Page 18 of Strachan (Hostage Brides #2)

The wind was icy, as had been his welcome at the Truce Day in the Gunn stronghold, yet Peyton was pleased with his day’s work. It had taken every ounce of his pride, but he had done what was right for Clan Strachan. And what use was pride in a dog fight? He had something infinitely more precious, and it had blonde hair and was warming his bed at home.

Cecily MacCreadie was spirited and hard to handle, but she did not unman him as Lorna had. He delighted in looking at her, especially when she did not know he was doing it. She was graceful and golden, and when he returned to Fellscarp, he would take her in his arms and kiss the life out of her. Perhaps she would let him. Cecily had smiled at him more these last few days and blushed when she caught his eye. Did that mean she wanted him, or was he just blinded by the lust which made it a struggle to keep his hands off her?

‘Peyton!’

He turned in alarm, and then a smile spread over his face. Father Luggan rode towards him in a great hurry. Peyton tried to banish his lustful thoughts. ‘This is well met, as I am in need of a priest,’ he cried.

‘With your nature, you are ever in need of a priest, Peyton Strachan. What have you done to yourself? I hardly recognised you, for you are as clean as a lass.’

‘Cleaner than you, at least. You were riding hard. Is the Devil chasing you, Father?’ said Peyton, reaching over to clap the priest on the back.

‘Aye, but he’ll not catch me just yet,’ he replied. ‘But speaking of devils, I was travelling back from the East March when I heard rumours of a gathering of clans at the Gunns, hence my haste.’

‘Aye, and I have just come from there, so we are well met. Sir Walder Moffat is dead.’

‘May he rest in peace,’ said Father Luggan, crossing himself. ‘I hope his passing was gentle.’

‘I seriously doubt that. And we have a new Warden, none other than Sir Henry Harclaw.’

The priest frowned. ‘Ah, so it is as I suspected.’

‘Aye, and he’s a cold bastard, to be sure, and harder than his son, Edmund.’

Peyton had hated Sir Henry on sight. The man was dead-eyed, sneering, and arrogant—the usual English nobleman. But this one didn’t bother to hide his ruthlessness behind diplomatic smiles. The man had despised his company, his lip curling in disgust as he had surveyed the assembled clans. If Sir Henry promised to put his boot on the throat of the March lairds, Peyton had no doubt he would be true to his threat.

‘Peyton, this is bad,’ said Father Luggan.

‘Aye, I suppose it is.’ He brushed off thoughts of Sir Henry and thought of his new strategy instead.

Father Luggan narrowed his eyes. ‘If that is so, why is there a smile on your face?’

‘Because I am pleased to see you and because I have just climbed into bed with my enemies. I have reached out to Caolan Bannerman and Jasper Glendenning in the common cause of not being wiped out by Sir Henry Harclaw.’

‘You cannot.’

‘I’ve climbed into bed with worse, and they too have been stung by our new Warden’s ambitions – cattle stolen, farms pillaged, arson. There was a whole village put to the torch on Glendenning’s land, and he is seething and out for revenge. Bannerman does not give much away. He’s a cold bastard, but both of them are hurting, and so am I, so it seems we must band together.’

‘The enemies of my enemies are my friends?’ said the priest.

‘Something like that, aye. And it is a secret. Tell no one. My life, and theirs, depends on it.’

‘Of course. You may rely on my discretion. What strange and troubled times we live in, where you and Jasper Glendenning are friends.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far. When I suggested an alliance, I thought they’d laugh in my face, Glendenning especially, but they did not. Their situation must be as dire as mine if they need me. But at least I have a path to follow now.’

‘It must have taken a good deal of pride-swallowing on your part, Peyton, but it is a cunning move. Whatever gave you the idea?’

‘My betrothed. She said something about making a sacrifice for the sake of others when she accepted my proposal.’

‘Betrothed? Ah, such wonderful news. But I don’t think Lorna should view matrimony as a sacrifice.’

‘It’s not Lorna, I am marrying.’

The priest’s mouth fell open. ‘Then who?’

‘I will give you a clue. She’s achingly beautiful, and I rescued her from an evil Englishman.’

‘You cannot be in earnest. Not Cecily MacCreadie!’

Peyton felt suddenly unworthy, for he valued Father Luggan’s opinion more than most men’s, and the priest did not look pleased. ‘Why not Cecily MacCreadie?’ he said.

‘Because you all but kidnapped the poor lass and forced her back to Fellscarp. You killed her lover. And she had already been manhandled by that fiend Edmund Harclaw. The lass is in no state to make this kind of choice.’

‘I didn’t give her a choice.’

‘What wickedness has overtaken you, Peyton?’

‘None you cannot absolve me for.’ Peyton stared out over the rolling grey glens. ‘I like her, Father. And her situation is dire. She needs a safe haven, so I will give her one.’

‘Is that what you are telling yourself, my son?’

‘Let us make haste, and I will explain all at Fellscarp, out of this wind.’

