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Wolfric put a hand in her hair where it had come loose and stroked his fingers down it. How silky it was, wavy too, and a pretty sun-kissed blonde. She batted his hand away with a sharp intake of breath.
‘Why not marry that whore I found you coupling with in the back alleys of Inverness?’ she said with a sneer.
‘Oh, she already has a husband. Not a very good one, but she’s wed, nonetheless, and it was not love between us, merely mutual pleasure. It is over now as I intend to turn my attention to wedded bliss. As my bride, I am sure you’ll have some admirable qualities hidden somewhere.’
‘The only qualities I have are the acres of land that come with me.’
Wolfric nodded. ‘Aye, most admirable indeed. Now do not fash. Do as you are told, give me no trouble, and we shall rub along nicely together, lass. Who knows, you may grow fond of me in time.’
‘Fond of you? I shall see you in hell first. And I would rather die than join a ragged-arsed clan on the fringe of society, and you, its black sheep.’
Her insult to Clan Munro stoked Wolfric’s temper. ‘Die, is it? Aye, for I might strangle you with my bare hands before our brief engagement comes to an end.’
‘Brief?’ she squealed.
‘Aye, your father needs a speedy end to this matter and the restoration of his good name.’ He leant in. ‘Many feel Dunbar Gordon is a cheat and a liar, seeing as how his daughter entered the race. They do not believe he had no knowledge of it. And he had a hefty wager on Robbie Dunn, did he not? Already there are rumours the race was fixed in some way. So now he needs to make good on his end of the arrangement. I will return tomorrow and make you my wife. Honour demands it.’
‘You dare speak of honour when you are forcing marriage on me?’ she gasped.
‘There will be no forcing when we are alone together, dearest. You can be assured of that. In fact, I might have to steel myself to do the deed. But like it or not, I am going to your father now, and if he refuses, I will raise an angry mob and press for my rights. There are a lot of disgruntled Scots out in your yard, some of them enemies of Clan Gordon, and they want justice done.’
Wolfric put his face to Orla’s. He had the sudden urge to taste her mouth and put his hands on her. But, instead, he stared into her fiery, slanted green eyes to leave her in no doubt about his resolve. ‘Let us have no pretence here, Orla Gordon. I wanted that land, and now I have it. And I have you, too. So you had better reconcile yourself to your fate, for tomorrow I return with a priest, and you will marry me.’
Orla’s mouth fell open in dismay, and Wolfric was taken by an insane urge to show her that he was master. He took her cheeks in his hands and kissed her, quickly and deeply. He had time to taste a hint of oaky sweetness on her lips before he was pushed off.
‘You will never lay another hand on me,’ she declared.
Wolfric wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘I taste brandy. Not so pious after all, are you, Orla? Good. I like that. When we are wed, you’ll have no need to drink in secret, lass. You can indulge in all manner of sins at Blackreach Manor.’
He winked at her shocked face and stalked off, his lips burning where they had touched hers. The lass would be a challenge, but then when had he ever taken the easy course in life?
‘You are a blackguard, a low person, a filthy, money-grubbing maggot, Wolfric Munro,’ she shouted after him, in a voice raw with fury.
‘Until tomorrow, my sweet,’ he called back, blowing her a kiss.
Aye, Orla Gordon would be a lively challenge, indeed.
Chapter Eight
The wind howled along the great hall of Blackreach Manor. Some hapless Munro ancestor had built it facing north, so when the sun set and the cold came on, draughts snaked their way inside, no matter how many fires were set. Wolfric held his hands out to the fireplace and regarded his father with resignation. The old man would crow over his victory, yet Wolfric felt no sense of triumph.
‘You look as if you have been in the wars, son. Did you fall off your mount into the muck? I heard you prevailed. ‘Tis already the talk of the county.’
‘The ground was wet and treacherous, and that worm Dunn ran me off a ridge. Loathsome bastard. He has quite the grudge against me, now I’ve bested him. I think we will need to do something about him soon.’
‘Aye, but a Dunn is no match for a Munro. Now here you are, bleating like a bairn over a bit of danger and discomfort.’
Wolfric sighed. ‘I did as you asked and won you that land you have always coveted, so if you are going to be tiresome, I will find my bed.’
‘Or someone else’s eh, to celebrate. Are you for the tavern or the whorehouse?
‘Neither, for I ache all over.’
‘Share a dram then to celebrate this upturn in our fortunes and your homecoming at last.’ Rufus beckoned to a servant for whisky. ‘Stoke the fire while you are at it. It is colder than a witch’s cunny in her, dammit,’ he snarled before turning grey, rheumy eyes back to Wolfric. ‘And the prize, lad. What did you think of her?’
Wolfric locked eyes with his father. ‘I am no longer a lad. You’d best remember that.’
His father grunted and patted the head of a huge lurcher drooling onto his knee.
