by Tessa Murran
When he had plucked her from the mud and brushed back her hair Duncan had been stunned at how pretty she was. She had a lovely heart-shaped face of exquisite delicacy and symmetry. And those eyes, a dazzling green, the colour of ripe gooseberries, flecked with gold. A man could lose himself in such eyes. It would have been a joy just to stare at her all day long let alone anything else.
Was she an innocent or just pretending to be to season the chase? He’d find out later but first, he had a duty to fulfil. After that, he could pursue his pleasure. At least there was now a challenge to excite him, something to lighten the tedium of this mission he’d been compelled to undertake for his uncle. A girl looking like that would not be hard to find and when they next met he fully intended to use his charm and good looks to break down her defences and make her his. If he was rejected then so be it; there was no shortage of women eager to share his bed. This one was quite lovely though and Duncan wasn’t accustomed to defeat.
Chapter Two
‘You need to be more careful Ailsa,’ said Morag tugging hard with a comb on her sister’s mane of tangled hair as hail and a bitter wind rattled against the shutters. ‘Those men could have been thieves or murderers or …’
‘Much worse than that, they were arrogant, domineering idiots. How is it that men think they can order us around and that we will do exactly as they wish? Why do we have to please them all the time? Why can’t we please ourselves? Our brother gets to do exactly as he wants and no one seems to mind that he spends his time whoring and gambling and pickling himself in whisky.’
‘Aye, it seems unfair I know. And Ailsa, father is trying to curb Robert’s wild ways. But you may as well accept it, men rule the world and that is the way things are.’
‘It’s the wrong way and is that what you really think? When you are married will you just obey your husband without question?’
‘Yes, when I say my marriage vows then that is what I am pledging before God. But if he is kind and gentle and loving to me I won’t mind. He will protect me from the dangers of the world and I will love him and keep his household and bear his children.’
‘And what if he is cruel and stupid and unloving?’
Morag retaliated for this last comment by pulling unmercifully on her sister’s hair. ‘He’s not. I don’t know William Strathairn very well but I can tell he is a good, honourable man and I like him. In fact, I think I may come to love him.’ Morag blushed scarlet and looked away.
Ailsa studied her sister carefully. Was she worried about a future with this man whom she had only met a handful of times and never been completely alone with? Her sister seemed infatuated with her betrothed and obviously attracted to him in some way. Ailsa didn’t know whether to be relieved that Morag had hope of happiness in her marriage or be shocked at her blind obedience and naiveté. Her sister was a gentle soul, kind and pretty and she would make any man happy but she was always trying to please others rather than herself.
‘There little sister, you are finally clean,’ said Morag getting up to leave. ‘Get yourself before the fire or you’ll not dry your hair by this evening, it’s so thick. Now you’d better make yourself presentable and behave tonight or there’ll be more trouble.’
‘Morag, you’ll not tell on me…about my meeting those men I mean.’
‘No I’ll not do that. It’s just as well mother knows nothing of it. And thank goodness Fingal found his way home. Scampering about the countryside alone is quite enough to raise her ire let alone being seen in the company of strangers and dangerous ones at that by the sound of it. Thank the lord they brought you home safe. They could have done anything with you, stolen you away or dishonoured you or worse. You could have broken yourself with that fall and be lying out in the woods now at the mercy of wolves and boars and goodness knows what else. You must curb your rebellious nature Ailsa or one day it will lead you down a dark path.’
Ailsa placed a playful kiss on her sister’s cheek. ‘Don’t chide me for we do not have much more time together. Oh, Morag I will miss you sorely when you leave.’
‘That is because I keep your secrets,’ she replied smiling.
Ailsa’s luck had run out on her re-entry to the castle. She’d managed to sneak in via the kitchens and up the back stairway to her chamber only to find her mother waiting for her. Hesther MacLeod had been incandescent with rage and had administered a sound thrashing with the birch. Despite dodging nimbly out of the way of the harder blows Ailsa had stinging buttocks from where the keener ones had landed. The tongue lashing had been much worse, her mother having berated her, for what seemed like an eternity, on her shortcomings. On top of all that she had been forced to have a very long bath. She was sure her mother had ordered the servants to take her skin off along with the mud they had scrubbed so harshly.