Peyton kicked his horse in its flanks and set off along the road to Fellscarp with Father Luggan’s reproaches washing over him. He was eager to get home to Cecily. She would be his wife within days, and he had never wanted anything more in his life.

He smiled at the memory of taunting Jasper Glendenning at the Truce Day gathering about his search for a new wife. God knows, the man did not seem to mourn his recently departed one, though maybe that was the way of it with marriages built on money and land. How the man’s fierce blue eyes had cut into him. He had quite the glower, that one. Knowing he had Cecily, the lass that Jasper had wanted, gave Peyton great satisfaction.

His other reluctant ally, Caolan Bannerman, was a cold fish but clever, and you never knew what he was thinking. Having mutual enemies did not make either Bannerman or Glendenning friends. It just made them all stronger, for there was safety in being in a herd.

Storm clouds were gathering over Fellscarp as they raced across the causeway to beat the tide. Father Luggan rushed inside, declaring he would have ‘words’ with Cecily, which did not bode well. Peyton hurried to find Bertha and break the good news that she would have a wedding feast to serve as soon as may be.

He stopped dead, feeling an urge to go with Father Luggan and plead his case before Cecily, to insist there was no other course. But after what he’d done to the lass in his bed, the least he could do was give her some choice in the matter of matrimony.

***

Cecily heard footsteps on the stairs, so she smoothed her hair and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Was she pleased or terrified to see Peyton? It was hard to decide after their time in each other’s arms. She wanted to run from what that man made her feel, but part of her wanted him to drag her back into his bed and do all sorts of wicked things. She turned her back on the door to appear nonchalant, and when she heard him enter, she swung around, placing the sweetest, most seductive smile on her face.

‘I would have words with you about your future, child,’ said the priest, and Cecily’s smile faded. He had seen everything out on Crichton Moor – her shame and state of undress, the awful things Edmund had tried to do. He was an ally of Peyton’s, who would judge her ill. He was a man of God who would see her sin and folly all too clearly.

‘Do you remember me, lass?’ he said. ‘I am Father Luggan.’

‘How could I ever forget?’ she replied.

‘Indeed. We met in terrible circumstances. But it seems we are meeting in happier times now that you and Peyton are to marry.’

The disapproval in his sharp words was clear. Cecily could think of nothing to say.

‘May I sit?’ he continued. ‘I have had a long ride, and I am not the youngest of men. Aching old bones are my constant affliction.’ The priest took the chair nearest the fire and beckoned her over. When Cecily stood before him like a penitent, he grabbed her hands in his cold ones and looked into her eyes. ‘You have only to say the word, and I can get you out of Fellscarp. We will have to wait until the causeway clears, but then we can be away before anyone notices.’

‘What?’

‘My dear, if you are held here against your will, and if Peyton is forcing you into this marriage, that is unendurable. I will not stand for it, even if he is a dear friend of mine. You may rely on me to keep you safe, Cecily.’

The kindness in his eyes, the sincerity in his words, was too much. All of Cecily’s resolve to be strong crumbled, and homesickness descended like a heavy cloak. Tears welled and ran down her cheeks.

‘If there is forcing, I will not allow it,’ said Father Luggan. ‘I will not see you dishonoured or abused in any way.’

‘Peyton is not forcing me into marrying him. It was all my own doing. I am to blame. I shamed myself, and now what else am I to do?’ A great, tearing sob wracked Cecily’s body, and Father Luggan stood up and took hold of her.

‘There now. Don’t cry. Just tell me everything.’

Through shuddering tears, Cecily managed to say, ‘I have ruined myself, Father Luggan.’ And then it all came out in a torrent of sordid details.

After she had finished, to her great surprise, Father Luggan was not angry at her. Instead, he was fuming at Peyton. ‘To think that a man I have known from a lad would seduce and debauch a lass under his power. I did not think he had such wickedness in him.’

‘Oh, he is not to blame.’

‘I disagree. And you must wed now that Peyton has dishonoured you. There is nothing else for it.’

‘If I marry him, I will never see my family again.’

‘I doubt it will come to that. Peyton can put this right, and they will reconcile themselves to the union in time, as will you. We should make enquiries as to the welfare of your family.’

‘You would do that for me?’

‘I will. Someone has to ease the outcome of Peyton’s heathen tendencies. But we must be discreet.’

Father Luggan patted her hand, and he was so fatherly and comforting that the tight coil of tension inside Cecily eased a little. Maybe it would be alright, and this marriage was not a disaster. And after the way Peyton had thrown her around his bed, she had very little resistance left. All her waking thoughts were consumed with wanting his hands and mouth on her again and to hell with the consequences.

But she couldn’t tell a priest that.

***

Father Luggan was on his high horse and wasn’t about to get off it any time soon. ‘Do you think you own the lass just because you saved her life? How could you use her so ill? She is an innocent little thing, and you took advantage and abused her trusting nature.’

Peyton did not think Cecily had anything like a trusting nature, but he was wise enough to stay quiet. Nor could he argue that she had tempted or led him on, for she had not. Even now, he was unsure if she had welcomed his advances after their awkward first coupling.

