Page 54 of Won By The Highlander

Why was the lass in Inverness, and why had she run away? Elva had looked positively terrified of her. Orla’s suspicions about Elva and Wolfric began to harden to a certainty.

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Wolfric ran his thumb over his knuckles and winced. He needed ale, but there was none to be had in the coffee house. Mistress Dallow ran a tight ship and insisted her clientele stayed sober and respectable, up to a point, that is. His eye was drawn to a young lass of low birth and circumstances draped across the lap of a richly-dressed youth. He could not have been more than seventeen. She was whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and he was beaming, being of that coltish age where he could convince himself it was his budding manliness that was impressive to her and not the coin in his pockets.

‘Women. What’s the point in pursuing them. They bring only misery and damnation. So to hell with them all,’ murmured Wolfric.

‘What’s that, Munro?’ said Callum Ross.

Had he really spoken out loud? ‘Twas nothing, Ross.’

‘Aye, it was. You were denouncing women. Are you not wed to one?’ he said crossly.

‘Aye, and a purgatory it is.’

‘I will not have that,’ said Callum, bristling. ‘The Lady Orla is a fine lass, loyal and plucky, and kind and good, and any man would be lucky to have her.’

Wolfric rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t argue with that, but the rub is you cannot have her. No man can, for she is a law unto herself, and like most females, she will not be governed nor guided. Fine, she may be, but she is also stubborn and bloody-minded and infuriating.’

‘That is because you do not take the trouble to understand her.’

‘Oh, and since when were you an authority on women, Callum Ross?’

‘I am not, nor do I make an effort to be. But you are wed, Munro, so you must.’

Wolfric sighed. ‘Let us go from here, Callum. This uneasy alliance of ours is at an end since our purpose is fulfilled, and a bloody one it was too. No point in sitting here brooding about it, and I’ll not raise my spirits without ale.’

‘Oh, God,’ exclaimed Callum, and when Wolfric followed his gaze, he spotted Orla weaving around tables to reach him, bearing a thunderous look on her face. She pulled up when she saw Callum.

‘Callum. What on earth are you doing here, and with Wolfric, of all people?’ she said, looking from one to the other.

‘I was just leaving,’ replied Callum.

He hurriedly took his leave before Orla could ask any questions, the coward.

‘Greetings, dearest. How fare you, this day?’ said Wolfric with heavy sarcasm, which was not lost on Orla.

‘Enough of that nonsense. What are you doing with Callum? He is no friend of yours.’

‘Just as it is no business of yours, woman,’ he growled.

‘Have you been drinking and brawling all this time, Wolfric?’

‘Leave it, Orla.’

‘I will not. How did you come by that blood on your hands and that swollen eye?’

‘Ah, do not vex yourself about my wellbeing. The other fellow looks worse, and I am hale and hearty.’

‘I don’t care what you are. What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Coffee enlivens the spirits. You should be thankful I am not in the alehouse.’

‘Gossip would have it that your spirits are lively enough already.’

‘Gossip is it? I have many pursuits, and this is one of the more intellectual ones. I come here to exchange ideas with my fellow men on all manner of sober topics such as science, philosophy, poetry….’

‘You! Poetry!’ said Orla with a snort of derision.

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