Page 34 of Strachan (Hostage Brides #2)

Damn her eyes. Lowri rode so fast that Cecily could barely keep up. They had left the woods behind them long ago. They must be close to Fellscarp by now. But who knew what horrors awaited them and what havoc Eaden had wreaked? Cecily was exhausted and could barely hang onto her horse.

‘Almost there,’ cried Lowri, her black hair sweeping out behind her. ‘Hurry.’ She crested the hill ahead of Cecily and pulled up her horse. ‘No!’ she cried.

Cecily kicked her own horse hard, and it bounded forward, only to stumble heavily. She lost her reins and went flying over its head, landing on the grass with a thud that sent the air rushing from her lungs. She sat up and gasped in a breath. Her neck was not broken. That was something. By the time she scrambled to her feet, it was to see her horse galloping for home and Lowri riding over the hill and out of sight. Cecily cursed and chased after her as fast as her shaky legs could manage.

When she got to the crest of the hill, she gasped. A huge crowd was gathered around two men fighting. It was hard to make them out, as they were caked in mud, and people surged in and out to get a better look.

The jingle of a bridle came from a little thicket nearby. A horse stood almost hidden from view. Upon its back sat a woman of rare beauty, her features so finely drawn as to be the work of the angels. But then her expression twisted into a scowl. She caught Cecily’s eye, sending her a look so heavy with malice that a shiver shot down her spine. Cecily ran down the hill towards people and safety.

***

It was time to die. If he did not give in, Lowri would be killed. Peyton let Eaden swing him around by the arm and land a crushing blow to his kidneys. A vomit-inducing agony spread through every nerve in his back – disorienting, overwhelming. Another landed, then another.

His instinct for survival made Peyton stumble away, his body recoiling from the pain. Eaden stormed up to him and felled him with a blow to the head. He could offer no defence, could not even turn away, so he took it. The man’s fist crashed into Peyton’s skull again and sent him reeling. He scrabbled to get to his feet in the mud.

‘See how he grovels,’ lisped Eaden through a mouth of shattered teeth. ‘Beg for mercy, dog.’

The crowd has grown deadly quiet. He would have to do it – beg before a man who had less worth than the shit on his boots. His life would end where it had started, scrapping in the dirt. A shadow came across his face. ‘Kiss my feet, and I will end this,’ growled Eaden.

Suddenly, a shout went up, then another. Peyton heard a pounding in his head and turned towards it. Eaden backed away.

Peyton’s heart leapt as Lowri rode in, barely pulling her horse up in time when she reached them. It danced and fought the bit, and the crowd scattered when she pulled out a musket and aimed it at Eaden’s face.

‘Get away from my brother,’ she cried.

Eadan’s thugs drew their muskets, and MacDougall ran forward. ‘Leave it, lass. This is a fair fight between men, before all the clan. You cannot intervene. ‘Tis a matter of honour.’

Peyton got to his feet. ‘Honour, be damned. I will finish this. A fair fight, to the death, as agreed.’

‘Peyton, no!’ cried Lowri.

‘Get clear of this, Lowri. I have to end this scum.’ Peyton swayed from his beating, and Eaden leant his hands on his knees, panting for breath. There was a moment’s reprieve as the two of them fought exhaustion. Waves of pain washed over Peyton, but he had to find the strength to finish his cousin, to put him down once and for all.

A body barrelled into him and almost pushed him over. It was Cecily. Her face was dirty, and her dress was covered in filth and blood. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing.

‘Are you hurt, lass?’ he cried.

‘No. What is happening? Peyton, you are hurt,’ she cried.

Peyton pushed her off. ‘Go, lass. Now. Get to Kransmuir. Take Lowri.’

Cecily clung to him so hard he had to throw her aside and let MacDougall drag her away screaming. Then he turned to Eaden. The man was ashen, panting, his hands still on his knees, blood pouring from his face.

He held up a hand. ‘Hold, Peyton. I was only in jest. There was no threat to Lowri. You know, I could not hurt the lass. I concede.’

‘Liar. You kidnapped me,’ cried Lowri. Selby had her around the waist, and she squirmed and fought. If he let her go, she would surely rip Eaden’s eyes out.

But that was his job. With the last of his strength, Peyton took a deep breath and hurled himself at Eaden, knocking him off his feet. They rolled on the ground, which had become a quagmire during the fight. Eaden was strong, but now, Peyton held nothing back. He got his cousin on his belly and pressed him down into the mud. Eaden thrashed and sputtered, his last breaths bubbling out the side of his face.

A cry went up, ‘Finish him,’ and the whole crowd began to bay for blood.

In a delirium of rage, memories flooded Peyton’s mind. Eaden and him poaching as lads, climbing trees and swimming in the estuary with the sun on their backs, and later, carousing in taverns and chasing lasses in that fever of early manhood. They had been as close as could be until Eaden had chosen a dark path through life, and Peyton had chosen loyalty to his clan and his laird.

Eaden deserved to die a miserable death. And yet, they were blood, the two of them. Peyton got up and aimed a vicious kick at Eaden’s ribs. He groaned and rolled over onto his back. He was beaten and pitiful. His race was run, but Peyton would not be the one to end him.

He beckoned Selby. ‘Tie him to a cart and take him to the magistrate in the East March. He can meet justice at the gallows. I’ll not be accused of killing another Strachan.’

Peyton turned to the crowd and spat blood out of his mouth. He caught Cecily’s gaze, Bertha’s and Lowri’s. ‘It is over,’ he said. Peyton beat his fist to his chest. ‘I am Laird Strachan and never doubt it. If any of you seek to challenge me, you will end up like this worm.’ He turned to Eaden’s thugs. ‘If you are not gone from my sight in a heartbeat, I will have you hanged from Fellscarp’s walls as a warning not to cross me.’

They rushed away and were soon pounding up the hill and out of sight.

Cecily ran to him and took hold of his face. He was glad she did, for he could barely stand and did not want to fall down in front of his men.

‘I thought I would lose you,’ she gasped.

‘You will never lose me, my love,’ he slurred through a throbbing jaw. ‘Do not fear. The danger is passed.’

She frowned. ‘I fear it is not. I saw Elene. I think it was her, up there, in the trees, watching.’

Peyton gripped Cecily’s arms, staring at the blood all over her. ‘What did she do to you?’

‘Nothing. She just glared at me. She was watching the fight.’

‘I must find her. Bring me a horse.’

‘No, you cannot. You are injured.’

He cast Cecily aside and went over to Eaden, who was still on his back, groaning.

‘What hole does Elene crawl into?’ Eaden blinked up at him and said nothing. Peyton sat on his chest. ‘If you do not tell me, I will make you suffer. I’m sure she has ridden away and left you to your fate. Why take the pain when the bitch did not even wait around to see if you would survive? Where is her bolthole?’

‘Go to hell,’ said Eaden.

‘After you,’ said Peyton, sitting on Eaden’s arms and pressing his fingers against his eyeballs. ‘I will push your eyes back into their sockets and blind you. Now talk!’