Father Luggan droned on and on, but all Peyton could think about was Cecily’s sea-green eyes and golden hair that smelled like summer flowers, her dewy skin and those little cries of pleasure as he’d run his hands all over her body, between her legs, where she was moist and hot. His loins quickened from recalling her ragged little breaths and moans, the way she had surged against him, and the taste of her skin. Cecily drove him mad with lust.

‘Peyton! Pay attention when I am berating you.’ Father Luggan wore his stern face. ‘If you are bent on wickedness, ‘tis too late to change it now. Bring the lass, and I will get you married and respectable.’

‘You will?’

‘Aye, this instant, and do not make a fuss about it. I will send a servant to Fallstairs.’

‘Why?’

‘To check on the welfare of Cecily’s sister, Rowenna. Cecily worries herself to distraction, a fact you seem to have overlooked while you were pawing her. At least I can put her mind to rest. I will urge the utmost discretion and tell them to pretend to be a traveller passing through and spy out what they can. Let’s keep your union secret for now, and when the time is right, you may go to Fallstairs and ask her father’s forgiveness and declare the marriage.’

‘No. I won’t hide my marriage in the shadows. I will proudly declare that Cecily is my wife to the whole clan.’

‘No, Peyton. Your position is not secure. There will be those in the clan who think you should marry for advantage – land, wealth, power, not in a fit of lust and infatuation. You will make Cecily respectable by marrying her and keep her out of harm’s way until the time is right. A mistress, a bed-warmer, can blend into the background. A wife might have a target on her back, a target your enemies will aim at.’

‘Cecily’s pride will sting at that.’

‘Then gently explain the necessity of lying.’ Father Luggan sighed. ‘This is what I meant when I said you were not slippery enough to be a laird.’

***

The wedding took place immediately, with only Father Luggan presiding and Bertha as a witness. Cecily had asked the woman to bring the nicest, cleanest dress she could find, and she was presented with a mundane gown of Strachan plaid in green and gold.

When she had not managed to hide her disappointment, Bertha had chided, ‘You are to be his wife and his lady. ‘Tis time to throw off your childish vanity and stand proudly by your man.’

‘Wife.’ It had an old and serious ring to it.

And her marriage seemed rather grubby and furtive, for they could tell no one for the time being. While Cecily understood the reason, she still did not like it and had the sneaking suspicion that Peyton might be a little ashamed that he had wed a penniless MacCreadie. If he had any love for her, he would have shouted it from the rooftops. But that was too much to ask. Peyton was burdened with her. He had not wooed her or sought her out as a suitor should.

‘Edmund wooed you, and then he hit you to the ground,’ said a spiteful voice in her head. Cecily tried hard to banish it.

Peyton took her hands in a tight grip and looked into her eyes. His face was as serious as death. He did not look happy. He had not declared much affection for her. It was all lust. He had just tossed her into his bed and had his way with her.

‘Because you let him, you fool, and now look at you!’ said the spiteful voice.

Cecily bit her lip to stem the tears that threatened to flow. Was she throwing her life away on this man? It made no difference. There was no way out. She had to stop feeling sorry for herself and be strong. She looked away from Peyton and up at Father Luggan as he completed the vows. They spoke solemnly of duty and subservience to her husband’s will. There were no flowers in her hair or a lavish wedding feast with ale and speeches for the couple’s health and happiness.

When the time came, Cecily forced out her words of consent to the union. Peyton leant in and kissed her quickly on the mouth and let go of her hands, and they both stood awkwardly in silence. She was married. She was to spend a lifetime with the big, hulking darkness standing before her, staring at her with a vexed look.

Father Luggan clapped his hands together. ‘Well, that is done, so let us find something to imbibe in celebration, shall we?’

‘Aye, why not?’ said Peyton, staring at her unblinkingly.

‘Well, I cannot tarry over this foolishness,’ said Bertha. ‘I have work to do.’ With a sour look at Peyton, she swept out. The woman clearly disapproved of him marrying her.

Father Luggan smiled benignly into the cavernous silence, and on Peyton’s face hung a kind of hopeful expectation. Did he intend to crawl into her bed that night and force her to consummate their union? How could she endure him taking her without affection or kindness?

Cecily turned and fled from them both.

Peyton watched his bride run from him with a twist of shame. ‘I should go to her,’ said Peyton to Father Luggan, but the priest pulled him up.

‘Best leave the lass be. She is overwhelmed by the turn her life has taken. Keep your distance for a few days, and she will reconcile herself to it. If you chase after her, the lass will feel hunted.’

Peyton’s heart sank to his boots. Cecily looked lovely in her dress of Strachan plaid. He wanted her so badly, it hurt. He was drunk on the sight of her. But she did not want him. He had scoured her face for a sign that she was willing, wanting him, that she was not repulsed. But her expression held only blank submission – no light in her eyes, no smile on her face, no glow to her cheeks.

He had made Cecily MacCreadie his slave and possession, and he hated himself for it.