The Black Wolf's Captive (The Highland Wolf Series Book 1)

by Tessa Murran

  ‘How?’

  ‘Took a knife to the throat in a tavern brawl,’ replied Rory casually. ‘No one lamented his passing, least of all Duncan, and then his Uncle Hugh took him in and raised him. He got cold comfort there I can tell you for Hugh Campbell is a hard man.’

  ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘We never talk of it. Fergus Campbell’s drunkenness and debauchery was the shame of our clan, he lost his estate of Struan over it, along with Duncan’s inheritance. And you must never mention any of this, it would humiliate him.’

  ‘So he was brought up in misery,’ said Ailsa, shocked and saddened by Rory’s tale. ‘And so how did you become friends.’

  ‘Oh to my shame I was one of the boys who delivered the merciless beatings. Then one day while out hunting I was thrown from my horse and as I lay bleeding on the ground I heard a growl nearby. It was a wolf - the largest one I had ever seen and it chilled my blood to see it. Black, it was, black as pitch. As it rushed at me Duncan appeared from nowhere and opened its skull with one sweep of his claymore. A perfectly timed blow and one of the most impressive things I have ever seen. We were both only fourteen years old but he was already a sturdy lad and strong.

  ‘When I asked him why he saved me, one of his tormentors, he replied, ‘because you needed saving,’ and that was it. I owed him my life and I resolved to repay that debt. From then on he was never alone in a fight against the others, I fought alongside him. Over the course of time, we became friends and I flatter myself that I am one of the few people he really trusts and he still wears that wolf to this day.’

  ‘Ah, the black pelt,’ said Ailsa. ‘In truth it always makes him seem a bit frightening.’

  ‘Aye I suppose it does, I think that’s why he wears it,’ said Rory with a smile.

  ‘Rory, why are you telling me all this? Are you asking me to pity Duncan for his past?’

  ‘No, I am asking you to try and understand him. Ailsa he sees something in you, something of himself maybe. You defy him when most would not dare and I think he has finally met his match in life and I for one will be very interested to see how that turns out.’ With that, he bowed low, kissed her hand, smiled his winning smile and walked off.

  Ailsa was left confused and unsettled. Rory of course, as his friend, would be bound to paint a pretty picture of Duncan. Hamish on the other hand, her family’s ally, had made him out to be power-hungry and callous. Maybe neither of them was right and neither of them really knew him. She doubted she ever would as Duncan was too complex and intimidating for that. Despite Rory’s admiration for his friend, there could be no softening towards him; she could trust nothing about him in these circumstances. She must stick to her plan and think only of her clan and her birthright and be resolute in her resistance.

  She watched Rory as he strolled away along the battlements, the sun warming his dark blonde hair. He was a man of formidable intelligence and like Duncan, he had a measure of kindness and integrity in his dealings with others, a good deal of charm too, though Ailsa pitied the poor village trollops who fell for it.

  Later that same day she heard that Duncan had returned. She could not explain the impulse which made her seek him out. He was down at the forge and Ailsa watched from the shadow of the castle walls as he hammered molten steel into submission. The expression on his face was one of grim determination as he relentlessly brought the hammer down, again and again, clanging against the metal, sparks flying off.

  His shirt was wet with sweat and grimy with soot from the fire and that dark tangle of hair hung over his face. Even dirty and dishevelled Duncan was magnificent, potent, commanding and it was this power which overwhelmed her and fed her mistrust. He controlled his world and everyone and everything in it with a steely resolve. In the light of Rory’s sad tale, she searched for a hint of vulnerability behind the façade of absolute strength, a shadow cast by that painful upbringing, but she found none.

  She approached cautiously, determined to keep her distance, the sound of hammering ringing in her ears. When he spotted her he stopped and smiled broadly, wiping away sweat and pushing the hair off his face.

  ‘What can I do for you Ailsa?’

  ‘Nothing…I,’ she looked around the yard and took a deep breath, ‘I just wanted to know if all is well and we are safe from the Sinclairs.’

