Page 14 of Strachan (Hostage Brides #2)

After a day of riding around trying to clear his head and calm his heart, Fellscarp’s walls had never looked so decayed as Peyton rode in over the causeway.

The sky seethed with the promise of rain, and snow melted off the roof with a steady drip.

Peyton found a water barrel and washed off the stink of the tavern, along with the taint of shame and humiliation.

The world swayed a little as he bent over it.

Perhaps he was still drunk, or at least, he hoped he was, for he could not stand himself sober.

He was a low-born, rough brute, and he always would be.

He had convinced himself he was a leader of men and worthy of Lorna’s love, but he was not, and every time he rode in, he felt as if Fellscarp was trying to expel him.

With a sigh, Peyton mounted the stairs to his chamber to go and check on his prisoner.

Cecily was seated at the hearth on a stool with a pile of linen in her hand.

She wore a new dress, the pale grey of a pigeon’s breast, which made her look soft and gentle, though he knew she was not.

When Peyton burst in, she stood up, knuckles tightening on the bundle.

‘You are back,’ she declared.

‘So it would seem,’ he said, going to the fire to warm his hands before it.

‘Where did you go?’

‘Wherever I wanted to go.’

Cecily smiled a little, which puzzled him. ‘I am glad you have returned,’ she said. ‘I feel safer when you are here, truly I do.’

‘Have you been fighting with Aila again?’

‘No, we avoid each other, and you told me not to.’ She smiled again, looking unutterably lovely, which annoyed him because it sent a thud of lust to his groin so strong that he almost fell over. Peyton stared into the fire and tried to ignore it.

‘I have been thinking about my situation while you were gone, Peyton,’ she said softly. ‘I know I cannot return home just yet.’

He tried to think of the harpy she had been, fighting with Aila, but it was as if her gentleness slithered into his heart and sparked cruelty. ‘Perhaps never,’ he snapped.

‘Aye, for there is great danger for you if I do, in case I spill our secret and everyone finds out that we murdered a man.’

‘We? I thought I was the one who drove a blade into Edmund Harclaw’s throat.’

‘Aye, but it was all my fault for trusting him, for being foolish.’

‘And wilfully na?ve,’ he said into the flames.

‘If you like. I know that I have brought danger down on my family and your people, too. I hate myself for it.’ Her voice wavered. ‘What I mean to say is, I have reconciled myself to my punishment, the banishment from my family, my…my stay here with you.’

‘Have you now?

Peyton looked at her face to sniff out the lie.

But all he saw was gentle beauty, a fearful expression in those stunning eyes, and her creamy cheeks reddening under his scrutiny.

There was so much innocence on the surface, yet she was seething with schemes underneath. How could she not be? She was a woman, and they all despised him.

‘I mended your shirt,’ she said, holding it out to him with an appeasing smile. ‘Bertha set me to the task. So you see, I am not completely useless.’

The sight of Cecily’s bonnie face would have raised the spirits of a better man, but he only saw mockery and disdain. It multiplied his anger tenfold.

‘I want to make myself useful in any way I can,’ she continued, and with those words, she sealed her doom. Suddenly, it was too much – the cruelty of women, his struggle for survival, everything.

‘Do you mean that?’ he hissed.

Cecily nodded.

‘Come and be useful then,’ he growled, taking her around the waist and kissing her hard and fast, pouring all his anger, frustration and injured pride into it.

She was a soft mouth to cushion his fall, nothing more, but she tasted like heaven, and her mouth on his was sweet oblivion.

Peyton pulled her body close.

There was an initial resistance, but then she melted softly against him, and to his great surprise, her mouth opened to take his kiss.

His hands roamed up Cecily’s back and into her hair as he sucked in the taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her curves beneath his hands, the silkiness of her golden hair.

She whimpered into his mouth, sending a bolt of lust to his cock, which stood ramrod stiff against her stomach.

For a moment, Peyton wanted to crush her body to his, pin her against the wall and pound himself into her until she submitted and became his slave.

With an effort, he held her at arm’s length.

