Page 84 of Won By The Highlander

‘Oh, we cannot visit with you, Orla,’ said her mother. ‘Not after those scurvy Munros stole our land.’

‘Aye, daughter. You would insist on marrying into that family, so on your head be it,’ added her father.

‘But you gave me away in that race,’ cried Orla. ‘It was all your idea, and I was given no choice.’

Her father had always been slippery with the truth and now seemed to have convinced himself of his own lie. ‘Nonsense, child,’ he replied. ‘You wanted to catch a husband, and so you did, but such a one as to shame us all. And the only comfort me and your poor mother could take was that you cuckolded the damned fool. Serves him right too, for stealing Wildwood Glen.’

Orla took a deep breath and tried to calm her temper. She regarded her parents wearily. Her mother, as usual, was constantly glancing at her father for approval. Her father had not changed either. He was, as ever, horribly pompous and totally selfish. How strange that their indifference could no longer wound her pride or pierce her heart’s soft, needy places. Maybe it was because that heart belonged to another now.

Her father coughed and shuffled his feet. ‘If your villain of a husband has cast you off, I don’t think it is fitting that you come back here to us. Try one of your sisters, and see if they will take you in. We can do without all this scandal, and to drag Robbie Dunn into this. How could you, Orla? His family are incensed. I tell you, lass, the stain on our reputation will take a long time to wash out.’

‘Oh, don’t concern yourself over my reputation, Father. It is as clean as yours,’ said Orla, meeting his eye.

Orla’s barb hit home, and Dunbar went red in the face and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

‘As to my villainous husband, I count myself the luckiest woman on earth that he won me in that race, for I am completely besotted with him. We are meant for each other, Wolfric and I, two villains together. And we get along famously. I am sure it heartens you to know I am vastly happy in my rathole.’ Orla’s face broke into a slow smile. ‘It is especially pleasing that my dowry included Wildwood Glen. I often ride out there when the fancy takes me to carry on my dalliances with any English officer I happen upon.’

‘Upon my word, such shamelessness,’ declared her father.

‘Do not vex yourself over my character, Father, for you’ll not see much of me from now on unless you make amends.’

‘Us make amends!’ declared her father.

‘Aye, Father, and now I will take my leave of you both.’

Orla rushed out of Machrief with a lightness to her step. She was free at last, and as she thundered out of its gates and up the snowy glen, she did not have the urge to look back once.

***

When she reached Blackreach’s ugly black walls, Orla smiled to herself, handing off Midnight to a stable lad. She rushed inside to warm herself by the fire, but Rufus was already lurking, sitting in a high-backed chair, nursing a cup of ale. She cursed herself for not spotting him, and it was too late to escape.

‘Wolfric told me you were going to that wretch of a father of yours,’ he bellowed.

‘Aye. Where is Wolfric?’

‘Taken himself off to Inverness.’

‘Inverness, you say.’ A faint stab of jealousy pierced Orla’s happiness, which might have been Rufus’ intention, for he regarded her intently. Her stomach churned, and she wanted to be far away from him.

Rufus leant back and steepled his fingers over his chest. ‘So, did Dunbar receive his scandalous daughter?’

Orla sighed. ‘Only briefly. And you need not worry about me going to see my father again for quite some time.’

‘And why is that? Did my son forbid it?’

‘No, ‘twas Wolfric who encouraged me to go. But my father thinks me a fallen woman who has brought shame on his house. So he has all but disowned me.’

‘Shame, is it? I would have thought he approved of you running after a redcoat, for Dunbar Gordon has long enjoyed sucking on an English teat. But I’ll have you know that Dunbar has shamed the Gordon name a hundred times worse than you.’

‘Laird, he may have disowned me, but he is still my father. I will not stand and hear him insulted.’

‘Alright. But you should know the truth, lass. So please me and sit, and sup with me. Bring that food on the table, lass.’

Orla took a chair opposite Rufus, and passed him a plate of boiled pork and cold pie. She watched him warily, for there was no knowing Rufus’ moods, one moment sunny, the next stormy, especially where she was concerned.

‘Your misguided loyalty does you credit, Orla. You know, your father and I were once firm friends,’ he declared, tearing at a piece of meat. ‘Do you know he courted my sister in his youth? It is the source of our enmity, and its bitterness lingers still.’

Orla froze. ‘What happened?’

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