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Wolfric banged his fist on the table so hard it had the hounds whimpering and running for cover. ‘Enough. She is no witch to be tormented, and I will bear no more slurs against Orla. Have I made myself heard?’
Rufus, unabashed, just slurped in more porridge, and Wolfric watched it churn in his mouth as he spoke. ‘Don’t shift your anger to me, son. ‘Twas not me pressed up against a redcoat and now the talk of Inverness.’
Just when Wolfric thought he might actually be capable of choking his own father with his bare hands, a sudden commotion had them both turning towards the hall door.
‘You cannot go in there. The Laird said you are barred.’
The door slammed open, and Orla rushed in and stormed up to them. ‘Who says I am barred from my own home?’ she demanded.
Wolfric did not know whether to laugh or recoil at the sight of her. She had never looked more terrible. The lass was soaked through, her dress hanging off and smeared in mud. Water ran down her face from her hair, which had some kind of weed clinging to it, and she was shivering violently.
‘By all that is holy, tell me you didn’t swim for it, Orla,’ gasped Wolfric.
‘Of course, I did. How else would I be standing here?’ she spat. Orla rushed to the whisky bottle, took several big gulps and wiped her mouth with the back of a very dirty hand. Her eyes wore a look of mild insanity as she glared at the two of them and hissed, ‘How dare you imprison me on that island.’
‘But…how could you…I mean, the current is strong, and the loch is deep and cold?’ said Wolfric, as he tried to imagine her swimming across the treacherous stretch of water. By Christ, even he would baulk at doing it.
Orla shook her head dismissively as if the question was ridiculous and moved to the fireplace, holding out her hands and peeling strands of dripping hair off her face. ‘We have a moat around Machrief, and many’s the time I fell in when I was young. So I learnt to swim pretty quickly, or else I’d have been drowned many times over by now. I took my dress off and swam in my shift, so there was no drag on my legs. It was easy enough once I had gathered my courage.’ She took another swig of whisky and swayed as though her legs would go from under her.
‘I see.’ Wolfric looked her up and down and could barely suppress a smirk and the urge to rush and hold her up. ‘I can’t believe a lass would have that kind of courage.’
She glared at him. ‘Aye, well I do, and now I am back, I intend to settle this quarrel by having it out with you, Wolfric. If you try locking me up again, I swear I will kill you.’
Wolfric glanced at his father.
‘I am speechless,’ said Rufus, shaking his head.
‘That would be a first now, wouldn’t it,’ said Wolfric. ‘You may leave us if you please.’
‘Swam the loch,’ muttered Rufus, shaking his head. ‘She actually swam the loch.’
‘Out, now, all of you,’ shouted Wolfric, and the hounds put their tails between their legs and skulked out. But his father stood firm.
‘I will not be ejected from my own hall by this hussy,’ said Rufus.
‘Fine. Then we will leave.’ Wolfric grabbed Orla by the hand and dragged her from the hall.
***
Wolfric’s jaw worked, and his eyes roamed all over her. Orla felt small and wretched in his presence. All night long, she had been on fire with the desire to confront him, but now the moment had come, she was tongue-tied and horribly nervous.
‘We need to get you out of those wet clothes before you take a chill,’ said Wolfric, rushing up and tearing at her dress.
‘Don’t. Stop it. Don’t put your hands on me, you blackguard.’
‘I can put my hands on you any time I like. I am your husband,’ he snarled into her face.
‘More like my jailor,’ she said, pushing him back.
‘Is that so? If you wish to leave, the door is over there, Orla. So tell me, do you want to leave me? Say it now, and this is over, lass.’ He continued tearing at her clothes.
‘What?’
‘Say the words, and you are free.’ Her dress came off in a muddy wet heap, and her skin tightened to gooseflesh. ‘You can go back to your father,’ said Wolfric. ‘He has sent word this very morning that you can return to the comforts of Machrief, and then you need never see or speak to me again.’ Wolfric’s lips moved to within an inch of hers. ‘It is your salvation. You need never lie with me again, Orla. It will be a great relief, will it not?’
‘You…you want to send me away? You don’t want me?’ she whimpered, biting her lip.
‘I can’t trust you.’
