Page 21 of Strachan (Hostage Brides #2)

Peyton’s head ached like the blazes, yet there was no respite from his tenants laying their troubles at his door. And they were right to be angry and afraid.

Magnus Strachan droned on. ‘They come day and night. We can never close our eyes for fear of their raiding, like a pack of foxes after the new lambs, they are.’

‘Vermin,’ said his companion, Fergus, a weather-beaten man, stooped under the weight of poverty and worn out with clinging onto what little he had left. ‘They want to wipe us out, Laird.’

‘And who is ‘they’ exactly? Tell me,’ said Peyton.

‘We don’t know for certain. But if it’s not the Warden helping himself, it is those other bastards – Macaulays, Bannermans, Gunns.’

‘Aye, Glendenning too,’ whined Magnus. ‘That scoundrel is always picking at us over some slight or other.’

Peyton was almost at the end of his tolerance. His tenants were frightened, and the Warden, or men allied to him, frequently rode over his land with impunity. He was being hunted like a hare to hounds by that English scum.

The Macaulays pressed him relentlessly, unaware of his uneasy alliance with Caolan Bannerman and Jasper Glendenning. He had to keep it that way because if his clansmen found out he had climbed into bed with old enemies, they would string him from the highest tree and let Black Eaden pick his bones clean.

Was the risk worth the blow to his honour? Time would tell, but the burden of secrets was getting heavier, and Peyton could share it with no one, least of all his beautiful secret bride, who now came sweeping into the hall in a glorious dress of amber silk. The past flashed before him for a moment, clouded in bitterness. Elene Strachan had worn that dress when she had humiliated him with a kiss.

With some effort, Peyton banished his memories. Cecily smiled at his visitors and, at first, drew lustful glances, but they quickly soured to resentment. Were Magnus and Fergus thinking, ‘Look how high Peyton Strachan lives when we are barely hanging on.’

By now, everyone revelled in the scandal of Peyton’s mistress. The servant girls positively feasted on it. Were these men jealous or justly offended that he had a beautiful distraction while their backs were to the wall?

‘What are you going to do, Laird?’ said Magnus. Peyton did not like the sarcasm infused into his title of laird.

‘Aye,’ said Fergus. ‘We pay rent so we can have protection, and instead, you sit on your….’

‘Enough.’ Peyton stood with a scrape of his chair and silenced the man with a glower. ‘Those villains may raid day and night, but I ride out day and night to stem this thievery.’

‘Aye, it’s said you ride, alright,’ muttered Magnus, with a sideways glance at Cecily.

Peyton was about to relieve the man of some teeth at the slight when Cecily went up to Magnus and laid a hand on his arm. ‘I feel your trepidation, good sir. But our Laird is doing all he can to put down this violence and thuggery, and he will succeed. I know it. He is a man of honour, and you will have an answer to your grievances. Why, this very morning, he has returned from three days away patrolling our borders, and even though Laird Strachan is tired, he still finds time for his tenants.’

‘I suppose so,’ muttered Magnus.

‘Now, he must rest, and you stout fellows must go back to your villages, for surely your womenfolk are anxious when you are gone. I know I would be.’

They shuffled off with a nod in his direction. Cecily’s beauty seemed to calm their grievances better than Peyton’s glowering.

‘Can you not dress a little more humbly when my clansmen come calling?’ he said as she approached and planted a kiss on his cheek.

‘I didn’t know they were here, and don’t you like it?’ she said, twirling around for him in a mesmerising swirl of silk and blonde hair. ‘There are trunks bursting with such garments, and they are so fine. It would be such a shame to waste them.’

‘If you knew their previous owner, you would rip it from your back.’

‘Well, I would rather you did that,’ said Cecily with a smile, her eyes hot with desire. Peyton’s breath caught, and his cock sprang to attention. At least if his blood rushed downwards, it might ease the pounding in his head.

With Cecily, he could never tell if she wanted him or if she twisted his lust to her purpose. His lingering mistrust of her motives was like a flea nipping at him. Yet the lass had taken to lovemaking with a passion that made him ignore his misgivings. Cecily showed no reluctance to his touch, and she often sought him out to make love to her, a fact that had contributed more to his current exhaustion than all the days and nights spent riding around the West March hunting villains.

