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‘See here, I had no reason to doubt him, for at Machrief, my father entertained officers frequently and ….’
‘As does his daughter, it would seem. Do you not know of Nash’s reputation? He is a womaniser, well-known for chasing skirts. The man has gambling debts up to his ears, even though he is a relentless cheat at cards.’
‘No. That cannot be true,’ said Orla, shaking her head.
‘Aye. It is true. Do not forget that I frequent the seedy alehouses of Inverness, for which you have frequently condemned me. I hear and see things you do not. And Captain Nash is neither well-regarded nor liked by the townsfolk.’
‘Well, I don’t care what his reputation is, for I did nothing wrong. I have been true to my vows since our wedding day, I swear.’
Wolfric pinched the bridge of his nose. His hands were shaking with rage, and his face was white. He shook his head. ‘Aye, your vows. How you suffer those. You lied. You skulked around behind my back and publicly shamed me, Orla. I will not have it.’
Wolfric suddenly leapt forward and grabbed her wrist in an iron grip.
‘Come with me,’ he snarled.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The oars bit into the dark waters of the loch, and the boat bobbed over the waves stirred up by the wind whistling down from the mountains. Orla felt sick with misery and could think of nothing more to say to Wolfric. Not that it would help, as all her pleading had done no good as her raging husband had dragged her down to the loch’s edge.
Across the water lay the gloomy little island, half in shadow as the sun set. The boat scraped and lurched as it hit the bank, and a dark bulk loomed out of the twilight.
‘What is this awful place?’
‘That is Sorrow’s Folly. It is named for an ancestor of mine and was once a prison, of sorts. The Munros would maroon their enemies here for months to break their spirit. It is now a place of temperance and reflection.’
‘Why are we here, Wolfric?’ said Orla, with a sinking feeling that she knew the answer to her own question.
‘My great grandfather, Sorrow Munro, was a dissolute, miserable, broken wretch of a man. At his lowest ebb, he asked to be rowed out to this island with a gallon of whisky to end his torment by drinking himself to death. But the solitude had a strange effect. It made him confront his sins, and he repented of them. So when they took him off the island a good while later, he was as sober as a judge and a changed man. He never touched the drink again.’
‘I am no drunkard, so why are you bringing me here?’
‘Because you have other sins to repent, Orla.’
Wolfric grabbed hold of a cloth bag and shuffled her out of the boat and up through the mud to the tower. It was little more than a dungeon, consisting of one room, bare brick walls and a stone floor. Broken shutters rattled in the wind.
Wolfric bustled about putting kindling from a pile into a tiny fireplace. He did not look at her as he spoke. ‘There are few comforts, but there is a bed, this bag of provisions and blankets. Water for washing can be taken from the loch. I have left you a flint, and if I were you, I would like the fire as soon as may be before darkness descends.’
‘You cannot intend to leave me here?’ she said in horror.
‘It will keep you safe.’
Wolfric rushed outside, and Orla followed.
‘Safe from what?’
Wolfric bowed his head, and his hands tightened to fists. ‘From me, Orla. I need to calm down before I speak to you anymore, and a stay on the island will give you time to examine your conscience.’ He scraped the boat off the bank and was about to get in when she called out.
‘Please, Wolfric. I did nothing wrong.’
‘Aye, you did, and you know it.’
‘How many times must I tell you? I did not break your trust.’
‘No, you just broke my heart instead, lass.’ He clambered into the boat and rowed steadily for the bank, not meeting her eyes.
‘You cannot do this. You cannot imprison me on this island,’ she shouted.
‘Aye, I can, unless you are a strong swimmer, Orla. And if you decide to swim for it, beware the huge eels and other monsters in the deep.'
