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‘I defended you because he lied, and I hate liars. And I peered over to make sure you were well and truly gone.’
‘As you like,’ said Wolfric, smiling.
She risked a glance at him. ‘How did you ride so fast on that nag of yours?’
‘Brutus is no beauty, to be sure, but he has a deal of anger in his soul and likes to run it off.’
‘That is a strange choice of name. Brutus had no loyalty and betrayed his master Caesar, did he not?’
‘Aye, and it’s true, Brutus has little love for me or any man, but give this horse his head, and there is no stopping him. He was vicious as a colt and sealed his own doom. When I came upon him, Brutus was to be butchered and eaten, or at best, gelded. I saved him from that terrible fate, yet still, he bears no love for me.’
‘I think gelding is what he deserves, for he seems like a mean brute to me.’
‘Ah, but what a waste that would be. Brutus has already sired many a bad-tempered foal who will ride like the wind one day. And I have tamed him only enough for him to tolerate me mounting him. That way, he gives me a spirited ride, albeit a dangerous one. I like my women that way too, not too docile, not too wild.’
Orla’s face burst into flames. ‘And I am sure there have been many women.’
‘Far less than you would expect, lass.’
She hated the way Wolfric said, ‘lass.’ It was like a caress, so dark and smooth was his voice, and the way he looked in her eyes when he said it, made her loins quicken. Orla found she could not look away from the intensity of his gaze. It confused, excited and frightened her. It softened her knees and made her stomach flip over. It also gave Wolfric the upper hand, which would not do at all.
‘Don’t call me ‘lass’ as if we are friends or lovers or old acquaintances, Wolfric Munro. We are far from that.’
‘What then? Wife? Woman? Lady Munro?’
‘I hate all of those,’ said Orla.
‘Then how do I beckon you, my sweet? Shall I just whistle for you to come to me like I do for my hounds?’
‘You may do as you please. I will not come to heel for you or any man.’
‘We shall see. Tell me, Orla, are you offended that I did not kiss you at the altar?’
‘On the contrary. It was a relief. I hope your indifference to my charms means we will not have to see much of each other.’
‘On the contrary,’ he said, mocking her voice and smirking. ‘I mean to make good on my wedding vows and consummate this marriage as fully and often as the mood takes me.’
A sick feeling churned in Orla’s stomach. That must be an empty threat, but she decided not to press Wolfric on it.
They rode on in tense silence, broken only by soft birdcalls and the wind sighing through the trees. The road was rocky and wound through dense, black-shadowed forests and through a pass between high mountains, where burns trickled down, turning everything mossy with damp. According to Skyes, Blackreach was remote, and Munro lands as untamed as Wolfric himself, lurking at the very edge of what was civilised. She had no doubt that she was heading to a place where her endurance would be tested. And now, her fearsome husband had sunk into silence and seemed lost in gloomy thoughts, his face stormy.
Orla flicked a glance at him. He had made some effort on her behalf. His jacket was clean and the same green as the moss all around them. It was a perfect complement to his pitch-black hair, shining in the light. He raked it back with a big hand to reveal a surprisingly clean face.
And what a face it was. With his hooded eyes, firm jaw and black brows, Wolfric should have looked brutish, but on closer inspection, his face was striking. If she could set aside his appalling manners and wretched character, she would have to own that Wolfric was handsome. His hands were broad and strong, and he had a lean and muscular frame. His clothes fit like a glove, snug over muscles swelling beneath, and he rode with effortless grace for a big man.
Surely, there must be something about him that she could find appealing to make her ordeal less painful? His eyes. No, too harsh and flashing with sarcasm. His voice? Too scornful. His body? She had often found herself wondering what a man looked like naked. Would Wolfric be magnificent, like a stallion, or a sad spectacle, like a pale, skinned rabbit, stripped of its glory?
She had a sneaking suspicion that Wolfric would look as imposing out of his clothes as in them, and soon, all those girlish imaginings conjured when lying alone in bed at night would come to life. And those strange, almost painful, urges, which she yearned to satisfy, would perhaps, be answered. Or he might not touch her at all. Such was his disdain for her.
Orla cast him another glance, and damned if he wasn’t staring back at her.
‘Take your fill, lass. Looking costs nothing,’ he said with sudden cheerfulness. ‘Why not ask me something, wife. We will spend a lifetime together, so surely there must be some conversation?’
‘I thought you only required me to say yes to anything you demand?’ she replied.
‘For the most part, aye.’
‘Then let’s not pretend to share confidences, like two fools,’ she said.