They stared at each other for the longest time, with just the crackle of the fire breaking the silence.

Peyton was shocked at the violence of his lust.

As for Cecily, who knew what she was thinking?

She was probably appalled. Her mouth was open, and she stared at him wide-eyed, her chest heaving.

‘Forgive me. That was wrong,’ he managed to say. ‘Speak, lass, so that I know I am forgiven.’

She stared mutely at him, her lovely eyes wide with shock. ‘Why did you do that?’ she squeaked.

‘Because I bloody well wanted to. Don’t take it to heart. It does not mean we are betrothed, for I’ll not join your long line of suitors. And fear not, I’ll not do it again as it clearly horrifies you.’

‘What gives you the right to lay hands on me?’ she sputtered, squirming in his grasp.

‘The right of ownership. Remember, I have power over you, and I am weary of getting my pride stamped on. And God’s blood, why the outrage? Anyone would think you hadn’t been kissed before.’

‘Not like that, I haven’t.’

Did she mean it was good or bad? ‘I suppose your grand English lover was more skilled than I?’ he spat.

Her palm connected with his face out of nowhere, snapping Peyton out of his rage.

‘I suppose I deserved that,’ he growled. He was not this cur of a man, and she was not the cause of his anger.

Cecily took a deep breath and let him have it. ‘Go and point your cock at Lorna Gilpin, you lecherous dog, for I’m sure she is richly deserving of it.’

Peyton’s anger roared back to life, white-hot and seasoned with humiliation. ‘A lady does not use that word.’

‘Dog or cock?’ Cecily howled. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘I am no lady. In your eyes, I am nought but a whore who throws away her virtue on an Englishman, Jasper Glendenning, or on whoever comes calling.’

‘I didn’t say that.’ Peyton grabbed her tighter, and she looked down at the floor. He sank his fingers into her hair. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded, forcing her head up.

‘That is why you treat me this way,’ she gasped.

‘No, lass. I kissed you like that because I…’ He groaned. ‘I wish I could take it back.’

‘Why. Did you not like it?’ she whispered. A tear overflowed and trickled down her cheek.

‘Hah, is your vanity pricked, Cecily? Can no man put his hands on you without swooning with admiration? Are you so proud?’ He shook her. ‘I did like it, but I shouldn’t have done it, that’s all.’

She blinked, and another fat tear ran down her face. ‘Aye, you should,’ she whispered.

‘Why?’

‘Because I suppose I wanted you to,’ she said, and just like that, Peyton’s world shifted.

‘I don’t understand you, lass.’

‘I cannot fathom it, but I trust you, Peyton. I don’t think you’d ever hurt me,’ she said, her eyes darting to his mouth like an invitation.

‘Don’t be too sure about that,’ he said. Then he was on her - his mouth, his hands, roaming, stroking, owning. Her soft breasts squashed to his chest, inflaming his lust. Peyton tried to be gentle, but Cecily clung to him and devoured his mouth as much as he devoured hers.

In a flood of frustrated lust, he dragged Cecily to the bed, and he threw her down upon it. He fell onto her. She moaned when his mouth claimed hers again, and Peyton kissed her passionately, over and over, as if some unstoppable force shouted, ‘Take her! It is your right. Leave all your honour behind. Take your pleasure.’

Peyton pressed Cecily down onto the bed and spread her legs with his knee. His life might be snuffed out tomorrow. Why deny himself some scrap of pleasure, affection and happiness? It had been a long time since he had lain with a woman, and his lust was an unchained beast. Yet still, he had to know Cecily wanted him.

‘Shall I stop, lass? If you tell me to, I won’t be angry, just disappointed,’ he said, smiling down at her.

Cecily’s eyes were wide, but her voice was hungry as she replied, ‘I don’t think I will want you to stop,’ and to his amazement, Cecily pulled his mouth back down to hers. Her little moans spurred him on, so Peyton took a handful of her bonnie grey dress and pulled it up. He gazed down at her long, coltish legs as she nuzzled her face into his neck. Her skin was creamy smooth to the touch, growing softer and warmer as his fingers roamed upwards to a silky gold nest.

