Page 20 of Won By The Highlander

Wolfric went to a cold bed and spent a night denied sleep. He stared at the ceiling in his bare chamber until darkness melted to soft dawn light.

He was to wed this day. Once he did this thing, he would have another soul to look after, someone who would rely on him. And Orla would need to, for Blackreach was no soft place for a woman, and his bed no fitting place for a well-brought up young lass. Tomorrow she would be in this very same bed, and his body would be joined with hers, one flesh, one life, but not one soul. No, she could never be that, for his heart was closed to love. That was a fool’s errand for the weak and needy. The best he and Orla Gordon could hope for as man and wife was not to murder each other in their sleep. Wolfric smiled into the darkness. Aye, the lass was indeed capable of that, judging by the way she had looked at him.

Could he do it, have a woman who hated him, insert himself into her resentful body? A husband had a right to demand obedience from a wife. Her place was to run his household, bear his children and serve him, was it not? So why did he feel he would have to have a stiff drink before coupling with Orla Gordon? And why did the thought excite him as much as it stirred guilt and a little loathing?

Wolfric conjured her face. He had noticed a beauty spot just above her top lip. Women affected such things as adornment, but he had the feeling Orla Gordon would scoff at such vanity.His cock became hot and taut just picturing it.

Whatever kind of woman she was, one thing was certain. Orla could raise his lust without even trying.Wolfric fell asleep imagining waves of flaxen hair falling against his face, his hands and mouth lost in peaks and valleys of creamy flesh, his waist enclosed by long, firm legs. Wolfric leapt out of bed, eager to return to Machrief and claim his bride.

Chapter Nine

There had been no time for manoeuvring. It had all been decided, and now here she was on her wedding day, waiting for a suitor that nobody wanted, least of all her. All Orla’s protestations had been in vain, and she had been left in no doubt that, should she not go through with the marriage, there would be dire consequences for her father, her Clan and their reputation.

‘Many people will suffer if you are selfish, Orla,’ her mother had said.

‘They will skin me alive if I don’t honour my word,’ said her father. ‘The matter is settled, so you must submit in every way. Curb that scold’s tongue of yours, and then one can only hope that he’ll not beat you too readily.’

Even her cousin, Bryce, had been useless. ‘If you run away, where will you go? They will find you if you come to me, and if you go anywhere else, what will you live on?’ he’d said.

Though at least he had the good grace to console her. ‘Tis no easy thing to contemplate wedlock to a Munro, but I am sure you will prevail. If anyone can survive Wolfric Munro, it is you, cousin. You’ve always had plenty of belligerence.’

Her mother had decided to pay lip service to making her into a desirable bride. ‘That Munro wretch has won your hand. But, as you will have to stare at his smug countenance for the rest of your life, I suppose you should try to be charming,’ sighed her mother. ‘You must tolerate him, and your offspring will be your consolation, even though they will be mongrels like their father.’

‘Offspring!’ squealed Orla.

‘Aye, and if you share his bed, they will come, and then he will leave you be and find consolation elsewhere. We must put our best foot forward.’

‘And how do you suppose I shall do that?’ said Orla, slipping gingerly into the brass bath full of lukewarm water that made her shiver.

‘Well, having a wash is a good start. You still have mud in your hair from that infernal race. Sykes, more hot water!’ bellowed her mother.

The middle-aged, slovenly servant dawdled in with her usual surly countenance. She scratched at her head and mumbled a curse under her breath.

‘We need to scent this bath,’ continued Ada Gordon. ‘Fetch perfume too.’

‘Perfume!’ Sykes’ slack mouth gaped like a trout’s. ‘Where shall I get perfume from Mistress? ‘Tis awful expensive.’

‘Aye, you are right. That Munro hound does not deserve it. Just pluck some lavender and rose petals from the gardens, Sykes. Make do and make haste. That black devil sent word he will be here by midday, and we haven’t much time to make Orla presentable. Not that we should bother on his account. To think that ruffian will soon have his hands on my flesh and blood, and he is a Munro too.’

‘Why do you hate them so?’ said Orla.

‘Never you mind. Old wounds should not be prodded,’ said her mother scrubbing her scalp hard, digging in her nails.

‘Ow,’ squeaked Orla.

‘Stop complaining, or I will make Sykes do it.’

‘It hurts.’

‘Everything in this life hurts, child, and wedlock most of all, so there is no point in railing against it. Make the best of a bad lot. That is what I have done.’

Suddenly, Orla was overcome with a desire for her mother to comfort her, something she had not needed since she was a wee bairn. ‘You will come and visit, won’t you?’ she said.

‘Oh, you may visit us if you like and if your husband allows it, but we will never set foot on Munro land. Oh no. And you are not to bring that Wolfric wretch to Machrief, for the doors will be barred to him after what he has done.’

‘In all honesty, what has he done, save win the race?’

‘Through trickery and underhanded means, aye,’ said her mother, scrubbing harder and side-stepping her own trickery, along with any responsibility for the mess they were in. ‘He is a blackguard, like all his kin, and I will never see him again.’

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