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Orla hurried off and spent the day questioning the other servants over the whereabouts of Elva. All were tight-lipped about the whole affair, except for the cheeky stable lads, who were not known for their discretion. They were more forthcoming, saying that Elva had not been seen for days at Blackreach. Another stated, with great spite, that she might have been sent away in shame as his mother had declared Elva a ‘wretched lass bitten by evil’s serpent,’ whatever that meant.
It dawned on Orla that someone had to be responsible for Elva’s pregnancy, and both she and Wolfric had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth. Orla fumed inwardly, most of all over how her suspicions cut her to the quick.
Could Wolfric really be the father of Elva’s child? Had she now been coldly discarded as an unwanted wife? And if Elva was far along with her pregnancy, perhaps Wolfric had been involved with her well before he was wed. What other conclusions could be drawn from recent events? When she had spotted them together, there had been intimacy between them, and no mistaking it.
Orla stormed off to the stables, where Midnight gave her a sad look from the stalls. He was still healing from his stumble, and she could not ride him. There were many other sound horses, but only one caught her eye. If she couldn’t tame his master, she could damn well tame Brutus, and for some reason, Wolfric had left him behind.
After a terrible tussle getting the beast’s bridle on and much cursing by the stablemaster, Orla was soon racing like the wind through misty autumn fields towards the rugged beauty of Wildwood Glen. Brutus bucked and kicked and did his best to unseat her, but she would have none of it. Instead, she gave the beast his head, without caring if she should come to grief, as his hooves ate up the miles.
When she reached the shady green embrace of Wildwood Glen, Orla was not surprised to see him there. Part of her knew he would be waiting as if it had been fated. A reckless, vengeful and wholly wicked part of her was even flattered by it.
***
Wolfric caught the bright scarlet of redcoats about a mile away at the edge of the forest. ‘There,’ he said, pointing. ‘Two of them, wandering like stray dogs.’
‘Do you think they are the men we seek?’ said his companion.
‘We will see. One should have a fresh injury to his face and a torn ear. He will be hard to miss, but we must be certain before we act.’ Wolfric’s jaw tightened with determination. ‘We are outside the law on this, both God’s and Scotland’s.’
‘But our cause is righteous, is it not?’
‘Aye, as we cannot rely on these treacherous English dogs to dispense justice, we must find out own way. Are you with me?’
‘Aye,’ growled Callum Ross, tearing his musket free from his belt. ‘Let us hasten while we have the element of surprise on our side.’
Wolfric kicked his horse hard, and they set off down the hill at a pounding gallop, using the cover of the trees to hide their advance.
Chapter Nineteen
Captain Giles Nash cut a very fine figure with the afternoon sun turning his blonde hair to bronze, his smile warm and his fine uniform the colour of fresh blood.
‘I hoped that if I came often enough, our paths would cross again, Lady Munro.’
‘You should not be here, and it is Orla, not Lady Munro. I care not for the title.’
‘Nor the man behind it, or so gossip would have it?’ said Nash.
‘A wise man does not listen to gossip. And do not say such things, or I must take my leave.’
‘Forgive me. If I have offended you, then I must be the one to go,’ he said gravely.
Orla sighed and tried to beat back the urge to confide and unburden herself on this sad Englishman. ‘You gave no offence. It is just that…I….’
‘You are loyal to Clan Munro. I have encountered this fierce loyalty many times since coming to Scotland. Indeed, it is one of the qualities I admire most in its people.’
‘The people are deserving of my loyalty, but today, I feel my husband may not be.’ How could she say such a dreadful thing? Could she not bite her tongue? But something about Nash was dependable and compassionate, drawing her in.
Nash brought his horse close and dismounted. He took hold of Brutus’ bridle and got a nasty nip for his trouble.
‘Don’t get too close, for he is a monster,’ said Orla.
Nash smiled and surrendered the reins. ‘The horse or your husband?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Orla replied, smiling into his grey eyes as her tension eased a little. His were undoubtedly beautiful for a man, turning to sea-blue in the sunshine. ‘You should not come here, Captain Nash,’ she said. ‘If my husband’s men were to encounter you, there would be trouble.’
‘It is Giles, please. And it is worth the risk to see a friend.’
‘I cannot call you that, and since when were we friends, a Scots lady and an Englishman?’