Luckily Hesther had declared that her father would not be told as he had too much to worry about at the moment, whatever that meant! Ailsa determined to seek him out later and ask him about his troubles. Her father was indulgent of his youngest daughter, she was his pet, his favourite and he admired her rebellious spirit much to the annoyance of her mother.
Several hours later Ailsa had been primped and preened to within an inch of her life and was ready to ‘grace the great hall with her presence’, as her mother put it. Her sister’s wedding celebrations were a great moment for the MacLeod’s, eager to show off their wealth and influence amongst the clans. Tonight they were to have a feast to welcome their many guests and her father, a rich landowner and warrior chief had gone all out to make an impression to the extent that Ailsa gasped when she entered the hall.
The vaulted ceiling was set aglow by hundreds of candles, rows of blazing torches set against the walls and the light from a great fire burning in the soot-blackened hearth. Fragrant garlands of heather, gorse and wildflowers garnished the great stone pillars and the walls were colourful with freshly dusted tapestries. The room was packed to bursting point with guests in their finery, milling and jostling each other for a spot near the front where clan chief Gordon MacLeod oversaw proceedings with a firm hand. Ailsa felt hot and giddy with excitement.
From his massive oak chair on a raised dais, her father looked down on the throng. He was a belligerent bear of a man, big boned and hard-faced, with a shock of thick auburn hair. Though he was turning to fat in the autumn of his life and was of an unruly appearance, this masked a keen intelligence and cunning. Ailsa rushed up to him and draped an affectionate arm over his shoulders.
‘So many people father I wonder how they all fit in.’ Ailsa had to shout over the gaggle of voices filling the hall.
‘Aye, lass, they are all keen to honour the union of Morag and William and of course, to seek favours of me.’
‘And will you grant them?’
‘Aye, they depend on my being in a good mood at such a time and so they strike,’ he laughed jovially. ‘They’ve most of them no more cunning than a sheep so I know full well what they are about.’
Ailsa bent to hug her father and kiss his cheek. ‘Mother said you were beset with worries. What troubles you father?’
‘Away with you now, don’t fash yourself with it,’ he said with mock impatience but smiling broadly. ‘Go and find some enjoyment before your mother ambushes you with another avid suitor for you to repel.’
Ailsa left his side and searched the crowded hall for friends and relatives. Unfortunately, she was almost immediately set upon by her mother and dragged into a line flanking her father’s chair alongside other high ranking clan members and various elegantly adorned ladies. The heads of visiting clans were to present themselves to the laird of the castle and express their allegiance, each taking his turn in order of precedence. ‘Time to be put on show,’ thought Ailsa rebelliously
First in line were the Sinclairs, a powerful neighbouring clan and old sparring partners of her father’s. They were here on sufferance as they were a malcontent bunch and not to be trusted at all. There would be no joy for them in her sister’s weddin
g and the budding alliance it would bring to her family. The greeting their Chief Alex gave her father seemed sincere but his smile was tepid and forced. As he walked off his beady eyes were drawn to her. The lust slithering there caused her stomach to turn with revulsion.
Clan McDougall was here in force. Their chief, a grey-haired doddering old man, had been loyal to her father for decades. Now he was beset by struggles over who would succeed him. With four sons of age, all vying for position Ailsa pitied him his predicament. Family life at the McDougalls was anything but peaceful she imagined.
She was forced to stand patiently as a procession of important men greeted her father and were then presented to her, all of them no doubt in the market for a wife for themselves or for a son of theirs. She curtsied and gave a cold smile to each as their eyes slid over her appraisingly. If only she were invisible as she was in turns irritated and humiliated by their scrutiny. But she endured it as best she could, not wishing to embarrass her father on such an important occasion. After what seemed to her like an eternity of greetings and insincere words her mind started to wander. Looking down at her shoes, which were starting to pinch around her swollen ankle, Ailsa felt someone’s eyes on her. She looked up and a chill went through her. Oh, it couldn’t be!
