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‘Robbie Dunn.’
‘Oh, my word, a lofty goal indeed. Is he not the catch of the county?’
Orla sighed. ‘Aye, and he will not want me. If he wins, Robbie will wed me for a dowry and then cast me aside to pursue his mistresses, just like my father does, and I will turn into a miserable shrew, like my mother.’
Bryce made a face. ‘There must have been passion there once, for they have five brats between them.’
‘Oh, I shudder to think on it. God save me from such a fate, both the wedlock and the brats.’
‘It is how it goes in wealthy families. Only the poor have the indulgence of marrying for love, as they have nothing to lose.’
‘That is a very brutal observation, Bryce. Would you not want to marry for love?’
‘As a general rule, I avoid marriage, for love or otherwise. I would rather have my private parts slow-roasted over a fire than enter such purgatory, cousin.’
‘So would I, and you are disgusting, by the way.’
‘Yet you are inordinately fond of me, all the same. As to your predicament, I would offer this. I am a man and therefore have the luxury of choice, whereas you do not. Unless you find a way out of this gruesome plan my aunt and uncle have cooked up, you will be for the pot, dear Orla.’ Bryce frowned and gave her a pained smile. ‘Tell me, cousin, why do you think the grand Robbie Dunn will not want you?’
‘Do not mock me, Bryce.’
‘There is no mocking here. You have beauty, cousin, if only you would fluff yourself up a bit. Lose that angry scowl and tame that bird’s nest of hair, and you could do very well. And what is this rag you are wearing?’ he said, pulling on a tatty sleeve.
‘Stop it.’
‘Even Callum has observed that you are bonnie, in a wild kind of way, and he is notoriously tight-lipped on such matters. And I have often observed a kind of dogged courage and sturdiness about you which I am sure will be of great help in suffering the burden of wedlock. And as to those child-bearing hips.’ Bryce grabbed her, and she rewarded him with a hefty slap to the face.
Her cousin bore it without rancour, as he always did. Bryce rubbed his cheek and laughed. ‘I deserved that, and I pity the poor wretch who wins that race, for you’ve a strong arm on you and quite the temper.’ He glanced out at the rain and grimaced. ‘It’s getting late and cold. We should press on for Machrief. This storm will only get worse. Come, cousin.’
‘I prefer to stay here.’
‘I insist. And if you come along, I will pledge all my efforts in helping you avoid this unholy union with the handsome but dull Robbie Dunn.’
‘Alright,’ said Orla, suddenly brightening. It seemed that her oft-vexing cousin might be an ally in this fight.
Bryce strode out into the rain and called to his friend. ‘Callum, make haste. I have the best news to impart concerning my poor cousin here. You must hear it, for you will surely split your guts laughing, my friend.’
Or maybe not.
Chapter Two
She was going to suffocate, for certain. Orla pulled on the vice-like grip of the stays on her immense dark blue dress, trying to catch her breath. It was impossible to get air into her lungs other than in light, gasping breaths. Each was agony as her ribs strained against the rigid corset, which thrust her ample breasts up and over the top of it like two plump bannocks rising in the oven. Several awful young men had already peered down into them, displaying a shocking lack of manners. One had stared for so long that Orla had been afraid he might sink his teeth in and start gorging on them.
A month had passed by without her parents relenting of their horrible plan to marry her off, and so here she was, displaying her wares like a tradesman in a market square. Was there ever a greater humiliation?
‘Do stop fidgeting,’ hissed her mother through a fixed smile as she greeted each of their many visitors with gushing delight. ‘So many suitors have turned out to meet you, Orla,’ she said gleefully. ‘There is much excitement about the race tomorrow, and you are the prize, so you must look the part. And don’t insult anyone else tonight.’
‘I speak as I find, Mother, and Rowland McEwan has breath like a dung heap and needed telling.’
‘No, he did not, and we’ll have no more of your insolence. You must knuckle down and be charming to your suitors.’
‘Why must I, when it is all a sham, and there will only be one winner?’
Her mother continued talking through gritted teeth. ‘That’s as maybe, but we must keep up the pretence of fairness, all the same.’
‘If you say so, Mother,’ said Orla, scratching at her towering white wig that made her head itch and sweat. She reached to a passing servant for an ale to cool down, but her mother snatched it from her hand and passed it to her father. ‘There will be none for you, lass,’ she said. ‘Not until you mind your manners and charm the company.’
‘I don’t want to, and I shall not. And these stays are too tight.’
