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His father cracked an oily smile. ‘Aye. I am looking forward to getting my hands on that much more than this one here is looking forward to getting his hands on you. The land is your only saving grace, lass.’
Orla’s face became a mask of misery.
‘Oh, have I pricked a sore spot, lass? Aye, but fear not, we are lusty, us Munros, and will do our duty, no matter how onerous.’
Pity swelled Wolfric’s breast. Obviously, the lass was dreading her wedding night almost as much as he was. She may not want him, but why the need to humiliate her further?
‘My wife is tired after her ride here. I will take Orla to her chamber now.’
‘As you wish,’ said Rufus, sinking into his chair, indifferent to them.
As they climbed the stairs to the chamber he had prepared for her, Wolfric felt the need to make amends. ‘My father is mistaken when he said you are not wanted,’ he said in a rush. ‘He nurses his grievances like a miser does his gold, and he has hated your father for years. And I think that you are a most worthy bride, lass.’
She rounded on him. ‘Oh, save your flatteries for a more gullible fool. I know full well why I am here. You want land and nothing more, and you have won, so why gloat? It is low and spiteful.’
‘My father gloats, not I.’
She did not reply, and, for a while, there was only the plod of their steps on the stairs and the whistle of draughts snaking down the stairwell.
‘I am sure you will not accept this compliment, but you showed courage today, Orla. I saw you go for your knife.’
‘What?’
‘When the redcoats were threatening us, you went for your knife. Would you have used it, I wonder, or are you all talk?’
‘If someone threatens me, I will open their throat. Make no mistake. And if that is not seemly or ladylike, I do not care.’
Wolfric turned to her. ‘I don’t need seemly or ladylike, so I am glad to hear it. But don’t venture too far from Blackreach until I find out what those redcoats were up to. That is an order. Here,’ he said, throwing open the door to her chamber.
Orla gasped, with some relief, for the chamber was a revelation. It was sumptuous and ornately furnished, the walls adorned by Flemish tapestries, and it was dominated by an imposing four-poster bed, lushly curtained in scarlet velvet. Its headboard was elaborately carved, inlaid with gilt, and was remarkably pretty. The high windows were softened by curtains of deep blue tartan shot through with black, and there were two armchairs covered in cobalt silk with gilded arms. Orla guessed them to be French in design. They were set before a blazing fire and suggested intimate conversations, lovers sharing secrets, and above all, cosiness.
‘This is your chamber?’ she said incredulously. ‘This is the wolf’s lair?’
‘Is it not fine enough for you, my lady?’ said Wolfric.
‘Tis fine indeed, but it is not what I expected.’
‘Did you expect a hovel, lass?’ Wolfric stalked over to the window and looked out. ‘It was my mother’s, but as the lady of this house now, it is only fitting that it becomes yours. I have had it aired out.’
‘Why not house me in the stables or some other rough place? Surely that is what I deserve for being a Gordon and so despised by your family.’
Wolfric hung his head as weariness took him. ‘As your husband, it is my duty to visit you here from time to time and make good on my marriage vows. I enjoy my comforts as much as the next man, hence this chamber instead of a rougher place for our…encounters,’ he said bitterly.
Good God, was he actually intending to share her bed?
‘And the stables are fearfully cold now the weather is turning to winter,’ continued Wolfric, turning to her with a smile which would surely have melted any other girl’s heart.
‘Yet nothing will thaw his,’ thought Orla, but she was too exhausted to really stir Wolfric’s ire, and she was growing weary of the game. Yet she was curious and could not resist saying, ‘And what would your mother think of your marriage, I wonder?’
‘I have no idea. I never knew her,’ he said bleakly. Was there a hint of sadness there, of vulnerability? It could not be, not from a mongrel like Wolfric Munro.
‘What happened to her?’ said Orla.
‘Died, birthing me. Make yourself as comfortable as you can under the circumstances. As I said, these chambers are yours now, to do with as you please.’
‘Some small freedom, then. A sanctuary of sorts.’
‘Aye, if you like.
