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‘Aye, you do, and where have you been all this time? I was about to go out searching for you. What have you been doing?’ He shook Orla hard, and fear sprang to her eyes.
‘I rode to Wildwood Glen.’
‘For God’s sake, woman. Did I not tell you to stay within Blackreach?’
‘But I…’
‘Enough. Hold your tongue and come with me.’
She was soaked, her clothes muddied, and her pale hair darkened with rain. Wolfric dragged her along until they reached the roaring fire in the hall. He shoved her before it.
‘Explain yourself.’
‘I stayed too late, Wolfric, and the mist came down, and it was hard to find the path back.’
‘That is exactly why you must not go. These hills are perilous enough, and the woods are dense. There is also the risk of being attacked by brigands.’
Her face flushed with defiance. ‘Well, that is not so on my father’s land. He keeps order. And I was armed and well-prepared to defend myself.’ She withdrew a musket, a leather pouch and a cloth bag from her pocket and slammed them down on the table. ‘I had these.’
Wolfric picked up the cloth bag. ‘What are these. Bulbs? Were you going to hurl them at someone’s head if they attacked, woman?’
‘That is autumn crocus. I gathered it for your father to ease his gout.’
‘Crocus bulbs are poisonous.’
‘Not that kind. As I told you, there is much to be learned from farmers and elders. That remedy is often used to ease the pain of gout.’
Was there no end to her foolishness? Wolfric picked up the musket and peered into the leather pouch. ‘Your powder is damp. Your musket would not have fired even if you had the wits to use it. This thing is worse than useless.’
She had not the wisdom to be silent. ‘Just like me, I suppose.’
Wolfric hurled the musket across the room. It hit the wall with a crack, and its hilt splintered with the force he had used. ‘I will not have it, Orla - this reckless disobedience. You endanger yourself, and I am certain you do it to irk me.’
‘I seek only some measure of freedom to live as I please. Neither of us wanted this union, and life is a misery here.’
‘A misery, is it? Aye, well, you did not seem miserable these last weeks when you lay down with me and clung to me, opening your legs and crying out my name. And as to wedlock, 'tis done now, so we must make the best of it.’
‘Keeping me locked within the walls of Blackreach is not the best of it. You come and go as you please, see who you please – your whores, no doubt.’
‘I do not see whores, Orla,’ he snapped.
She swallowed hard, her face going red. ‘You cannot be tender with me, Wolfric. All you have is animal urges.’
That wounded him, for he had tried to be kind and take her gently, and she appeared to like his embrace, and now she was throwing it back into his face.
‘And you cannot find affection or softness in one small corner of your heart because it is too brim-full of bitterness. You are nought but a cold bitch, Orla.’
Her eyes welled. ‘I suppose you will beat me for insubordination, like the bully you are.’
‘Aye, I might enjoy that immensely.’
‘Try it, and I will open your throat, Wolfric.’
‘Do no goad me, Orla.’
‘Oh, I cannot talk to you anymore,’ she said, turning away from him and crossing her arms.
‘Nor I to you. Go to bed, Orla. Now, if you know what’s good for you.’
