Page 5 of Strachan (Hostage Brides #2)

Cecily did not take her eyes off the two men talking in hushed tones. The older man was dressed as a priest, but he could be a villain in disguise for all she knew. The other was an utter thug who had despatched Edmund with brutal violence and no remorse. He was a beast. His hair was a wild black tangle down his neck, and his face was cut and swollen.

The priest nodded in her direction, gave a pitying little smile, and mounted his horse.

‘No, don’t leave me with him,’ she cried, but he kicked the beast in the ribs and rode away, leaving her alone with the other one. Her heart leapt to her throat as the man, who said his name was Peyton, walked over and reached out a hand for her to take. It was soaked in Edmund’s blood.

The sight shocked Cecily back to her senses. This big, dark man looming over her had slaughtered her lover with horrible violence, even though Edmund deserved it. She was not safe in his presence. She was not safe anywhere. And the other man, the priest, had ridden off. What if this Peyton fellow wanted privacy so that he could do what Edmund tried to do? Before, his dark eyes had been soft with pity, but now they were thunderous, hard as chips of ice.

He tore off his jacket and took hold of her. Cecily shrieked, and he let her go. ‘Wear this,’ he commanded. ‘It is bitterly cold, lass. Your lips are blue, and I don’t like the look of you.’

‘And I don’t like the look of you,’ she said.

He cursed and took her in a rough grip, and Cecily’s legs turned to water. The man held her up and stuffed her arms into his jacket as if she were a rag doll. When he did up the buttons, his knuckles brushed her bare flesh where Edmund had torn her dress, making her die of shame.

‘Do not put your disgusting, filthy hands on me,’ she cried.

‘Better my filthy hands than dying of cold, lass,’ he muttered, refusing to meet her eye.

Was he being kind? No, she could not trust him, for he kept stealing glances at her in a predatory way. What if all men were like Edmund? She had been protected at home and shut off from the world, but now that she had seen what men could do, she would never trust any of them again. And she had told this Peyton fellow about Fallstairs. She should not have done that. And by God, he had a glower on him, like a vicious animal.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ said Cecily.

‘Like what?’

‘As if you hate me.’

‘I don’t hate you. It’s just that your little lover’s tryst has caused me a good deal of trouble this day. And where is my reward for my good deed, for risking my life - a great deal of shrieking, that’s what?’

‘Tryst! So, you think I am a slattern who deserved what I got.’

‘I don’t rightly know what you are, lass.’

‘I’ll not let you use me ill,’ she spat.

‘I don’t want to use you at all. I curse fate that I ever met you.’ He sighed and bit his lip. ‘Now, it is colder than a witch’s teet out…erm…I mean, it is freezing my bones standing here. We must go.’

‘Go where?’

‘Wherever I want,’ said the man, taking her in a firm grip and dragging her to his horse. He took out a length of rope from his pack and dragged her to a tree. He began to tie her to it.

‘No. You cannot,’ she cried.

‘Be still,’ he said, and within moments, she was trussed up, unable to run and, once again, at a man’s mercy.

‘What are you going to do?’ she whimpered.

‘I have to hide that one over there, and I’ll not have you run off screaming murder the first chance you get. So you will stay put.’

‘Where are you taking him?’

‘Why? Do you want to kiss him goodbye?’ he snarled.

They locked eyes. His eyes were a fierce dark brown. His brow was swollen, his lip was split, and there was what looked like dry blood up his nose. He looked like he had been in a nasty fight, and not with Edmund. The man frowned down at her, and with his black hair and thick beard, he looked like the Devil himself. It was best she not anger him further. Cecily lowered her eyes first.

‘I’ll come back presently,’ he said quietly, then he reached out, brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, and tucked it behind her ear. She flinched at his touch, and he cursed and went over the Edmund’s body. When he grabbed him by the ankles, Cecily turned away and took a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself. What would Rowenna do? She was strong and clever. She would never have allowed herself to be tied up like an animal. But then, her sister would never have trusted Edmund just because he was handsome and charming. She would never have gone to meet him out on Crichton Moor. She would never have abandoned her family.

‘Your lovely head cannot be that empty,’ Edmund had said, and he was right. She was a vain, selfish fool, and now her life was ruined. Tears came, hot with shame and self-loathing. They cooled to ice as they ran down her cheeks.