‘Oh, oh,’ she cried as he stroked it.

Peyton was delighted that she was slick and squirmed upwards under his touch. Did she like him? Surely, she could not fake this molten desire? He needed to be inside her now, but if she was as innocent as she claimed, then he should be gentle.

‘Just take her now, hard. She is a liar using her beauty to get her own way. You do not need to woo her,’ said the savage in his head.

To hell with it all. Nothing mattered beyond this wanting the lass with a raging need. Peyton yanked down her bodice, exposing Cecily’s shoulders and warm, supple breasts, which filled his hands.

She flinched.

‘Shall I stop?’ he said.

‘No, but I am ashamed of my nakedness.’

‘No. You should be proud, lass, for you are so beautiful,’ he said, his tongue thick in his mouth. Her breasts were so perfect in the morning light, laid bare for him to gorge on – pert and pink-tipped, full and warm. Peyton had to taste them before he exploded. When he placed a kiss upon one, Cecily clawed his hair, so he attended to them for a long time, enjoying the feel of her nipple hardening in his mouth and the way she pressed against him every time he sucked.

His cock became an aching tower of desire. He spread her legs wide, unleashed himself and sank between Cecily’s warm thighs.

‘Tell me you want me, lass,’ he hissed.

‘I do, but I don’t know anything,’ she gasped.

‘Come dawn, tomorrow, you will, and some things you may not want to know.’ He met her gaze. ‘But you have to want this, Cecily.’

She gave no reply but did not push him away. She just lay under him, wide-eyed, vulnerable and achingly beautiful, and then gave a slight nod. ‘Do it. I want this.’

Peyton slid inside her, burying his face in her neck. For some reason, he did not want her to look at him, for he was taken with such unbridled happiness that it almost took his breath away. He paused when he encountered her virgin’s resistance, but his need was so great, he pushed on. Cecily flinched, and her cry of pain was muffled against his chest.

‘I’ll go slow and gently,’ he said, though every nerve in his body cried out for a crashing release. He eased into her unprotesting body, holding back lest he hurt her more than was necessary or finish too soon and shame himself. When he reached a pinnacle, he stifled a moan and clutched her tightly to him. Peyton let all his anger, frustration and loneliness pour into Cecily’s soft, comforting body. As his thudding heart slowed its beat, there came peace and a gentle calm inside him, as if his heart was too full.

Then, it was all swept away in a flood of remorse.

Peyton rolled off her. He had tried to be gentle, to take the time to arouse Cecily. But what if she wanted him to get it over with? What if it was an ordeal for a soft, innocent lass? And she had been innocent. He had felt her virginity and taken it anyway. Cecily had made no complaint nor uttered any word of joy at his lovemaking. Had Eaden’s brutality rubbed off on him, awakening the savage in his breast? Had it made him ruin a lass just because she was under his power, and there was no one to stop him?

‘Coward! Look at her. Don’t cower before her gaze now that you have shamed yourself!’ said the voice in his head. But he could not look.

There was a rustle as Cecily pulled down her dress, and then the bed moved as she sat up. Peyton turned. She had her back to him. He reached out a hand and touched her. Cecily’s head was bowed as she rearranged her bodice, no doubt trying to hide the evidence of his savagery. Strands of her hair hung loose about her face from his throwing her around his bed.

Peyton longed to comfort her. ‘I’m sorry, Cecily, for what I just did.’

‘I’m sorry too, but I deserved it,’ she whispered. She slid her hand across her face, but he could not see if she was crying. God, what kind of monster was he? Never in his life had he forced a woman nor coaxed one into lying with him, and he had vowed never to do so. Had he just broken that vow?

‘Are you well, lass? Are you hurt?’ he said.

‘I am well,’ she squeaked. ‘I think I just need some air, that is all.’

Before he could stop her, Cecily rushed out of the chamber. Peyton sprang off the bed and stuffed his manhood back in his braies, before giving chase.