Duncan was standing impatiently in line waiting to greet Laird MacLeod. Keen to get things over with and find some hard liquor with which to quench a raging thirst, his impatience was getting the better of him. He was more at home astride a horse and swinging his claymore at an opponent than bowing and scraping in the great hall. But Duncan was also shrewd and had enough of the politician about him to realise that this was all part of the game. MacLeod would be using this occasion to forge new alliances, sniff out discontent and stamp out plots to sabotage his rule and, as representative of Clan Campbell, Duncan had to pay his respects because there was a lot more going on at Cailleach than a wedding.
Scanning the room for friends and foes he suddenly spotted the most stunning girl standing next to the laird. His first impression was that she was luminous. The glow from the candlelight had turned her yellow dress to gold and enhanced the fiery streaks in her chestnut hair coiled elaborately around her head. She was tall with the kind of softly curvaceous figure which would quicken the pulse of any man. Whilst the other girls had taken trouble with their dresses, lavishly embroidered and adorned with copious amounts of lace, hers was plain and simple. If she had intended to blend into the background she had failed, as the modest garb let her beauty shine through, like a ruby set in a simple ring. And there was something familiar about her. The other ladies, already keen to catch his eye, seemed like dull creatures in comparison. Carefully concealing his particular interest in her so as not to offend them, he bowed low in front of each of them as they all blushed and broadened their smiles in response.
Ailsa thought her heart might thump right out of her chest as the stranger from the woods approached. She braced herself for trouble and suddenly he was upon her. He turned his hooded dark gaze to her with an unbearable intensity, recognition dawning on his face. Unfortunately, her mother caught the scent of an eligible man and there was no stopping her.
‘May I present my youngest daughter Ailsa,’ she beamed. ‘Just turned seventeen and so accomplished in all things. Ailsa this fine young man is Duncan Campbell, nephew of Hugh Campbell of Dunslair.’
Ailsa froze. Her father had an uneasy relationship with Clan Campbell. This brute taking her hand was allied to a powerful and extremely ruthless man. As he bent to place a kiss on her fingers it was all she could do not to snatch her hand away. Alas, her mother’s campaign for a new son-in-law was in full swing.
‘Ailsa is well trained in managing a household and sews the most beautiful needlework and so strong and healthy. I will have to part with her soon as some fine buck will claim her,’ continued Hesther, with absolutely no attempt at subtlety. ‘Is she not the bonniest little thing sir?’
‘That is an understatement, Mistress MacLeod. Your daughter is blessed with a truly beautiful face… an unforgettable face in fact.’ Ailsa glared up at Duncan, who was still gripping her hand.
Duncan was met with a glacial stare from a pair of green eyes flecked with gold and he knew he was right. That defiant demeanour would have given her away immediately had not her flawless beauty already done so. He was without doubt face to face with the so-called tavern wench. She had been attractive covered in mud; clean she was making his head spin. At seventeen she still had a coltish awkwardness about her, long-limbed and boisterous, just on the cusp of being a woman. When she grew into her beauty she would be spectacular. Her lips were full and softly pink, the bottom one far fuller than the top, a feature which gave him a mad urge to take it gently between his teeth and test its softness. Such thoughts were completely inappropriate given that he now knew her to be Laird MacLeod’s daughter.
Duncan weighed up his options, for what had started out as a tedious evening had now taken a delightful turn. He could take revenge for that slap she’d given him by bringing her indiscretions to the attention of her family or he could have some sport with her instead. Her mother turned aside to bark orders at a passing servant and he locked eyes with the girl.
‘My Lady Ailsa it really is a great honour to meet you…again,’ he said.
‘I don’t think we’ve ever met,’ she replied coldly, tugging on her hand which he refused to relinquish.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes but then I meet so many people and not all of them are worth remembering.’
