Page 41 of Won By The Highlander

‘Oh, you are twisting words as usual, and I don’t want to, so that is an end to it.’

‘Aye, you do. And you will,’ he whispered.

Wolfric winked and took hold of Orla around the waist, nestling his head in her neck. Curse his eyes for smelling so good. Goosebumps shivered all over Orla’s skin. ‘Because it is your command?’ she sighed.

Wolfric bit gently at her neck. ‘Because you like it, Orla. Because the blood runs hot in your veins, you vixen. And if you would surrender a bit of pride, I can make your beautiful body sing under my hands.’

‘Get off, you arrogant hound,’ she cried, yet when he slipped his warm hand inside her bodice to cup her breast, she did not push him away. Would he even stop if she did? Was she compliant to avoid the humiliation of being forced? Not that he ever would. He was merely claiming his rights as her husband.

‘You have no rights over my body, Wolfric.’

‘The law says I do.’

‘The law can go hang.’

Her nipple tightened to an eager peak of sensation under his stroking thumb. His manhood lay hard and hopeful against her buttocks, slackening her resolve.

‘And marriage may make me live here with you in this miserable pile. It may force me to share your bed. But it cannot force me to like it or to ever want you.’

‘Tell me truly. Would you rather I found a mistress?’

The question took Orla off guard. ‘My father is a notorious womaniser, and I am damned if my husband will be too. You would do that, Wolfric – take another?’

‘I’d rather not, as I have gotten rather fond of lying with you, Orla. But if you want me to stay at home and not stray, then you have to offer me something.’

‘Very well, I will throw you a bone like the hound you are.’

‘Excellent.’ Wolfric went to the bed and lay back on it. ‘Come, wife. Hop on. My cock is as hard as a rock, and I need something to soften it.’ He winked, looking unbearably handsome and hard and vigorous and intensely annoying all at once. Well, two could play at his game. She could take her pleasure from him and keep him from her heart.

Orla sighed and climbed into bed, and Wolfric’s arms came about her, his mouth hot and searching. With a sigh of surrender, she gave herself up to a few hours of pleasure.

A long while later, she woke to find Sykes bustling about the chamber picking up clothes from the floor and tutting. ‘Tis unholy sin is this.’

‘What are you talking about? Where is my husband?’

‘Long gone, now he has taken what he wants. The servants here say that he is an animal who forces himself on you all day and night. God saves us.’

‘There is no forcing Sykes, so calm yourself.’

Sykes lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘They even say there is a bonnie, blonde lass in the kitchens who has a swollen belly because of him,’ she hissed, with a scandalised look on her pudgy face. An image of Elva and Wolfric slid into Orla’s mind like a serpent in the garden of Eden. Had she been a fool to start to trust Wolfric when all her instincts screamed not to?

Sykes tutted. ‘Did I not warn you about men and how they twist your heart with their kisses, caresses and sweet words? Have you been the classic fool and fallen for a scoundrel, Lady? Most men, they just like the chase, is all. Once they have caught you, they get bored. You would do well to remember that.’

And off she went, leaving Orla with the sinking feeling that she had just been used and abused, and worse still, she had thoroughly enjoyed it. Damn Wolfric Munro and his dark, liquid eyes, rugged body and seductive words. And damn her for a fool.

Chapter Fifteen

It had been folly to ride out and not tell anyone. Orla looked up at the high peaks behind her. The mist came out of nowhere and seemed to creep down from the mountains with almost supernatural speed. It turned the forest to a white murk, swallowing the trees and obliterating the path back to Blackreach. An eerie silence fell, and the bird calls became muted. Darkness would descend if she stayed out much longer, and then she would have to spend the night alone in a cold forest. Her brief attempt at rebellion was souring into folly all too quickly.

She had ridden out at midday while everyone had been busy trying to right a cart that had overturned in the yard. There was no one to miss her, for Wolfric was absent without telling anyone where he was going and for how long. Defiance had been like a pot boiling over in Orla’s belly these last two weeks, and it had everything to do with Wolfric’s frequent visits to her bed.

He was in the habit of barging into her chamber, day or night, and claiming his conjugal rights. A streak of weakness or wantonness prevented her from turning him away as often as she ought. But when she did rebuff his advances, Wolfric would simply curse and laugh at her and stalk off, not pressing his attentions, indifferent to her compliance or otherwise. She had only herself to blame if she succumbed to his kisses and caresses, all too easily, fool that she was.

Now she was lost, alone, and it was her own fault. Suddenly, there came a tinkling noise behind her, like a little laugh. Orla peered into the mist but could make nothing out, yet dread shivered down her spine. That was not a natural sound of the forest. It was eerie, out of place, unnerving. Was someone, or something, stalking her?

Orla urged Midnight onwards, desperately searching for the path back to Blackreach. Suddenly, a grouse broke cover right in front of them in a flurry of feathers sending Midnight rearing sideways. He lost his footing and slipped in the mud onto his haunches. When he scrambled to his feet and walked on, his gait was hesitant and lopsided.

Orla slid from the saddle, praying he had not broken anything. Her heart sank. Midnight was favouring his back left leg. Orla was about to lean down and inspect it when the tinkling came again, accompanied by a thudding sound. A red shape burst from the mist, sweeping down from the higher ground. Ola fumbled in her pocket for her musket and held it out on a shaking arm.

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