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‘Such prideful nonsense in a female,’ Orla replied, mocking her mother’s voice.
Wolfric laughed, and his eyes meeting hers were warm, sparkling, almost admiring. ‘I say, ‘tis not prideful, but practical. You have a keen mind that wants to learn, Orla, and it should be encouraged.’
‘And what do you know of learning, Wolfric? Have you not spent your days in carefree indolence, carousing in taverns and seducing unsuspecting females, high born and low.’
‘Not unsuspecting, no. And there have not been that many. My greatest infatuation was a widow I met in Rome who knew exactly what she was about.’
‘Rome?’
‘Aye, have you not been there, lass?’ he said with a smirk. ‘Ah, Greta was a force to be reckoned with. Took a shine to me and seduced me. Took me in hand, if you know what I mean.’
‘I am sure I do not.’
‘But you are beginning to, under my expert tutelage.’ Wolfric winked at her.
Orla choked down jealousy and asked, ‘And what became of this widow? Why did you not wed her and spend all her money.’
‘Twas not true love between us. It would not stand the test of time, and eventually, she discarded me for another, more genteel suitor, with a thinner cock and a fatter purse.’
Orla’s face grew so hot she worried her skin might melt off it.
‘It broke my heart for a while, but it healed stronger, and now I am no puppet to women’s appetites,’ continued Wolfric.
‘Now, you just indulge your own.’
‘Aye. But I have had time for learning too. I had a tutor for a while, and I know this land of ours. It is in me, like the beating of my heart, the marrow in my bones, this Munro dirt,’ he said, picking up a handful of soil and rubbing it between his palms.
‘Which was recently Gordon dirt,’ said Orla resentfully. ‘It seems you will do anything for land.’
‘Even marry a Gordon, aye. But I think that is working out better than I expected.’ He gave her an intense look. ‘Do you know you have the most beautiful eyes, Orla?’
‘Do not mock me, Wolfric.’
‘I do not. I am in earnest. They are like the bright green of pond water when the sun hits it on a summer’s day. And the lashes, so golden and long. A man could stare into your eyes all day and get lost in them, lass.’
Orla’s heart skipped a beat, and her palms grew sweaty. ‘Well, we have no time for that,’ she sputtered, standing up and brushing down her skirts. ‘We should get back, for this sun is fearfully hot, and I am feeling a little faint.’
‘Since when did you swoon like an elegant lady, Orla?’ said Wolfric. He stood up and brushed a strand of hair from her face. ‘You can fall into my arms if you like,’ he breathed, his mouth inches from hers.
‘I don’t think…I mean….’
Before she could finish, Wolfric’s mouth joined with hers, his hand on her waist, the other sliding into her hair. His lips were hungry yet gentle, his tongue flicking against hers as though he were sliding his manhood between her legs. She felt that kiss, way down in her belly, in a throb of desire so powerful her knees almost buckled. But Wolfric held her against his hard body, so she could not fall. Instead, Orla clung to his arms and kissed him back for the longest time as the sun beat down on them.
When his mouth moved to her neck, and he whispered, ‘Come into the long grass with me,’ Orla realised she was on the brink of succumbing again, like a craven fool.
She pushed Wolfric off with some effort. ‘Are you coming or not?’ she said. ‘The light is fading, and the day is getting cold.’
‘Tis not the only cold thing,’ he muttered.
***
When they arrived back at Blackreach, a lad came running to say a trunk had arrived from Machrief along with some other baggage. He pointed across the yard, and there sat Orla’s erstwhile servant, Sykes, bundled up in her plaid.
‘Thank heavens you have come, Mistress,’ she wailed, rising and coming over. ‘These rogues refused me entry to this hovel, and I have been forced to cool my heels with the chickens and pigs for hours in this filthy yard. I will have caught a chill and, for certain, ‘twill be the death of me.’
Orla forced a smile onto her face.
‘What the hell is this?’ said Wolfric.