Several weeks had passed in a haze of lovemaking since that passionate consummation of his marriage in the wood store. Cecily seemed to enjoy Peyton throwing her around his bed, and he could hardly bear to leave her warm, soft body in the mornings to ride out and be a laird. But he could not act like some green youth, drunk on love. He had to turn the tide on the Strachans’ fortunes, and soon, before he lost his grip.

That grip slipped further when Cecily pulled his face to hers and kissed him, her tongue darting into his mouth. ‘Come upstairs with me, and I will make you forget your troubles,’ she breathed.

When last he had taken her, that very morning, warm from sleep and her hair tangled, she had cried his name and begged him not to stop. Their coupling had been fierce and passionate. She had hot blood in her veins, his MacCreadie lass, and when his body joined with hers, it was as if they had been made for each other.

‘I have urgent business with Selby. I have to ride out again,’ said Peyton, pushing her off with some effort.

She pouted. ‘You are hardly ever here. I get lonely.’

‘It must be done. I have people depending on me, and our situation is dire.’

‘I want to help.’

‘You do help by turning my mind from my troubles every time I see your bonnie face.’

The pout deepened. ‘Is that all I am, Peyton, just a bonnie face and a willing body? You tell me nothing.’

‘If I share my troubles, I only bring you closer to danger.’ The pounding in his head resumed.

‘We are joined, so we are in danger together, are we not?’ She crossed her arms. ‘Or is it because you do not trust me?’

‘Don’t be foolish, Cecily.’

‘Ah, so I am foolish now.’

‘No.’

‘Useless, then? Good for bedding and nothing more.’

‘Must you pick at me endlessly, woman!’ he shouted.

She flinched, and Peyton regretted his words. He pulled her close. ‘Forgive me. I am in a rotten temper this morning, and my troubles are not your fault, well, not all of them anyway.’

‘I made your life more dangerous when I crossed your path,’ she said, biting her lip, eyes welling. ‘I know that much.’

‘Aye, you did, but you have made me happy these last weeks, more than I have ever been.’ He kissed the top of Cecily’s head. ‘And you are right, lass. I have not trusted you, but maybe I should start. So, I will tell you this much. My tenants are angry, and rightly so. They look to me to end the thievery and raiding, and so far, I cannot. I have enemies I can see and some I cannot. I know the Warden wants to stamp out reiving in the West March, and he is a dangerous and unpredictable foe. His wrath seems to fall on Strachan lands more than others. I do not know why, and it troubles me endlessly.’

‘Oh.’ Cecily’s bright eyes widened.

‘Lass, I have taken control of Clan Strachan, yet I constantly worry that I am not worthy to name myself laird of anything. I am most likely a bastard, as my mother was free with her favours. I could have been sired by old Laird Hew, yet he never acknowledged me as his son. I am a nobody who has come from nothing, and so will I ever be. So there, Cecily, now you have the truth about the man you were forced to marry.’

‘I wasn’t forced,’ she said quietly. Cecily regarded him with a steady gaze – no pity, no alarm. ‘Alright. Now I understand you better. I will do anything to help you. And if you come upstairs with me, Peyton, I will let you do that thing with your mouth that you did last night. Then, at least, for a little while, you can forget your worries.’

Peyton was about to give in to the sweet oblivion of sinking his head between Cecily’s thighs when Bertha came huffing into the hall.

‘Griffin Macaulay is lurking in the yard like a footpad,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘He says he has urgent business with you.’

God’s teeth, could the day get any more frustrating? ‘Very well,’ said Peyton. ‘I will see him, but let him cool his heels for a while before you send him in.’

‘Shall I go?’ said Cecily.

‘Aye. Best make yourself scarce, lass.’

But before she could leave, Griffin Macaulay burst in. ‘I’ll not be kept waiting in cold weather like a bloody merchant,’ he declared before coming to an abrupt halt in front of Cecily and lashing her with an admiring look. His mouth hung open. ‘When I heard you had taken a mistress, Strachan, I had no idea she was this bonnie,’ he said, walking closer to Cecily. ‘Is she not a little refined for your tastes?’