‘Forgive me, I had the strangest feeling we had met. It’s merely that you remind me of a tavern wench from the village with whom I hoped to become better acquainted,’ he said smoothly.
‘I’m so flattered by the comparison, sir.’
‘Perhaps I am mistaken after all, though I sincerely hope to know you better by the end of the evening,’ he replied, not taking his eyes off her. She looked horrified, no doubt afraid he would give her away and humiliate her in front of everyone, in her father’s house. ‘And besides torturing men with your beauty how do you amuse yourself Lady Ailsa,’ he continued evenly.
‘Not by talking to fools like you.’
Her rudeness had little effect, in fact, it amused him. ‘I had a most interesting encounter on my journey here,’ he said smiling, ‘I must recount its details to your father when I meet with him later. I must ask him how a dirty tavern wench, with woeful manners, ended up greeting his guests.’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘Wouldn’t I? Make it worth my while and I may stay silent.’
‘And how would I do that?’
‘That’s easy. Give me something I want.’
They stared at each other, neither wishing to give ground. Duncan was enjoying her defiance but all the same, he was not about to be bested by a mere girl. Lady MacLeod still hovered nearby, her interest was piqued by her daughter’s prolonged conversation with him and she was no doubt trying to eavesdrop, but luckily the gaggle of voices in the hall prevented her from doing so. And there were others staring. Several young women who had been trying to catch his eye were glowering at Ailsa as he continued holding on to her hand.
‘Do you like to dance Lady Ailsa?’
‘What? No, not especially,’ she said in confusion at his sudden change of subject.
‘Nevertheless, I must beg your mother’s kind indulgence and claim the first dance of the evening with you,’ he declared, not to her but, loudly, in the direction of her mother. ‘Mistress MacLeod may I be so bold!’
The reply was predictable. ‘Of course, you may. Ailsa would be honoured.’
‘Lady Ailsa, I’ll be sure to seek you out later and claim my prize,’ he said. She was fuming and if looks could kill he would be a dead man. He smiled, released her hand and moved off into the crowd.
An hour passed before the greetings were all dispensed with and Ailsa scanned the room in the hope of staying as far away from Duncan Campbell as possible. Damn
the man. His pledge to dance didn’t seem like an empty threat but she hoped to avoid it for as long as possible. Maybe the brute would get too drunk and forget, or even better, choose one of the other girls to torment.
They were certainly making eyes at him that was for certain, constantly sweeping past the group he was in so as to be noticed. Standing in the midst of the crowded hall, the Campbell men had become the centre of attention as they were all young, strapping and wild-looking. Ailsa had to grudgingly admit that Duncan was far and away the most handsome man in the room. Resplendent in his black plaid, shot through with red and blue, he seemed even taller indoors. The blaze of candlelight gave a rich sheen to his now tidied hair. Brushed back from his face it was the deep blue-black of crows’ wings. Black like his soul no doubt, though he seemed to have an easy friendliness with his companions. And so in spite of herself, she let her gaze fall on him again and again.
With the formalities over the guests relaxed into noisy conversations and with much flirting and lingering looks amongst the younger ones. Ailsa grinned when she spotted an old friend in the crowd and some of the tension from her awkward encounter with Duncan Campbell drained away. Hamish was old Chief McDougall’s youngest son and part of the power struggle currently steering the old man towards an early grave. Red haired, boisterous and with an abundance of charm, he was a frequent visitor to Cailleach.
They had grown up in close proximity. When his father had first brought him to Cailleach, a big, awkward, lump of a lad, she had felt a bit sorry for him and had taken him under her wing. He, in turn, had been drawn to her friendly manner and rebellious spirit. And so they had spent many hours exploring the woods and fields around the castle, bouncing around on their little ponies and scampering off to the loch with barbed spears to snag eel and pike from its depths. Ailsa had not seen him for some time and so she marvelled at how much he had changed, his once boyish face now hardened into manly good looks. Gossip named him as quite the seducer around the village.
