He hadn’t noticed she’d taken it from her breast until this moment and felt angry disappointment roil in his belly. “What do ye mean by this?” he asked sharply. “That is a betrothal gift!”
“But I donna want to be betrothed to ye!” she cried. “Ye force it on me as easily as ye forced the demise of my family!”
“What—”
“Donna pretend to be thickheaded! Ye brought sheep into these lochs, and now we struggle to keep our cattle. Ye forced the change in our fortune with yer selfish ways, and now ye would force a change to my future with yer selfish ways! I donna want to marry ye, Douglas!” she cried, flinging the luckenbooth. It hit him on the chest and fell to his feet, somewhere in the mud between a litter of rocks.
“I never wanted to marry ye!” she said vehemently. “I can scarcely bear yer presence! I donna esteem ye, I donna love ye, and I will never love ye, aye! Do ye hear me? I will never love ye! And if ye had a decent bone in yer body, ye’d cry off and release me from this damn betrothal I didna seek or want!” she sobbed. With a gasp for air, she clasped her hands together and beseeched him, “Please, I beg of ye, milord—donna force this on me!”
She said it with such emotion that she swayed unsteadily, and Payton unthinkingly reached out to catch her, but she jerked out of his reach. “I beg ye.”
Rage and disappointment exploded in him, nearly blinding him with the force and conviction of it. He suddenly felt battered and raw and clenched his jaw tightly shut. In his fury, he could see her gather her arisaidh tightly about her, as if she feared him.
He rather feared himself and clenched and unclenched his fists to keep rein on the wave of rage that was crashing through him. He had adored her, had done everything in his power to show her that he did, had endured her disdain and her silly attempts to match him with Miss Crowley. He had shown her every courtesy, had given her every allowance, had courted her and treated her like a queen…but in this moment, he thought he hated her. For the first time in his life, he thought he hated this woman and frankly wanted never to see her again.
He glanced down, his mind racing, then looked up, and abruptly caught her arm in a tight grip, yanking her forward to him, so that they were nose to nose.
“What are ye doing?” she cried, struggling to free herself.
Payton tightened his grip. “And how do ye propose to repay yer debt?” he snapped. “How will ye return three thousand pounds to me now?”
Mared blinked. The fire in her green eyes bled out, and confusion rose up. He shoved her away from him in disgust and pointed to the drive. “Go, then. Leave me and mine.”
“But—”
“No!” he roared at her. “Ye’ve spoken, Mared! Ye’ve been quite plain, ye’ve made yer choice, and now I shall make mine! I shall determine how yer debt will be repaid, and this time, ye will abide by the terms of our agreement or I’ll take this matter to a court of proper authority! Now go!”
She hesitated briefly, then ran past him as lithely as a cat, up the grassy hill to the drive, to the Lockhart coach, where Payton could see Liam waiting, his legs braced apart. Whatever she said, Liam hurried her into the old carriage, and Payton watched them drive away.
And yet he remained at the edge of the loch a quarter of an hour more, his chest heaving with each furious breath, his heart weighing heavy, until he had managed to calm himself sufficiently to return to the ceilidh he had so foolishly held in her honor.
Seven
M ared knew the moment Dudley informed her that she was wanted in the study that Payton had named his terms.
She’d been waiting for it with dreaded anticipation every moment of every day since that ignoble night she’d left Payton standing next to the loch, looking so furious and wounded all at once. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him—she did esteem him in her own strange way—but he had forced her with his betrothal gift and his plans to announce it to the entire region that very night. And she’d panicked….
Mared took one look at herself in the tarnished mirror above her dressing table, saw the dark smudges under her eyes, wrapped her arisaidh tightly around her, and made her way down to the family study.
On the main floor, as she and Dudley walked the long corridor to the study, Mared could hear the familiar voice of her father, and Grif’s raised above his. As she reached the door to the study, she could see the train of her mother’s gown, and clasping her arisaidh tightly in one hand, she lifted her chin and entered the room.
She could feel the force of his presence before she actually saw him standing at the hearth, still clad in a cloak, his legs braced apart, and his hands clasped behind his back. He was as tall as Liam, but today, he seemed somehow taller, towering over them all. His gaze was wintry cold.