“Oh no,” she moaned heavenward.
He made a sound of disgruntlement, but dropped his hand from her elbow when they reached the balustrade where guests at Eilean Ros stood to view the expansive gardens lit by rush lights below. “Ye’ve made it all so very difficult,” he snapped. “Why ye will no’ accept what is—were I a Lockhart, I’d no’ stand for yer impertinence,” he said as he reached into his pocket.
“Were ye a Lockhart, there’d be no need for this discourse at all.”
He frowned darkly at her and pulled something from his pocket. “I had this small token of my esteem made so that ye might come to understand that I intend to honor ye, Mared,” he said, and holding out his hand, he opened his fingers.
The gift—an expensive, thoughtful gift—knocked her back on her heels. Mared put her hand to her throat as she stared down at the luckenbooth. It was shaped like a thistle, cast in gold and studded with emeralds around a diamond, the Lockhart colors. Along the bottom it was inscribed with the Lockhart motto, True and Loyal. It was exquisite, intricately carved.
She’d never owned anything like it and was touched by his thoughtfulness, yet angered by his extravagance, too, and wondered how long a valuable piece of jewelry such as this would feed her entire family.
“I’d no’ take ye from the Lockharts,” Payton said gruffly. “I mean ye to stay close to yer family’s hearth. I quite clearly understand that while ye may be Douglas in name, ye’ll always be a Lockhart at heart.”
“Oh,” she murmured and lifted her gaze, saw a glimmer of affection in his eyes that made her heart tilt a little. She looked at the luckenbooth again.
“Take it, lass,” he said, his voice noticeably softened.
Mared wanted to take it; she wanted to hold it in her hand, to feel the weight of it and the warmth of his sentiment, but somehow, taking it seemed almost traitorous.
As if he understood her reluctance, Payton clucked and put his hand beneath her elbow as she stepped back. He pulled her closer, so that they were almost touching, so that she could feel the strength of his body all around her. “Donna deny me this,” he said quietly. “I’ve no use for a Lockhart luckenbooth if ye willna have it.” He reached up and casually slipped two fingers into the bodice of her gown.
His fingers skimmed her breast, instantly warming her flesh—Mared bit her lip to keep the little mewl of titillation from escaping her. She looked up at him as he pulled the cloth of her gown from her skin and smoothly pinned the luckenbooth so that it rested just over her heart. His hand lingered there with his gaze for a moment as he admired it before looking into her eyes.
His gaze was smoldering, as if something was burning beneath the surface of him, and it vaguely occurred to her that perhaps he felt what she did—a burning. Flames melting her from the inside out.
But Payton pulled his hand free of her bodice, then slid his other hand down her arm, wrapping his fingers around her wrist. He bowed his head and gently pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth.
Frozen, Mared stood with her gaze locked on his neckcloth, at a loss as to how she might understand such a gentle kiss, alarmed by the fire he left singeing her lips.
He let go of her and stepped back, a gentlemanly distance. Mared touched the luckenbooth he had pinned to her breast as she watched him lean against the balustrade, his arms folded…
And then he was falling backward as the balustrade abruptly gave way.
Mared shrieked and reached out to him, but Payton had lost his footing and disappeared, along with the stone railing.
Her shriek brought people running. “Get back, get back!” a man shouted; someone grabbed her shoulders, roughly pulling her back. “Go there, to Ellie,” Liam said and pushed her toward his wife as he rushed forward to the end of the broken terrace, shouting at the other men to have a care.
Mared was pulled into the ballroom by someone, and her mother and Ellie miraculously appeared by her side.
“What’s happened, what’s happened?” Mother asked breathlessly as Ellie stood on tiptoes and craned her neck to see outside along with dozens of other ladies.
Mared’s hands were shaking so badly she had to grip them together; she imagined Payton lying on the flagstones below, his neck broken. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands into her abdomen to keep her fear from bubbling up. “I donna know, I swear it,” she said through gulps of air. “He…he leaned against the balustrade, and it gave way. I tried to reach him, but he—” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say that he fell, that she had killed him with her curse.
Her mother put a comforting arm around her. “There now, mo ghraidh. It was an accident.”
“There he is—he’s quite all right!” Ellie cried, the relief apparent in her voice. I can see him standing just there, on the terrace.”