macaulays packing by now. What is he doing down there all this time?’
‘Negotiating and talking to one of the lasses. I think Macaulay made him choose one he likes.’
Cecily’s mouth opened in outrage. ‘We’ll see about that. I am going down to the hall.’
Bertha scowled. ‘Not dressed like that, you won’t. And you cannot let on that you are married. Peyton said to keep it a secret.’
‘I know that,’ she spat. ‘I am no wife. I am nought but a mistress, or so everyone believes. I think it’s time I acted like one, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t. You stay up here out of the way. Going down there will only put the cat among the pigeons.’
Cecily bit her lip. ‘I suppose you are right, and Peyton will be angry if I go down. It is just hard to bear, thinking of your man with another woman.’
‘He does not want another. Don’t fash.’
Cecily gave Bertha her sweetest smile. ‘Alright. Come and undo the stays on this dress. I think I pulled them too tight. And can you put another log on the fire? It is cold up here.’
‘Aye, lass,’ sighed Bertha, going over to the fire, and then Cecily made a run for it.
***
Peyton sighed. Surely he had placated Macaulay enough by now? Catherine was pleasant enough and had warmed to him a little, smiling along with everything he said, but she had no wit or interesting conversation, no fire in her at all.
Griffin pulled him aside. ‘Talk to all the other lasses in case Catherine is not to your taste,’ he whispered. Peyton wondered why he whispered, for he had shown scant concern for their feelings so far. Peyton was starting to feel a little hunted as the lasses quaffed ale after ale and began to get comfortable with throwing him seductive glances. They were getting louder, too, and gathered about him, all talking at once. It was like being assaulted by a flock of starlings.
Catherine tried to pull him away from the others. ‘Goodness, what big muscles you have,’ she said, squeezing his arm.
God forbid they all started pawing him at once. He would be torn apart. Peyton was saved by the sound of running feet and cursing. Cecily rushed into the hall in a blur of red silk and golden hair, followed closely by Bertha.
‘I could not stop her,’ Bertha mouthed at him as Cecily smoothed her hair and skirts, gave a little sigh, and glided forward.
She was a vision in her red dress, which showed off her lithe figure to perfection—cinched at her tiny waist, low enough for her pert breasts to overflow the bodice. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes bright with mischief. He had always thought Cecily had beauty, but now, he was almost drunk on it. Peyton’s breath caught, and his heart pounded.
Griffin Macaulay snorted when she approached him and said, ‘Welcome, Laird Macaulay. I am so pleased to see you again.’ Cecily bowed, giving Griffin an eyeful down her bodice, rose gracefully and smiled.
‘What are you doing in here?’ said Peyton. His words strangled his throat, but Cecily was the picture of composure.
‘Aye. You’ve no place here,’ said Griffin with no attempt at manners.
Cecily smiled sweetly at the lasses. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies. I am Peyton’s whore,’ she said as if those were the most ladylike words in the world.
The Macaulay lasses gasped in unison.
‘Go to your chamber at once,’ shouted Peyton, widening his eyes at her in a warning.
‘What, now, my Laird? ‘Tis the middle of the day. What will your guests think of us?’ As he tried to sputter a retort, Cecily turned to the lasses and said, ‘Men have such appetites. It is so hard to keep up. You will need all your stamina when one of you becomes his bride.’
‘And when I do, where will you be?’ cried Catherine.
‘Oh, I don’t think Peyton has decided yet. But I don’t mind sharing,’ she said with a wicked grin.
Peyton took her arm and dragged her from the hall as Cecily waved back at the Macaulays, crying, ‘Have another drink. We might be some time.’
