He kissed her deeply, so deeply that she felt as if she were falling away into an abyss with nothing surrounding her but the warmth of his body, the pressure of his soft lips, the strength of his hands and arms that held her. She could feel his desire in the hard ridge that he pressed against her, could feel his esteem for her in the way he laid his hands so tenderly on her skin.
Her tears stopped flowing and she began her own search of him, her hands running up his arms, down his back, around the trim waist, and up the hard plane of his chest. Her body felt on fire, and she wanted nothing more than to pull the seams of her gown apart so that his breath might cool her skin.
But a sound in the distance, the steady rise of voices nearing them, filtered into her consciousness. Payton’s, too, apparently, for he gripped her arms tightly and slowly pushed her away from him.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered and quickly kissed her again, nipping at her lip, and then, breathing quick and hard, he stepped away from her and looked at her with a depth of emotion that made her shiver. It was devotion in those gray eyes—and at the very least, a raging desire that stoked her own.
Payton touched her cheek once more, then turned and strode forward to greet the men who had come around to see what had happened.
Twenty-two
N eacel Douglas was, understandably, horrified by what had happened by the stables on the occasion of his wedding and handled the matter expeditiously. Jamie and his companions were hauled off to the nearest constable, and from there, Jamie was to be taken to a gaol at Fort William, where his fate would be determined by a judge whose surname happened to be Douglas.
In the aftermath, Payton wasn’t entirely certain what had become of Mared, but when their hosts had come rushing to the stables to see after them, she had retrieved her arisaidh from the ground and wrapped it around her and was surrounded by his aunt Catrine and cousin Edme, Neacel’s sister, who had hurried Mared away with their arms securely around her.
He assumed they had taken her to her chamber and that she was, at the very least, physically well—but he could not vouch for her emotional state.
His thoughts quickly turned fearful—fear that she regretted her passionate, soul-searing kiss, fear that he had laid his heart bare again, and would, therefore, feel its demise once again.
When Charlie brought him the polished shoes, he feigned ignorance and asked after his household staff. “All is well with us, aye?”
“Aye, laird,” Charlie said, his young face glowing. “We’ve been right entertained, we have. Alan participated in the caber toss.”
That surprised and pleased Payton. “Oh? How did he fare?”
“Dead last, milord,” Charlie said with a laugh. “But the lad was game about it and gave it his best toss for Eilean Ros.”
“I must thank him,” Payton said, smiling. “And the women?” he asked, turning slightly. “How do they do?”
For some reason, Charlie laughed a little. “Quite well, laird, quite well indeed. Aye, they are a bonny pair—there was a bit of a queue to dance with them last evening.”
That only gave him a stab of unexpected jealousy.
“If there is naugh’ else, milord…”
“No,” Payton said, smiling thinly. “Go, then, and enjoy the wedding. I’ll no’ have need of any of ye on the morrow. Ye are free to join in the festivities.”
Charlie’s face brightened considerably. “Thank ye, laird! I shall give word to the others.”
Payton waited until Charlie had quit the room before he dragged both hands through his hair and, like a green lad, wondered how he might endure the night without her. He needed her. And he’d let his damn hopes wing free again.
But he was a grown man and he managed. He dressed for the evening and muddled his way through a rather raucous supper, where tall tales of hunting were told. After supper, the women took the bride up to her chambers to perform the traditional foot washing and to play the bridal games that were likewise traditional on the eve of a wedding. The men departed with Neacel to parade him about the village with a lot of fanfare and noisemaking and then drink as much ale as they could collectively consume.
When they returned to the castle, it was well past midnight, and they were well into their cups. Most of the women had retired, but there were still a few hearty souls up and about. Payton’s Aunt Catrine made her way to his side with a young woman in tow.
“Ye willna recall yer distant cousin Dora,” she said as she introduced them.
She was the third unmarried woman Catrine had brought around to him since his arrival, but Payton was a seasoned veteran of matchmaking attempts, and he smiled, came to his feet, and bent over Dora’s hand.
“Dora is me husband’s nephew’s daughter,” Catrine explained. “Ye met her when she was a wee lass.”
“I canna believe so, Aunt, for I would no’ have forgotten such a bonny lass,” he said gallantly, and the young woman blushed.
Catrine smiled happily, put her hand on the small of the bashful Dora’s back, and gave her a nudge toward Payton.