Cecily frowned but wisely kept her mouth shut.

‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’ said Peyton.

‘I’ll get to that.’ Griffin smiled at Cecily. ‘Well, aren’t you a sight to warm a man’s balls?’ he said, trying to take her hand, but she took a step backwards. ‘Fussy are we? When Strachan grows tired of you, lass, and you are in need of a protector, you might be more friendly.’

‘As you are in my keep, a little respect would be nice,’ snarled Peyton.

‘As I hear it, this lass is bought and paid for, so why do I need respect?’ said Griffin with an arrogant shrug. ‘Now, it’s best you send the lass away. She may be easy on the eye, but I have matters to discuss that lie between men, not empty-headed women.’

Peyton nodded for her to go and got a filthy look in return. Cecily’s pride would sting at being all but called a whore, but it was best he not defend her honour by saying he’d married her.

Griffin sat his mangy rump upon a stool before the fire, spreading calloused palms to the flames. ‘I have come with a proposition, and I’ll get right to it. That one might have to be shuffled off out of the way for the time being if you are in agreement. I have lasses who are in need of a husband, and you need an alliance, friends to have your back.’

‘I protect my own and care nought for your proposition.’

‘Hear me out, Strachan. I offer a hand of friendship in these troubled times.’

‘We have never been friends, Griffin.’

‘That can change along with the times. An ill wind blows across the West March with this new Warden. Sir Henry is harrying us constantly. Someone is behind our livestock being stolen, women carried off, burnings, lootings. We’ve scarce enough to get through winter without all the thieving, too. It’s not me doing it, and I don’t believe it’s you, as you are barely clinging on. So who else?’

‘Glendenning perhaps?’ said Peyton, fisting his hands.

‘He has been similarly wounded, or so I hear.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time he played the victim while he preys on others.’

‘That’s as maybe, but he cannot ally with me due to his recently marrying some drab of a MacCreadie lass. And what I am proposing must involve marriage.’ Griffin fixed Peyton with a weasel-like stare.

‘I can’t marry you, Griffin. My heart belongs to another,’ laughed Peyton.

Griffin stood, his face reddening. ‘I came here in good faith, not to be mocked by the likes of you.’

‘The likes of me, is it?’

‘May I talk, or am I wasting my time?’ snarled the Macaulay Laird, ever a powder keg of bad temper and grievance.

‘I suppose you may. Go on,’ said Peyton.

‘I propose an alliance between our two clans, sealed in marriage.’

‘And who do you propose I marry?’

‘There are many Macaulay lasses who would be willing, and if they are not, my boot up their arse will change that quickly enough. You are a young, virile man in need of a wife, and I want to offload some twittering women. I have too many mouths to feed as it is. It does not matter which one you choose. I will line them up so you can pick the bonniest. I’ve daughters, cousins’ daughters, the offspring of loyal men, all with good, strong Macaulay blood.’

‘I thank you for the honour of your proposition, but I’m in no mood to marry just now, Griffin.’

‘Because of that blonde strumpet? No point in paying for milk when you bought the cow, eh? Can she not be shuffled somewhere for the time being while you plant your seed in a Macaulay field? Once the deed is done, you can carry on pleasuring yourself with her as before. Wives are for heirs, and mistresses are for pleasure. I have no argument with that.’

‘Nor do I. A wise man marries for gain and goes hunting for sport elsewhere.’ Peyton decided it was best to get down in the dirt with Macaulay.

Griffin Macaulay smiled, which just made him look more sinister. ‘Excellent. So you will think on this matter?’

‘I will consider it.’

‘Come to my home and get a look at the wares, eh,’ said Griffin.

‘No. I will not set foot in your keep, or else I might get my throat slit.’

‘Then the lasses can come here. Why not host a small gathering of like-minded clans, your friends, loyal men? I’ll bring the whole lot of them here, and that way, you can choose a bride, and I might get rid of a few more mouths to feed by handing them off to your fighting men. You would get the first pick, of course.’

