“No’ that sort of neighbor,” he quickly added. “I’ll be but a moment,” he said, and strode out of the room before Beckwith.
Walking down the corridor, he could hear the voices of the Lockharts over that of the footman who was showing them to the small receiving salon just off the main entry. As Payton entered the room, Grif was standing at the hearth, wearing a dark brown suit that Payton admired, one leg crossed casually over the other, his hands in his pockets. Of the brothers, Grif was decidedly the handsome one, always dressed to perfection. And there was Liam, wearing a kilt, naturally, a proud Highlander who refused to succumb to modernity.
Then there was Mared.
She was standing at the back of the room next to the heavy velvet drapes, wearing a plain gown with a sash tied just beneath her breasts, a rich emerald color that caught the color of her eyes and made her confoundingly pretty—ink black hair, beautiful rosy skin, eyes as green as moss… Ah, but that was the problem with Mared—she was as pretty as she was insufferable.
“Payton Douglas!” Liam boomed cheerfully, walking forward, his hand extended. “Ye’ll forgive us for interrupting, will ye no’? We’d no’ come at all if we could help it, truly.”
Payton could certainly believe that was true. “Captain,” he said cautiously, shaking his hand, then looked at Grif. “Grif, ye look well.”
“Thank ye, sir. Of course, ye noted our sister, aye?” Grif asked with a charming smile and a nod toward the back of the room.
Noted her? The woman haunted his bloody dreams. “Miss Lockhart,” he said simply, and recalled, with not a wee bit of perturbation, the last time he had seen Mared Lockhart. It was on the occasion he had gone to complain to her father that she and her bloody dogs had penned his sheep again. As he had departed that astoundingly unsuccessful meeting, Mared had opened a narrow slip of a window high above him at Talla Dileas, leaned so far out that he feared she would fall, and called a jaunty “Good day!” to him, her lilting laughter taunting him. His eyes narrowed at the memory.
“Laird Douglas!” she said stiffly, and instantly received a bit of a frown from Grif for it.
“To what, then, do I owe—”
“Ach, Douglas,” Liam said, sighing. “Ye canna begin to understand our troubles. We’ve come to speak about a wee but urgent problem—”
“Urgent?”
“Oh, aye, very urgent indeed,” Liam said, nodding gravely.
He was instantly suspicious. “What is it, then? Has one of yer coos escaped her fence?”
Liam laughed; Grif smiled and said, “’Tis much more urgent than that… is it no’, Mared?”
“Aye,” she said, and added a very reluctant sigh. “Much more.”
Now, Payton couldn’t help noticing, Liam was frowning at her.
Mared frowned right back, but took one long step away from the drapes and fixed her gaze on Payton. “It seems that ye are the only one who can help us, Payton Douglas.”
All right, then, now he was extremely suspicious. Mared was the last person on earth who would ask for his help. “If this is some sort of trick—”
“Trick?” Liam scoffed, and clasped two huge hands over his heart. “Ye wound me, Douglas!”
“Aye, and I shall wound ye with me bare hands if this is trickery. A Lockhart would no’ seek the help of a Douglas unless there was some tomfoolery—”
“Have I ever done ye harm?” Liam demanded. “Or me brother?”
“I canna say that ye have,” he said honestly, but looked pointedly at their demon sister, who at least had the decency to blush. “All right, then—what is this trouble?” he asked impatiently.
Mared sighed again. Lowered her gaze for a moment, then raised it to the ceiling. “Laird Douglas, how gracious ye are to receive us.”
“Gracious?” he echoed in disbelief.
“Oh, aye, ye are indeed,” she said, walking forward. “’Tis true what they say—ye are a gentleman.”
And it was true that she was the spawn of the diabhal. Payton folded his arms across his chest, narrowed his gaze on Mared as she glided so prettily toward him. It was so unlike her that he was quite tempted to laugh.
“The fact is,” she said in a husky voice as she came to stand before him, “we find ourselves in a wee bit of a quandary. There is something in London that rightfully belongs to us, and if we donna fetch it soon, we could very well lose our land. Ye know quite well that would kill me lord father,” she said, looking up at him through dark lashes with her dark green eyes.
For a brief moment, Payton was lost in those eyes… until her words began to sink into his consciousness. He was hardly surprised to hear they were on the verge of losing their land. Carson Lockhart was a good man, but his way of thinking was firmly rooted in the last century. Payton had made overtures countless times to the old codger, but each time he did, Carson had rebuffed him and vowed to raise cattle until there wasn’t a breath left in his body.