‘Aye, for that is what folk call him apparently, though no one knows his real name. The man gives himself airs and graces it seems, and yet he is the lowest form of scoundrel. If you are here sniffing for information, you’ll not learn anything. Folk will keep their mouths shut or suffer worse than scarring. The man has a reputation for relishing violence and has powerful friends, I feel.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ said Callum.
‘I mean that the Baron is no common criminal, out to chance his hand at a little thievery. He has money and power behind him.’ Wolfric leant in. ‘Only some of us lairds have been targeted hereabouts.’
‘I hear differently, that most estates have suffered losses.’
Wolfric’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Aye, but some losses have been minor, just a few head of cattle, while others have been great. Which makes me suspect they are not real losses at all, but more a ruse to divert attention, my friend.’
‘We are not friends, Munro. We came together to hunt down a common enemy, and now those renegade redcoats are mouldering in their graves, our common cause is gone.’
‘Yet, we have mutual friends. Orla, for instance. I know you are fond of my wife.’
‘Aye, and because you make her happy, I tolerate your company, as I am doing now.’
‘Ross, we both face a foe more dangerous than those redcoats, and he is growing bolder and more powerful every day. I know you hunt the Baron and his men day and night when you should be home enjoying your new wife. Such dedication, and I wonder at the reason for it.’
Wolfric Munro’s black, piercing gaze was unwavering, and anger tightened Callum’s fists at the mention of Tara.
‘You have my respect there, Ross,’ he continued. ‘You did very well for yourself. A clan to rule and a beautiful wife to bed. Yet I sense dissatisfaction. Why is that?’
‘Because you are a fool, who pokes around where he should not, Munro,’ snarled Callum, staring into his ale.
‘As do you. I hear rumours you have been to the printing press at Dray Street so that you can post a reward for the Baron’s capture all over the county. And you are hanging about here where you could be recognised and set upon on the road home. You are drawing a great deal of attention to yourself.’
‘That is my business.’
‘Alright. So tell me. Why are you not at Raigmoor?’
‘If you must barge into my business, at least get some whisky, Munro, for I cannot stomach this ale.’
Two bottles of whisky later, Callum had dropped his defences enough to loosen his tongue and unburden himself on the one person who would understand his predicament. Wolfric Munro had won his bride, Orla, in a horse race. She had not wanted him as a husband, and he had only been after the land which was part of her dowry. Yet somehow, they had found a way to love each other.
‘You once said that women are ungovernable,’ said Callum, gulping back whisky and relishing its burn. ‘But you and Orla have love between you and a smooth union.’
‘Aye, but ‘twas not always so. And Orla is a stubborn one. In truth, there is only one way to govern a woman and gain the upper hand, and it lies abed,’ slurred Wolfric.
‘Abed,’ laughed Callum, his face twisting with regret. ‘That is where my problem lies, for Tara does not want me. She hides it, but I can tell. She suffers to have me as is her duty, which is worse than her not having me at all.’
‘Gods, did you not dip your wick while you were young, Callum, and learn how to please a woman?’
‘Of course, I did. But not one like her, not one I cared about, and certainly not as many as you. I have never been minded to treat women as objects for my lust. ‘Tis not right.’
‘Fair enough.’ Wolfric leant in, and one of his elbows slipped off the table, and he almost lurched sideways off his stool. ‘Now, what you need to do is to make her want you. Once a woman is gasping under your fingers, their hearts are vulnerable. They are yours. There will come a point when you will know you have succeeded. Once she wants you, she will come to heel well enough.’
‘Wants me? But she already has me.’
‘No. You have her. It is the wrong way around, and she has all the power. Make Tara crave your touch, and she will be obedient, for she will be happy. That is all women want - to be happy and to feel beautiful. And it will be better for you too. Find that spot in her cunny that makes her push against your hand, makes her gasp into your mouth, kiss you harder, clutch you to her. It is unmistakable. Take her off that pedestal you have put her on. She is but a woman with a woman’s urges. Satisfy them, and you will be blissful, my friend.’
‘How can a man accustomed to keeping what he owns by brute force, be gentle and kind? Today, I was out looking for reivers, and if I found them, I would have meted out harsh and bloody punishment. How can I then return to my soft wife and find tenderness when I am filled with murderous rage?’
‘You and I are not friends, but we are cut from the same cloth, Ross, and if I have found a way to do it, so can you.’ Wolfric lowered his voice. ‘We both have blood on our hands, but ‘twas in defence of the helpless and innocent, and I do not regret what we did. Nor should you.’
***
The effects of the whisky were starting to wear off by the time Callum met Greaves in Inverness. He heartily regretted spilling his guts to Wolfric Munro, but the man had pledged to do all he could in helping to hunt down the cattle thieves.
Callum found Greaves near the stocks with his arms full of printed sheets of paper. He took one and read it.