  ‘Aye, all is well, no need to fash yourself. The latest patrol found nothing of concern so do not fret, Cailleach is safe.’ He flung down the hammer and wiped his hands down his breeches.

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ she replied lightly as his penetrating gaze scoured her face. ‘Why do you do that yourself, surely the smithy could do it?

  ‘Aye he’s likely more skilled than I but I like to forge my own swords, it is a whim of mine. My life might one day depend on this sword and so I like to put my own sweat into it; that way it belongs to me and answers my command. It is balanced to my grip and it has the edge I want, it is personal.’

  ‘It seems you have put a deal of sweat into this one,’ she said looking from his rugged face to his dirty shirt.

  ‘Aye,’ he smiled, ‘I have at that.’

  ‘Where did you learn such a skill?’

  ‘As a child at my uncle’s castle, Dunslair, I spent many hours alone and, as I despise idleness, I asked the smithy to teach me to shoe horses and from there I learned the art of turning the steel. I enjoy the feel of it.’ He beamed at her, a wicked gleam in his eye. ‘I like being able to bend things to my will.’

  Was he teasing her again? He plunged the sword into the brazier and turned to dunk his head in the water trough, gasping at the cold and shaking the water off, like a wet dog. He pulled a filthy hand through his hair.

  ‘Am I more presentable now my lady?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Ailsa couldn’t quite keep the smile from her face.

  ‘Well then,’ he said and tore his shirt off over his head, wiping his chest and face with it. Flinging it down, he came to stand at the entrance to the forge and put his arms up to rest them, grabbing hold of the beam across the doorway and leaning towards her.

  Perhaps he did it just to see the lust creep into her gaze when she was confronted with his broad, naked chest. Or he had such confidence in his rough beauty that he had wanted to display it, but whatever the reason, Ailsa could only stare at him, grasping for something to say so that he would not see the spark of admiration in her eyes.

  How gloriously his muscles, swollen from his exertions, twisted around his long arms, bunching over his shoulders, rippling along his belly like sand sculpted by waves on a beach. A droplet of water from his wet hair began to trickle down his chest and Ailsa became transfixed on its slow progress down, down, to the top of his breeches. For a delicious moment, she imagined herself pressing her lips to it, tracing its path back up with her tongue, tasting his skin.

  She had spent her life covering herself, not revealing anything to anyone, body or soul. With Duncan, there was no artifice and no hiding what he was. He was not shy of his body but displayed it proudly and he didn’t give a fig for the opinion of others. Ailsa admired his certainty and such belief in himself for where she twisted and turned in her dilemma, his path was clear. He had told her exactly what he wanted, the problem was that she was not sure if she could give it to him.

  In the sudden silence between them, Ailsa was acutely aware of the cackle and spit of the fire behind him and its warmth on her face. It was almost as if Duncan were the devil taunting her, tempting her into hell. He seemed to be saying ‘All this is yours, I am yours if you are prepared to pay the price in loyalty, trust and pride.’

  She met his eyes and read an invitation there. ‘I should go,’ she said frowning and she turned and crossed the yard on trembling legs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Confused by the feelings Duncan inspired, Ailsa tried to stay out of his way as much as possible so as not to be tempted into further displaying any attraction to him. If she saw her husband approaching she would veer off in another
direction to avoid an encounter. But Ailsa often found her eye drawn to his tall dark figure as he moved about the castle or rode out on with his men.

  Duncan was always busy taking charge of strengthening defences and organising food stores which were severely depleted by the disruption caused by the conflict. Nevertheless, he found time to seek her out regularly to ask advice on some small matter, showing an interest in the most trivial things such as the conditions of the wine stores or the provisions in the kitchens. Or he would ask after the health of one of the villagers who was ailing.

  He did not come to her bedchamber at night nor try to lie with her. She was at first relieved at this and then perplexed as to why. As this state of affairs continued Ailsa began to be almost disappointed by her husband’s avoidance of the marriage bed. What devil made her lie awake in a cold bed to the wee small hours longing to feel his hands on her?

