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‘Since I realised you needed one,’ he replied, his face solemn and a little pitying. ‘Why don’t you dismount and take your ease. I have some bread and meat if you are hungry.’
Orla bit her lip. Why not? She would not be missed back at Blackreach. Wolfric cared little about where she was or what she did. Even beloved Bryce seemed eager to be away from her company these days.
‘Alright, but I cannot stay long,’ she said.
Soon, they were sitting shoulder to shoulder on a fallen tree stump in awkward silence. Nash broke it first.
‘You are distressed today, I think. Did your husband mistreat you? I have heard he is a rough brute.’
‘No. Wolfric does not hurt me. He never has.’
Orla frowned down at the bread in her hand. For all his snarling and snapping, Wolfric had never laid a hand on her in anger. And he could have been cruel abed, but he wasn't. In fact, he was gentle in his passions, almost holding back. And there were even flashes of kindness in his touch. He took the trouble to try and make the act pleasurable, sometimes putting hers before his own. She was being disloyal to Wolfric even sitting with Nash, let alone criticising him.
‘May I venture that you endure your marriage instead of cherishing it?’ said Nash.
No. She did not endure Wolfric’s touch. She had begun to crave it, which was why hot anger flared in her breast at the thought of him touching another woman in her place. Orla’s face burned at the idea, and Nash must have mistaken it for embarrassment.
‘I do not seek to cause you mortification, Orla. It is just that I understand all too well how a marriage of convenience can break one’s spirit.’
‘And how is that?’
‘From my infancy, it was my parents’ intention that I marry the daughter of their close friend. So I have grown up facing a dull marriage to a well-bred young woman, with fortune, looks, and no more wit than a sheep.’
‘You do not like her?’
‘I do not dislike her.’ He laughed. ‘Is that not a lukewarm sentiment to express about one’s intended? She is agreeable enough, but she inspires no passion in me, and she will blindly follow her parents’ advice and then her husband’s, no doubt. And I will make a kind but indifferent husband. And the tragedy is, I was once in love, properly, a long time ago, as a callow youth. Her name was Sophie, and by God, she was lovely. But my parents forbade the match for the lady was far beneath me in rank and wealth. So I was sent away to learn the error of my ways, and in that time, she… well, she fell.’
‘Fell?’
‘She was poor, and her parents died suddenly, with a mountain of debt. In dire straits and unable to reach me, she fell prey to a monstrous seducer who made promises he did not keep. The blackguard got her with child and then abandoned her.’
‘That is awful. And what happened to Sophie and her bairn?’
‘It died on its way out of her, taking Sophie to the grave with it. Her fall from grace was held up to me as a vindication of my parents’ decision to part us.’
‘But that is so cruel. Surely where there is love, a match should stand.’
‘It is not the way of the world. And due to inaction on my part, or a cynical giving up on love, my betrothal still stands and is facing me on my return from duty here.’
‘But you must not wed where there is no love,’ said Orla with passion.
‘Would you save me from such a fate?’ said Nash, his gaze holding hers and a sudden fire in his eyes.
Whatever could he mean? ‘I think you should save yourself, rage against it, refuse,’ said Orla.
‘Perhaps. I have been pondering it all for some time, especially since I came across you, for you have such a fire in your belly, Orla. You launch yourself at life. You eat it up with no restraint, and there is no one like you in Hertfordshire.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Orla. Her heart thudded in her chest. The conversation had suddenly taken a dangerous turn, and Nash’s admiration made her stomach flip. ‘Well, perhaps you could behave so badly to this fiancé that she will not want you and will find another man to wed who is more suitable,’ she said smiling.
‘And how would I do that?’ He moved closer so that their shoulders were touching.
‘Oh, become a drunkard, a gambler or some such thing,’ said Orla, leaping to her feet and pacing nervously.
‘An excellent plan,’ he said, staring up at her. ‘I will become as dissolute as possible and get jilted.’ Nash clapped his hands on his knees and smiled as though the strange intimacy of their conversation had not affected him.
‘Aye, that is the way,’ said Orla. ‘Nash, I think I should go now, in case I am missed.’
‘A pity, for your company is refreshing after being cooped up in a barracks full of barking officers. And the air here is so fresh after the barracks odours of wet wool, latrines, tobacco smoke and salt spray from the sea.’
