“That would be the kindest thing I might do! Be gone with ye now, Jamie!”
“Ach, Mared…surely ye know by now I donna fear a’ diabhal, and I donna fear ye. Stop resisting, lass! Stop, now! I mean only to kiss ye!”
Payton abruptly strode through the open door. Jamie had Mared penned against the wall, one hand on the side of her slender neck. Mared’s hands were between them; she was struggling to push him away.
Payton grabbed Jamie by the collar before the man saw him and shoved him up against the wall. Jamie stumbled, then quickly straightened, and glanced guiltily at Mared, then at Payton. “Beg yer pardon, milord. Miss Lockhart and I were just having a wee spot of fun.”
Payton looked at Mared; she was staring at her feet, her hands clasped so tightly before her that her knuckles were white, her chest rising with her breath. But it was the red mark on the side of her neck that caused Payton’s pulse to spike.
He shifted a cold gaze to Jamie. “Gather yer belongings,” he said quietly. “Ye have a quarter of an hour to collect them and be gone from Eilean Ros.”
The color bled from Jamie’s face. “Beg yer pardon, milord—be gone?” He laughed nervously. “Milord, it was just a bit of fun, aye? Tell him, Miss Lockhart. Tell him it was a wee bit of fun!”
“Shut yer bloody gob,” Payton said sharply. “Go on with ye now—gather yer things and get out!”
“Milord, please donna do this,” Jamie begged. “I’ve been in yer employ for eight years. Where shall I go?”
“I shouldna care if ye go to hell, McGrudy. But ye will leave this estate at once and never set foot on it again, and if ye donna go now, I shall cart yer dead carcass out myself.”
The man looked wild with shock, his eyes darting to Mared, then Payton, then to Mared again. But as the realization that he was dismissed set in, something ugly passed over his face and he suddenly laughed. “Aye, I see what it is,” he said coldly. “Ye will protect yer whore and send away yer best footman.”
Mared gasped, but Jamie was already moving. He shoved past the dining furniture, knocking into one chair in his haste to quit the room. As he passed Payton, he paused. “Eight years of me life, and this is the gratitude ye show me?” He spat at Payton’s feet.
Payton stoically watched him until he had disappeared in the corridor, then turned around to Mared.
She was standing against the wall, her eyes wide with consternation, her arms folded tightly across her. She withered beneath his scrutiny and drew her lower lip between her teeth as pink patches of shame rose on her cheeks.
Payton strode to her, laid his palm gently against her cheek and brushed her lip with his thumb. “Are ye harmed?”
“No, no. I’m quite all right,” she assured him and glanced up through her lashes, smiling tremulously. “But ye might have allowed the curse to take him.”
He said nothing, but carefully moved her head to one side to have a look at the mark on her neck. It was a small bruise, one that would fade quickly, but it hardly mattered—it made his blood boil with anger, and he thought that if Jamie had the misfortune to still be standing here, he might have killed him with a single mark such as this to the man’s throat.
He moved to touch the bruise, but Mared quickly lifted her hand and covered it. He put his hand to hers, intent on moving it to have a better look, but she leaned away from him. “’Tis trifling,” she said, and slipped to one side, out of his reach, and moved to the dining table.
“Mared…I’m sorry, lass,” he said genuinely and marveled at the burden she bore under the mantel of that curse. “There is much ignorance in this world.”
“Ach, ye need no’ apologize!” She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled weakly. “I am quite accustomed to it. The disdain, I mean to say. Yet others are no’ usually so bold in their disdain as he.” She turned back to the table. “I’m really quite all right.”
He could only guess how it was to spend her entire life under the veil of that miserable curse; to have every aspect of her life touched by it. But Mared resumed clearing the table, and the sound of laughter from the green salon reminded Payton of his duties as host. “If ye will excuse me, then.” He wanted to say more to her. He wanted to tell her that were she his, she’d never fear that curse again. But he’d said it all before, and more. So Payton walked out of the dining room, his fist clenched with rage.
He did not see Mared again that night, for another argument had erupted among the Glaswegians, and it took the combined efforts of him and the footmen that remained to see them to their carriages for the ride home.