  One morning, as spring softened into summer, Duncan sent a messenger ordering her to come to the courtyard after breakfast to go riding out. There was no point in arguing and she couldn’t muster the energy to do so anyway. Ailsa found Duncan standing before the stables looking impossibly handsome with a smug look on his devilish face, unruly black hair blown this way and that in the breeze.

  ‘Will you ride with me today Ailsa?’ he said.

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  No. I am your husband and I demand the pleasure of your company.’ His brown eyes were alight with excitement and anticipation.

  ‘Then I’m all yours,’ she replied tartly.

  ‘All mine…how I like the sound of that,’ parried Duncan, unconcerned with her rejection of him. The more she pushed him away the more he sought her out, her defiance seemed to excite him.

  ‘I’ll get them to saddle Fingal,’ she said with resignation.

  ‘No need.’ He snapped his fingers at the stable lad who sped off and returned leading a lovely mare, pure white except for a rash of grey spots over her rump. In the sunlight, the horse’s lush mane and tail gleamed like silver and she snorted, prancing and rearing, eager to be off and running. Such a graceful animal, she took Ailsa’s breath away.

  ‘She’s yours,’ said Duncan quietly. ‘I bought her for you.’

  ‘Why?’ Ailsa said quickly without thinking.

  ‘Because you love to ride and you are a good horsewoman. The mare’s young and skittish, she’ll need a firm hand to break her in properly, but once that’s done I think you’ll enjoy endless hours of pleasure on her back.’ Ailsa felt shame warming her cheeks, feeling he was in some way talking about her. Did he intend to break her independent spirit too?

  ‘The horse isn’t the only one who’s skittish I see,’ said Duncan seeing her blush. ‘You can’t ride out alone Ailsa and I will have you obey me here. Promise me you will take company.’

  ‘Yes, I promise.’ Ailsa went up to the beautiful beast, stroking the soft nose and smooth shiny flanks, delighting in the smell of her warm coat. ‘Duncan, is she really mine?’ she asked shyly, not recently accustomed to receiving kindness from anyone and aware that the horse must have cost him a pretty penny.

  ‘My gift to you.’

  Ailsa smiled up at him, unable to contain her excitement. ‘Thank you, Duncan, she’s truly lovely.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ he replied quietly, handsome face burning with some emotion Ailsa could not fathom. It was as if she had given him a gift, not the other way around.

  They rode for some time in the sunshine before they left the castle well behind. Duncan didn’t seem to feel the need to speak, glancing over admiringly as she settled the horse skillfully.

  ‘Ailsa you command with the lightest touch. She is already completely under your control, just like me,’ he said ruefully.

  ‘Duncan, why is it so dangerous for me to ride out alone? Surely our…these lands are well protected and you send out constant patrols. The Sinclairs were soundly beaten, their strength diminished to a point where they could not face you head on and the weaker clans will fall into line now they can no longer hide behind Alex Sinclair and his men.’

  ‘Up to a point, yes, but the Sinclairs constantly test us, attacking quickly and then retreating before their losses get too great. They stab at our defences, trying to find a weak spot though neither of us has the stomach for a full blown fight in the aftermath of the battle at Kirriemuir. Bands of renegades and mercenaries prey on the defenceless hereabouts and, should they come across a woman out alone, especially one as beautiful as you and high born well, they would either do the profitable thing, hold you for ransom, or something much worse.’

  Ailsa, emboldened by his easy manner asked, ‘How much ransom would you pay for me?’

  ‘Whatever they asked,’ he replied, giving her a look which made her heart thump and her hands shake. His horse was up against hers now and the mood of the morning had shifted.

  ‘If they are as dangerous as you say, are you able to protect me, Duncan?’ she asked trying to sound nonchalant and failing.