Peyton tried to keep the disgust off his face at Griffin’s coarse manner of selling off his womenfolk as if they were little better than sheep to the slaughter. But the longer the man thought of him as a potential husband, the better. He could string Macaulay along better if the old weasel thought his lust was pointed at Cecily, and that was the source of his reluctance to marry. Yet his honour screamed at him to do right by Cecily and declare his marriage to the world.

‘We can still unite before a common enemy and have an alliance without marriage,’ offered Peyton.

‘Bah! Not one that I would trust. There has to be some sacrifice on your part, Strachan, to bind us together. Let us speak honestly. The Macaulays and the Strachans are pressed between the ambitions of more powerful clans and the English Warden. We will be ground to dust, like grain in a millstone, if we do not act, our wealth stolen, our clans broken up.’

Peyton felt the crushing pressure of that millstone.

‘Marriage is a small price to pay to save your clan from that fate, is it not?’ continued Macaulay.

It seemed he would have to slither with the snakes for now. ‘I will think on your proposal, Macaulay,’ said Peyton, lying to a man who would slit his throat in an instant if the fancy took him. Griffin Macaulay was an unpredictable friend but an implacable enemy.

When the man took his leave, Peyton went in search of Cecily and found her pacing in their chamber. She gave him a strange, lost look when he rushed in and took her in his arms.

‘Has that awful man gone?’ she said.

‘Aye,’ he murmured, kissing her thoroughly. ‘And I don’t want to think of that cur Griffin Macaulay when I am kissing you.’ Peyton flung her onto the bed. She gave a little yelp as he raised her skirts and lowered his head. ‘I need to relieve my frustration, wife,’ he said.

Cecily’s fingers grasped onto his hair hard enough to hurt, but he didn’t care as he spread her creamy thighs to taste her sweetness. She stiffened as he stroked his tongue along her centre, the way she liked, his lust and frustration now at boiling point. But as he worked to give her pleasure, her body was icily still.

Peyton raised his head. ‘What is wrong, lass? You lie like a corpse under my mouth when you liked it last time.’

‘I may as well be a corpse.’

‘Why?’ he frowned.

‘Because you are acting as if I do not exist, as if we are not married.’

‘Secrecy is for your protection, Cecily.’

‘Or is it for yours? I think you are ashamed of me.’

‘What the hell are you blathering about, woman?’

‘You married a strumpet of a MacCreadie, just like Jasper Glendenning did, and now you regret it.’ She pushed him off and wriggled away from him.

Peyton sighed and sat up. ‘Were you listening at doorways, Cecily?’

‘Just as well I did, for I heard what that mongrel said. I know you are going to deny this marriage and choose some bitch from his clan over me.’

‘No, I am not. You have it all wrong.’

‘Enlighten me then,’ she spat.

‘Griffin Macaulay may be repulsive, but he is not wrong. I need allies, and if I can string him along by making him think I will take one of his daughters, then that is what I will do.’

‘And what about me?’

‘You are my wife. We are joined before God, and we will stay that way.’

Cecily’s face had turned pink, which happened when she was aroused or angry, and Peyton feared it was the latter. ‘Now your blood is up, lass, but it needn’t be. I swear I have no intention of casting you off.’

She swept off the bed and hurled open the door. ‘I do not believe you, Peyton.’

‘Are you jealous, lass?’

‘Get out.’

Raging lust and anger at a tiresome day made him blunt. ‘It is my chamber, and I am going nowhere,’ he said.

‘Then I will leave.’

‘No, I forbid it.’

‘You can’t forbid anything.’

Peyton leapt out of bed and slammed the door shut. ‘Oh, aye, I can.’ They locked eyes for a moment. ‘Shall I show you how much I want you? Would that make you happy?’

‘No, and you have no idea how to make me happy, Peyton. Do not flatter yourself. And do not touch me ever again.’

‘I will touch you whenever I like, and we both know you want me to.’

Cecily glared at him. ‘I hate you, and I hate this cold, damp, miserable place.’

