The slight admonishment made Payton bristle. “I intend to disabuse my guests of their fears promptly, if ye will grant me but a moment. First, I must speak with Mared.”
“She’s gone out,” Lady Lockhart said angrily, “Away from them.”
“A moment,” Payton said to Liam. “Give me that.” He did not wait for an answer but strode to the door, not breaking stride as a footman hurried to open it for him, and strode through, into the night.
He instinctively knew where to find her, and just as he suspected, she was standing on the edge of the loch, just below the drive, staring out at the water made silver by a big Scottish moon. His dog Cailean was by her side, as if he kept watch over her.
“Mared.”
In the bright light of the full moon, he could see her smile as she turned and his dog loped toward him. That was one of the things he truly admired about her—she always smiled, no matter what the circumstance, no matter how or where that brutal curse might taunt her.
“Ah,” she said, nodding to his dog. “A true Douglas, the feckless hound.”
“Mared,” Payton said gruffly, ignoring Cailean. “The balustrade had nothing to do with ye. It was old and rotted and I should have seen it repaired long ago. I was foolish to have leaned against it.”
She clucked at him. “Of course it had nothing to do with me, sir! I didna push ye.” She laughed thinly at the notion but turned away from him, toward the loch again. “Perhaps for a moment ye believed that I had?”
“No.” He paused, shoved a hand through his hair, at a loss as to what to say. “Mared, leannan…I know they fear ye—”
“Honestly, laird, have ye come to speak to me of that silly curse?” she asked breezily, quickly cutting him off. “For if ye have, I’ve made a vow to myself that I willna waste a moment of my life on superstition and sorcery. There’s really no’ a lot to be gained from it.”
“That’s good,” he said, nodding thoughtfully as he moved toward her. “But I would put to rest any doubts about that bloody curse this very night.”
Mared snorted and glanced at him over her shoulder. “And how do ye think to do that, then? How will ye change what people of the lochs have believed for nigh on three centuries now?”
“By formally announcing our engagement.”
She made a cry of alarm and suddenly whirled around. “Ye wouldna do so!”
“I would, indeed! We are to be married, and I see no time like the present to put this absurdity behind us once and for all! All of it. The curse, the loan—”
“Criosd!” she suddenly cried to the heavens. “Why do ye persecute me? Why do ye insist on this? I donna want to marry ye, Payton Douglas! I canna say it any plainer than that! I donna want anything to do with ye at all!”
He struggled to keep his anger in check, clenching his fists at his side. “Ye are fearful of the curse, Mared,” he said low. “I know ye are. I see it in yer eyes and in the tremble of yer hand.”
“Ye know nothing!” she spat at him. “God in heaven, why will ye no’ see how compatible in mien and spirit ye are with Beitris Crowley and offer for her?”
“Because I donna care for Beitris Crowley, and well ye know it!” he said sharply. He forced himself to take a breath. “And I believe ye are more fearful of that curse than anyone at Eilean Ros tonight—”
She groaned with exasperation and covered her face with her hands.
Payton caught her by the elbow and made her look at him. “Ye fear that one of us will die before the betrothal date, but it willna happen, aye? I give ye my vow I will no’ allow anything to happen to ye, no’ now. Never, Mared.”
With a groan, she shook her head and looked to the loch. “Heaven help me, ye truly donna understand!”
“But I do,” he said, and slid his hand down her arm to her hand, and brought it to his mouth to kiss her bare knuckles. “Ye have my word I will protect ye with all that I have, lass. I will always keep ye well.”
For a moment, the briefest of moments, Payton thought he saw the glisten of tears in her green eyes, but Mared abruptly jerked her hand free of his. “Ye will keep me well, is that it?” she repeated venomously. “Do ye truly believe it is the curse that holds me back?”
“Aye,” he answered honestly.
“Ach, ye are a simpleton!” she cried, dismissively flicking her hand at him. “I donna want to be a Douglas! I’d rather die by the bloody curse than be a Douglas! I’ve told ye that I’ve no regard for ye or yer kin, yet ye keep on!”
His frustration was mounting, he put his hands at his waist and lowered his head, glaring at her. “Old feuds have nothing to do with us now—”
“They have everything to do with us now!” she cried, and suddenly held out her fist. “Take this. I donna want it!” She opened her fist—the luckenbooth was in her palm, blinking up at him.