  ‘I’ll take the head off any man who touches you,’ he said in a hard voice and she knew he meant it. Reaching over he put his hand round her waist pulling her to him and kissed her thoroughly, his thigh pressed to hers. ‘Come, see if you can beat me to the top,’ he said, pulling away and with that, he set off at a gallop up the hill. Ailsa kicked the mare forward, determined not to be beaten and needing an outlet for her emotions. They arrived at the top together and sat in silence drinking in the sight of mountains and moorland spreading out into the distance, clad in a mantle of deep green ferns and purple heather.

  Duncan dismounted. “This is a fine spot,’ he said pulling a blanket off his horse and arranging it on the ground. ‘Come, sit Ailsa,’ he said patting a spot next to him on the blanket. Ailsa was wary but complied, sitting as far away from him as possible, the hot feeling his kiss had evoked still burning within her.

  ‘Your mother is in good health?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Yes, she is but she is lost without my father. You have been very kind to her…and I…I thank you for it.’

  Duncan regarded her with pity written all over his face. ‘I hope that in time she will regain her wits and live on to honour your father’s memory. In the meantime you make an excellent mistress of Cailleach,’ he said giving her a very direct look.

  Ailsa looked away in order to conceal the pleasure his compliment gave her.

  ‘And you have no need to thank me,’ he continued. ‘Your mother was a most gracious host to me on my last, er, happier visit to Cailleach, on the occasion of your sister’s wedding. As her son-in-law, it is my duty to take care of Lady MacLeod.’

  This last comment felt awkward between them. ‘Forgive me Ailsa. I know this marriage was forced on you and if your mother were in good health she would doubtless not have approved of me.’

  ‘On the contrary, she would have been pleased just to see me married off even if it was to a Campbell for she was not choosy.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Duncan, side-stepping the insult.

  ‘I mean that I love my mother dearly and no doubt she has my best interests at heart but she always assumed I would be bereft if I was to turn eighteen without a husband. I did not share that view of marriage or her enthusiasm for the many suitors paraded before me.’

  ‘Why not? Don’t all girls want to be wed?’

  ‘No,’ she said simply, looking down and plucking at the grass. ‘I wanted the freedom that my brother had, to hunt and ride and educate myself. I wanted to go out into the world and change it. I wanted to make my own decisions and not constantly hide my intelligence and my accomplishments so as not to embarrass my husband.’ Duncan stayed silent. ‘In short, I didn’t want to belong to a man, to be his little, painted doll to delight and amuse him while all the time screaming inside at the sheer boredom of it all.’

  ‘Surely marriage is not like that for all women. Some, I am sure, have been fortunate in their choice of husband and I am not all bad surely.’

&
nbsp; ‘I suppose you have a few good qualities,’

  ‘And what might they be,’ he smiled wickedly.

  ‘Do you really think I would own them to you and have your head swell even more than it already has? You may tease me all you like but I will not tell,’ she said throwing grass at him.

  ‘I’m tall,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve seen many men taller.’

  ‘Many women have found me handsome.’

  ‘Then they must have come upon you in the dark for I cannot see it.’

  He laughed. ‘Aye many of them did come upon me in the dark.’

  Ailsa understood his meaning perfectly and she could not meet his eye.

  ‘Ah, I’ve shocked you, well worth it, for you look uncommonly pretty when you blush.’

  ‘You should not tease me by talking so.’

  Duncan fell back on the blanket; hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun. ‘Tell me truthfully, am I such a terrible prospect for a husband? Is marriage so very bad?

  ‘It easy for you to say marriage is a good thing, you have all the power, you men. Here we are, wed because it suited you to be so. It did not suit me, you were not my choice of husband though I suppose it was always my fate to be sold to the highest bidder and to become some man’s possession,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘I’m sorry you feel that way Ailsa and I will own there is truth in your words.’

  ‘So you agree that I am now your possession like a …well a cow or a castle or a horse.’

  ‘You sting me with those words Ailsa but yes, you are right. From the moment I laid eyes on you sitting in the mud, I wanted you so when I had the chance I took you. And don’t ask me to say I regret it Ailsa, because I don’t, not one bit, not while I sit here gazing at you, burning for you.’