After some time, the man came back and stared at her grimly. ‘God save us. Not this crying again,’ he muttered as his eyes roamed over her slowly, and Cecily’s heart thudded into her ribs. Oh God, was she to face a worse fate than Edmund?

The man loomed close. ‘Be quiet, do exactly as I say, and you’ll not suffer any more than you need to this day,’ he said with a snarl. He untied the ropes, dragged Cecily to his horse and bid her mount up. But fear had robbed her legs of their strength, so he took hold of her waist and hoisted her up, flinging himself into the saddle behind her. The man took hold of the reins with broad, rough hands. There was dirt under his fingernails. Edmund had always had such clean hands.

With a click of his tongue, they set off. Cecily was silent for some time as they rode along a rough path into the wind. Her cheek throbbed where Edmund had lashed her face. She was glad of the jacket the man had given her, for her teeth were chattering. And though his belly pressed to her back made her want to squirm away from him, it did warm her a little. The man didn’t seem to want to talk. Perhaps he was plotting what to do with her. Would he slit her throat and haul her by the ankles into the bushes to moulder away like Edmund? She had to get on his good side and calm his anger.

He slowed his horse as they reached some woodland, so she took her chance. ‘So, who are you?’ she said.

‘I told you. My name is Peyton,’ he replied. Cecily started at his voice after the silence. It was so low and rough, like hooves on stones. ‘And you are Cecily MacCreadie. Do I have that right?’ he continued.

‘No. I’m not a MacCreadie.’

‘Don’t lie,’ he scoffed. ‘You said you came from Fallstairs. You are not dressed like a servant, so you must be one of old MacCreadie’s daughters. He has two and keeps them close, as I understand it.’

‘You can believe what you like.’

‘Aye. I will. So tell me, Cecily MacCreadie, why was an Englishman riding about the moors all alone, seducing a laird’s daughter? It is dangerous for his kind out here.’

Fear choked her, but she swallowed it. ‘Edmund is...was...a merchant’s son. His father sent him north from Cumbria to manage his interests.’

‘Trade. Is that what your lover told you?’

She turned to look at him. ‘He was not my lover. We were betrothed. We were going to be married, he said.’

‘Sorry to ruin your girlish dreams, but I doubt he intended to marry you.’

‘I know that now. Edmund lied and said he loved me, in all earnestness.’

‘And you believed him? Ah, why wouldn’t you, him looking like he did. That lout had a handsome face to suck in the unwary. I am sure you were not the first, nor would you have been the last.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘Why does a cat play with a mouse? Because it has a cruel nature and because it can. That Edmund lied to get what all men want from a bonnie lass.’

‘And what is that?’

He frowned down at her. ‘Do you not know?’

‘To…to see me without my clothes on?’ she said, searching for answers in his face.

He raised his eyebrows, and a mocking smile twisted his mouth. ‘Lass, are you in earnest? I mean, there is innocence, and then there is ignorance.’

‘I don’t understand anything you are saying or any of this,’ said Cecily.

Peyton was unsettled by Cecily MacCreadie’s wide-eyed stare, and her voice was wobbling.

God forbid he should cause her to assault his ears with her crying again.

Was she playing a game with him, leading him by the nose like Lorna? Irritation boiled in his gut - at the way his day had turned, the strife he must now face riding into Fellscarp with her, and by the way Cecily MacCreadie’s shapely bottom was rubbing him the wrong way as the horse jolted along the track.

Most of all, he was irritated by the loveliness of her eyes.

There was absolutely no guile in them.

They were a delightful marriage of green and blue, the irises flecked with gold. And she had the thickest, longest lashes of any woman he had ever encountered. Not that he had got close to that many.

She was probably bonnie underneath the blood and mud on her face.

Her mouth was near his, and she was soft under his hands.

Desire stirred in Peyton.

It had been a good while since he had lain with a woman, ever since he had set his sights on Lorna, in fact.

And now he had a surfeit of lust mingled with anger boiling in his veins.

He looked out at the pale sky in the distance.

‘Turn around,’ he said, his tongue catching in his throat.

He tightened his hold, and her body went rigid under his hands.

‘We’ll have no more talking. We must make haste as a snowstorm is rolling in, and we do not want to get caught in it.’