‘But that sin will never wash away,’ said Peyton.
‘Elene put the poison in the whisky. She drank it. You did not force it down her throat.’
Peyton hung his head. ‘I watched her die.’
‘By her own hand and by her own actions. Better that way than a noose. You gave her the dignity of choice, a choice she withheld from others. And you were the only one to do it. No other man could have withstood Elene Strachan’s arsenal of seduction. Our Warden, Sir Henry Harclaw, certainly did not, and she led him to his doom.’
Peyton frowned. ‘Tell me.’
‘The Warden is in the tower. It seems he is on the King’s bad side.’
‘How?’
‘It is rumoured in Edinburgh that Sir Henry had an appetite for whores – hurting them, that is. He would visit brothels and take them for his dark designs. Some were never seen or heard of again. God rest their souls.’ Father Luggan crossed himself. ‘It seems he took the wrong whore - a favourite of a particularly influential baron in the King’s court. Rumours reached his ears, and as the Warden was not doing a very good job of quelling unrest in the Marches, he pressed the King to have Sir Henry stripped of his office and taken to the tower.’
‘Most of the lawlessness in the West March was Sir Henry’s doing.’
‘Aye. He was lining his own pockets through his villainy and not giving his share to the King.’
‘Ah, I see it now. The King would not care about a lost whore.’
‘He would not, but it gave him an excuse to correct his mistake in appointing the Warden without having to lose face. But I do wonder who turned on Sir Henry at court and whispered in that baron’s ear.’
Peyton frowned.
‘What is it?’ said Father Luggan.
‘Do you think Elene told him? She was privy to all Sir Henry’s secrets, even his darkest ones.’
‘I wouldn’t put it past her. Perhaps she wanted to replace Sir Henry with a new and wealthier lover.’
‘She was like a spider, sucking men dry and leaving their carcasses in her wake.’
Father Luggan put a hand on Peyton’s shoulder. ‘Then the world is a better place without such a creature, is it not?’
‘I will keep telling myself that, Father, and eventually, I might believe that the ends justified the means.’ They walked back to Fallstairs, and somehow, Peyton felt lighter than he had for weeks.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Griffin Macaulay stood at the gates of Fellscarp and did not mince his words. ‘You are a cur, a scum-sucking bottom feeder. You call yourself the head of Clan Strachan, but I see no laird before me. I see a low-born mongrel who cannot keep his promises. That is no laird.’
‘I never saw you keep a promise, Griffin,’ said Peyton. ‘And choose your words carefully when you are in my house.’
‘I will not. The dignity of my clan has been affronted. You offered for Catherine and then cast her aside and shamed her.’
‘No, you offered that lass to me. I pondered your offer and took a different path.’
‘You strung her along. All my lasses were flattered and charmed, so I would think you were taken with one of them. I gave you a choice of fine, sturdy women, and not one of them was deemed good enough. And all the time, you were already wed to a MacCreadie, who you paraded as your whore. Tell me again why I should not be insulted, whelp!’
Peyton grabbed the man by the jacket. ‘Name my wife a whore again, and you will lose your tongue. And if the MacCreadies are so offensive, perhaps you might tell Jasper Glendenning, as he also married one.’
Griffin shook him off. ‘More fool him, for Clan MacCreadie is nought but a nest of rats, and his wife is probably just as much of a conniving little bitch as yours.’
‘You should be careful how you insult his wife. Are you not joined with Glendenning through his sister’s recent marriage to your nephew?’
‘Aye, we are. He kept his side of the bargain on that matter, and it was well done.’
Peyton rolled his eyes. ‘It was not. Jasper Glendenning bought a husband for his sister in great haste. We both know the reason he was in a hurry. She is with child.’
