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Orla rode back to Blackreach, her misery painting the beautiful autumn colours grey. There was scarcely time to return her horse to the stables and change her clothes before Wolfric rode into the yard with a clatter and a shout to take his horse. She ran outside and flung her arms about him, squeezing him tightly.
‘What is this new-found affection, Orla?’
‘Nothing. I am just grateful for what we have together, Wolfric.’
‘Then let’s go to bed and make good use of it,’ he murmured, and with a smile that was pure sin, he took her hand and led her inside.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The assembly rooms at Inverness were housed in a building of genteel grandeur, with imposing Grecian columns outside and a confection of ornate plasterwork inside. They heralded the town’s aspirations as a growing centre for culture and trade.
The trade part was well out of sight, with the reeking wharves and warehouses along the river Ness sited well away from the assembly rooms. The culture was represented by the wealthiest folk from the most powerful clans who would frequently gather to strut and preen and sometimes plot against each other, depending on what old grievance had reared its head.
For the men, business could be discreetly discussed in a haze of smoke and whisky in the card rooms leading off the main hall. The ladies, however, were there to be seen and admired as they indulged in boasting about their offspring, with an added pinch of spiteful gossip taken in the adjoining tea rooms.
Therefore, a visit to the assembly rooms was something Orla had always wholeheartedly despised. She was not allowed to indulge in business, nor was she interested in gossiping and displaying her wares to catch a husband, as the fishwives on the wharf displayed their catch. But on this occasion, with her hand through the arm of her handsome, fierce husband, she was happy to be there.
Orla carried her newfound affection for Wolfric like a warm blanket around her heart. He had business down on the wharves and had surprised her by insisting on attending the assembly rooms, ‘to show off my new wife and silence the doubters,’ he had said.
The only fly in the ointment, and a repulsive one it was too, was Rufus, who despite being a martyr to his gout, had insisted on accompanying them to close a deal on a bull he wanted at the market. He was presently loudly decrying the company as a bunch of ne’er do wells, pompous nobodies and nincompoops.
‘Bloody Englishmen here, too. All charm and no balls,’ continued Rufus. ‘I doubt that fool has ever seen real combat nor risen off his fat arse in his fancy uniform to lead his troops into battle.’
He gestured to a corner of the room where a company of redcoats was in one corner. Orla spotted Major Sutherland amongst them, holding court and fawning over several ladies accompanied by their husbands. Her heart lurched when her eye fixed on the tallest redcoat - broad-shouldered, immaculate in his regimental red, with his blonde hair hidden beneath a magnificent gold-trimmed tricorne hat. How formal he looked, every inch the English officer, and so different from the informal, windswept Nash of Wildwood Glen.
As if he sensed her scrutiny, Captain Nash turned and glanced around the room. Their eyes locked, and Orla quickly looked away, feeling a little sick.
‘How dare they come to our assembly rooms. The bloody cheek of it,’ complained Rufus.
‘Leave it be, father,’ sighed Wolfric. ‘Take yourself off if you’ve no stomach for the company.’
‘I will do no such thing. I have to conclude my business with MacDuff and get my hands on that prize bull. Remind me again why we are here in these blasted rooms when we could be snug in an alehouse?’
‘Because all these people look down on us, and they long for my marriage to be an unhappy one. It is time we revelled in its success,’ said Wolfric.
‘You won’t impress these snobs, no matter what you do, Wolfric,’ said Orla.
‘The lass is right, son,’ said Rufus.
‘Aye, but I like to discomfort these fools with my presence,’ he said, pulling her close and kissing her thoroughly.
Orla squirmed away from him, her cheeks burning. ‘That should scandalise them well enough for one day,’ she said, forcing a smile as she spotted Fenella, sweeping towards them like a ship in full sail. She wore an enormous yellow dress, ridiculously wide and garnished with vast swathes of lace, bows, and a flock of little fabric butterflies, making it look almost alive.
‘Good Lord, what an assault to the senses,’ declared Wolfric, and Orla had to stifle a giggle.
A discreet cough had them both turning to see Robbie Dunn, accompanied by several of his cronies. He looked dashingly handsome in his grey jacket and matching plaid. Fenella stopped in her tracks to watch.
‘Good day to you, Munro,’ said Robbie, bowing low. He gave a nod of his head in Orla’s direction. ‘Lady Munro,’ he added with a sneer.
‘What do you want?’ snarled Wolfric.
Orla squeezed his arm to steady his temper.
‘I am come to congratulate you on your nuptials, Munro, and on winning that land.’
‘You’ve changed your tune since last we met. Did you not try to drive me down a gully and then curse me to hell as a cheat and a liar? I can only put that lack of courtesy down to the fact that you had recently fallen off your mount into the muck and then been bested by a woman.’
‘And what a woman is Orla Gordon,’ said Robbie with a snide tone and in a loud voice that had everyone staring.
