Page 28 of Won By The Highlander

‘Until you visit.’

‘Aye, a bolt hole, until I visit. Then you must pretend to be a wife, Orla, as best you can.

‘And when is that?’ she called after him, but Wolfric did not answer.

‘I will have food sent up and water to wash,’ he said over his shoulder as he rushed away. His footsteps echoed down the stairs and faded to nothing.

Orla sank onto the bed and tried not to cry. She must not. That was weak and womanly and did no good. She would hold her head high and not cringe before these louts. Wolfric Munro was now her husband, but he seemed to want nothing to do with her save using her in the marriage bed as it suited him. She dearly hoped he would not make good on that threat.

A short time later, two servants, both young, pale lasses, came in bearing water in a jug and a tray of food. The china was very pretty, set with little rosebuds twirled in ivy, and there were bannocks and slices of ham and little cakes jewelled with currants and flavoured with rose water. They were surprisingly delicious.

Orla washed the road off her face and hands and climbed into bed in just her shift, for they had not thought to furnish her with any change of clothes and her things were to be sent on from Machrief. For a long time, she lay in darkness within the folds of the red curtains, listening to the sounds of Blackreach and its occupants settling for the night. If she had ever allowed herself the indulgence of imagining a wedding night, she would never have conjured this - alone and unwanted in a cold bed.

***

Wolfric returned to the hall to find his father sunk in his chair before the fireplace, nursing a bottle of whisky and bearing a sour countenance, muttering to himself. Wolfric snatched the whisky bottle from his grip and tossed some down his throat.

‘Was that cruelty necessary?’

‘No more than your indulgence. And you would be cruel too if you had the Devil sticking red hot pins in your toe.’

‘Does your gout plague you?’

‘Doesn’t it always.’ His jaw worked. ‘If you will cosset the lass, that is your mistake, and I’ll not save you from its outcome. She has a shrewish tongue on her, that one. Are you down here avoiding the inevitable?’

‘And what might that be?’

‘Consummating your marriage, of course. It must be done to secure that land. You cannot separate the lass from Wildwood Glen, do you hear me?’

‘I hear you, and it will be done when I am good and ready.’

The fire crackled, and Wolfric’s resolve to take Orla waivered until his father poked the open wound.

‘Look at you, all scrubbed raw and trussed up in your finest. ‘Tis for nought. She thinks you a rough brute, and that is what you are. No point in trying to be something you are not, for you’ll not charm that lass into submission. No, she is as hard as nails, that one. Spoilt little bitch.’

The flames licked at the chimney, scorching it black and burning, like the whisky and his father’s words. The old man needed diverting. ‘On the way here, we encountered redcoats.’

‘Where?’ said Rufus, sitting bolt upright, suddenly alert.

‘Just after crossing the river. They were on our land, the bastards.’

‘Officers?’

‘No, the lowest of ranks. A pair of ruffians.’

‘They have no right! They cannot trespass onto clan lands by order of the King. They must keep to Fort George. Did they lose their way?’

‘No. More likely, they were spying. Did you hear anything?’

‘No. Are we suspected, do you think?’

‘Maybe,’ said Wolfric. ‘We will have to be wary.’

‘Aye, especially with a Gordon in the house, sniffing around for our secrets,’ said Rufus.

‘Even a Gordon has no love of the English, Father.’

‘Oh, don’t be so sure. Like a whore, Dunbar will get into bed with anyone holding out enough coin to tempt him. He plays both sides. Make no mistake. And if there are redcoats sniffing about on our land, then he may have something to do with it. His offspring will be no different.’

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