Page 7 of Won By The Highlander

‘Oh, he complimented me profusely.’

‘And why should he not? You look very well this evening with all the muck scrubbed off.’

‘Never mind that. Is Callum here with you?’

‘Aye, he is over there, fending off the attentions of eager mothers with daughters of marriageable age and hating being back in the marriage market.’

Orla’s gaze found Callum, backed into a corner and staring sadly in the direction of a bonnie young lady, who Orla guessed was his erstwhile intended. She was clinging onto the arm of her betrothed, a chinless young man with a superior air and a whiff of inbreeding in his demeanour. Every now and then, the lass glanced at Callum to see if he was watching.

‘What a vain bitch,’ thought Orla. ‘Callum has the look of a fox chased to ground, Bryce,’ she said. ‘Should we be charitable and rescue him, do you think?’

Something caught Bryce’s eye, and he rushed off, calling over his shoulder, ‘Aye, you do that. I have something to attend to.’

Orla made her way to Callum and grabbed his arm. The young ladies surrounding him all glowered at her, but she paid no heed. ‘I must talk with Callum for a moment on a matter of great importance,’ she said, steering him away. ‘Please excuse us, ladies.’

When they were in a quieter spot, she said, ‘Callum, what happened to Bryce? Did he get in another fight?

‘Aye, with a blackberry bush.’ He chortled, lighting up his otherwise grim face and rendering it almost handsome. ‘He was out carousing with a woman and got well in his cups. Her husband came home unexpectedly and discovered them, and in his haste to ride away before his belly got skewered, Bryce fell off his horse into the bush. Serves him right too.’

‘It does indeed.’ Orla gave Callum her kindliest smile. ‘Now, who is this woman you are so vexed about? Is it that bonnie blonde over there?’

‘Bryce should not have spoken of it.’ Callum’s face turned red, and his jaw worked. He hung his dark head. ‘We were promised since birth, Mona Cameron and I, and I thought I could rely on the match only to be spurned for another. It burns my pride, Orla.’

‘Callum, if it is only your pride hurt and not your heart, then you are lucky. And if that lass does not see your virtues, then to hell with her. And her betrothed is a far inferior man, I feel,’ said Orla, elbowing Callum in the arm.

‘He is indeed,’ he replied.

‘I find him po-faced, short of leg and most ill-favoured.’

‘Aye, he is that,’ said Callum, sporting another rare smile.

Orla cast a glance at him. Aye, Callum could be handsome in a rough, murky kind of way if he smiled more. ‘You have had a lucky escape, Callum, and now you are free to find another to wed,’ she said.

Callum’s face took on a pained look. ‘With all due respect, Orla, I hold you in high esteem, but I would not…I could not…I mean, I am no great rider who could win that race, so I would not presume….’

Suddenly it dawned on her that Callum thought she was suggesting herself as a substitute bride. ‘My God, Callum. I did not mean that you should wed me. I did not come over here to beg for a husband. I don’t even want one in the first place.’

‘Forgive me for any offence,’ said Callum with a stiff bow, rushing off into the crowd.

Orla stamped her foot. How could she be so foolish, and why must Callum think she was so desperate for a husband she would pursue anyone she could get her hands on?

As the evening wore on, Orla was subject to appraising stares from many young men, sons of the great and the good and some not-so-good. They were undoubtedly reconciling themselves to having her as a wife, damn their eyes.

She gazed at the soaring ceiling of the Gordon great hall – ornate, pale plaster, carved with intricate patterns to dazzle and impress. Everything in the hall heralded her parents’ wealth and status, so why must they throw her to these wolves just to get a little further ahead in the jostling of local clans?

‘May I beg the favour of a dance?’

A young man stood before her. His eyes were a watery blue, and his adam’s apple bobbed with nervousness on a long thin neck. He reminded her of a silly goose, and Orla was groping for a reply when a ruckus erupted at the other end of the hall. Someone was shouting in a booming voice, catching everyone’s attention.

‘Did you forget me, old friend? Or did my invitation get lost en route? I must admit I am at a loss to account for your oversight.’ The speaker was rough, uncouth and intended to be heard.

‘What are you doing here, Rufus?’ Her father’s voice and he sounded angry.

Orla pushed her way forward to see her father confronted by a rough-looking man. He was old and sporting a grey wig, slightly askew. His clothes looked somewhat tatty compared to the finery of the others in the hall, yet his bearing was proud, and he carried on as if he owned the place. His voice, too, carried authority and a good deal of sarcasm.

‘I have come about the race tomorrow. I understood the event was open to the finest families in the whole county.’

‘It is but….’

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