Page 25 of Won By The Highlander

‘Let us pass,’ said Wolfric evenly, but his voice held an edge.

‘Not before you state your business, Scot. Why are you out alone with a young lass? Is she with you willingly?’

‘As if your kind would care,’ sneered Wolfric.

‘My kind, is it? We have a right to patrol these lands and quash lawlessness when we find it.’

‘No, you do not. You are on Clan Munro lands. We just crossed the border. That means we are under the stewardship of Laird Rufus Munro.’

‘That’s as maybe. But he isn’t here, is he?’ said another redcoat, riding forward. His front teeth were missing, and his face held a ferret-like cunning. ‘I say again. What are you about with this lass?’

Wolfric’s hand slid to the hilt of his sword.

‘It is our wedding day,’ said Orla quickly. Wolfric glared at her, making her squirm.

‘There, you have your answer,’ said Wolfric. ‘Get out of our way.’

The redcoats did not move.

‘The lass doesn’t look too happy about it. Will you look at that miserable face, lads?’ said the toothless one.

The other brute eyed them insolently. ‘Perhaps she is dreading the wedding night. I am sure you filthy Scots rut like beasts, all grope and rush when it comes to making love.’

Wolfric’s grip tightened on his sword, and Orla reached down and slipped out her knife, hiding it in the folds of her skirts.

The toothless fellow eyed Wolfric and said, ‘We must not keep the man from his wedding night.’

‘Though he’s probably had his whore already,’ said the burly soldier. ‘These Scots have low morals. If you try very hard, good fellow, you may manage to put a smile on her face by nightfall.’

Wolfric drew his sword, and the youngest soldier blanched, his chin bobbing as though he might cry.

‘Come now,’ said the gap-toothed soldier. ‘We seek some sport with you, is all. There was no offence intended to the lady.’

‘Of course, there was,’ said Wolfric with menace. ‘Now you are on Laird Munro’s land, and he holds sway here. So I suggest you move your pox-ridden arses off it before I am forced to do violence. Your fat English king has no influence here.’

‘Now look here…’ began the burly man.

‘Hear me,’ growled Wolfric. ‘You have had your sport at our expense, but it will be hard to laugh with an open throat.’

‘We should go,’ whimpered the youngest soldier.

The toothless man spat and then turned his horse aside to let them pass. The others followed suit. As Orla and Wolfric passed, she heard one of them mutter. ‘Soon, you will get what’s coming to you, filthy Scots bastard.’

The three redcoats rode away when Wolfric favoured them with another steely glare. Orla could almost feel the waves of rage coming off him, yet her irritation compelled her to speak.

‘You should not have antagonised them.’

‘Would you have preferred me to cower like a dog?’ He fumed silently and then said, ‘You should not have said it was our wedding day. The less the English know about us, the better.’

‘I thought you were going to do violence. That is why I spoke, and why lie about it anyway?’

‘Because it gave them cause to insult you, lass. They call their occupation of our land a ‘union’, but it is no more a union than our marriage. So never mistake the English for friends, show weakness, or expect them to follow the rules of their occupation. Many redcoats are conscripts, little better than common criminals - thieves, rapists, murderers. They pollute Scotland and keep its rightful king from his land. They empty the gaols to fill their ranks, you know.’

Wolfric’s fury was scorching, and it shocked her into silence. His jaw worked, and he narrowed his eyes at her. ‘Orla. If you heed nothing else I say, heed that. Now, we ride hard for Blackreach. Come.’

He kicked his horse brutally in its flanks, and it took off at a gallop, and all Orla could do was follow with a thumping heart. She had glimpsed the dark heart of Wolfric’s temperament, and it was very bleak indeed.

Chapter Eleven

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