He hated the words coming out of her mouth – a sign of his failure as a laird, as a man. There was only one way to feel like a winner. He grabbed Cecily and crushed her mouth to his. There was a brief struggle, and then she bit his lip.

‘Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that,’ he growled.

A bitter memory flashed before him – Elene Strachan, biting, hurting, mocking his manhood. Peyton kissed Cecily harder until she whimpered and surrendered, but not for long. She pushed him back and slapped his face.

He took hold of Cecily and flung her onto the bed, and in a frenzy of anger and passion, they clung to each other.

‘I want this off you,’ he said as he tore down the bodice of the hated amber dress, ripping the sleeves down over her shoulders, freeing her breasts to his mouth and his hands. When he raised her skirt and thrust at her, Cecily took him inside her and wrapped her legs around his back. It was all over in a rush, with a rough passion which shamed as much as it excited him. She reached her peak and cried out, digging her nails into his back so hard it hurt. Peyton’s intense release followed soon after. They lay panting and red-faced.

‘You’ve never been like that before,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Like what?’

‘Purging your anger instead of making love. It was as if you thought I was your enemy.’

Cecily pushed him away and stood up, letting her fine dress fall back around her. She carefully smoothed it down and straightened her bodice as if she had not just spread her legs for him, as if their shared anger and lust had not affected her at all. It was as if she felt nothing.

In the silence, Peyton stared up at the ceiling. Dust-blackened cobwebs hanging from the rafters danced in the updraft from the fire. He was frozen. He could not move from that bed. Had he forced himself on Cecily? Must he become a brute to get what he wanted?

And who was that woman he had just taken? The lass took him inside her like a dutiful wife instead of a passionate lover, and as he surged into her soft body to a release, he felt that he was alone in the world, loved by no one and wanted by no one. His enemies were circling. A dread hand seemed to have reached into his heart. Inside, he was bleak and cold and pitiless.

He could not lie frozen like a fool. He stuffed his manhood back into his braies. Peyton rose and turned Cecily to face him. She would not meet his gaze. ‘My anger is not at you,’ he said. ‘Lass, there are things that I must do to protect this clan and you. And I have a past which it is best you know nothing of.’

‘Is it not honourable?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘Will you not tell me, share with me?’ she said in a voice thick with tears.

‘I cannot. The less you know, the better.’

‘Because you do not trust me. But if you tell me your secrets, who am I to run and tell? I have no one, and it seems I don’t even have you.’

He sighed, defeated. ‘Do you even want me, Cecily?’

‘Have I not shown you that I want you these last weeks? Have I not been willing enough, eager enough, Peyton? Have I not opened my legs enough?’

‘Do not talk like that.’

‘Like a whore, you mean. I talk like that because that is how you make me feel, making love to me in the shadows.’

‘It is not how I would have it, and it won’t be for much longer.’

‘Why?’

He laughed bitterly. ‘Because I will not survive.’

Alarm widened her lovely eyes. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘My clan think I am unworthy to be a laird. Perhaps I always was. I stole everything I have – even you. Cecily, don’t you understand? I took control when Robert Strachan led us into a war we could not win. It was all such a pointless waste of lives, so I thought it was the right thing to do. And yet, I have no legitimate claim to it, and the more my people lose through raids and violence, the more voices speak against me. And then there is you, lass. I took you because I wanted you, and you were under my power.’

‘Peyton…I…,’

‘It is true, Cecily. Even the dress on your back is stolen. And if you knew its previous owner, you would think of it as poison against your skin.’

‘Tell me, then. Tell me why I should hate this dress. I just want you to tell me something. Peyton, I am not a bairn to be kept in the dark and cossetted. Or a doll to be taken out and used at your pleasure. I want to be a wife to you, in your bed and out of it. So tell me why you tore my dress and why I should not have worn it.’

‘Forgive me. I cannot.’

‘Then we will stay as we are, the two of us.’

‘What does that mean?’

She glared at him, fiercely beautiful in all her anger and outrage. ‘Forgive me. I cannot say,’ she said quietly and stalked out of the chamber, leaving him in a mire of his own folly and pride.