‘No, I am here to defend them,’ he shouted back at her. ‘I defend them from the Sinclair’s who are drawn to weakness like rats to a corpse. They will swarm in here and run riot through these lands at the first opportunity. That was probably their plan all along – to exploit your brother’s stupidity to their own ends. Your father knew they couldn’t be trusted and built alliances to protect against them, alliances your brother tore down within a year of his passing.
Ailsa’s composure seemed to flood out of her at the mention of Gordon MacLeod and her face blanched, tears welling up in her eyes. In spite of himself, Duncan pitied her. For a brief moment, he struggled not to take hold of her and press her against him for comfort but he daren’t touch her, such was the revulsion written all over her face. She looked wretched and thought him the sole cause of her despair.
‘What becomes of my family and my people?’ she asked in a tremulous voice.
‘They are my people now and so long as they don’t raise a hand against my rule they will not be harmed. They may seek sanctuary with me at Cailleach or go back to their farms. A force of my men will be garrisoned here to keep the peace.’
‘What becomes of me?’
‘You are to remain here at my pleasure and under my protection.’
With this Duncan leaned forward and gently took the dagger away, his fingers brushing against hers. He met no resistance and with a heavy heart turned and strode quickly from the hall.
Chapter Four
Ailsa lay on her bed, her mind in turmoil. She was caught like an animal in a snare trap, twisting and turning would only entangle her further. Better to stay still and work out a strategy. She was on the wrong side of a battle and at Duncan Campbell’s mercy, a man who despised her as a defeated enemy, a man who had taken liberties with her honour and could very well do so again with no one to stop him, a man who was as ferocious and unforgiving as the Highland weather. ‘At my pleasure,’ he had said and Ailsa shuddered to think what that meant.
Several days had passed since their meeting and Ailsa was struggling to come to terms with her new situation. Robert was in prison, the clan’s best fighters beaten and dispersed God knows where and a conquering force had moved into her home. The future had fallen away and her old life had gone. In its place was only fear and humiliation.
If only she’d fled when she had the chance but where? Seeking sanctuary with the Sinclairs was unthinkable of course as she despised them so. And even if there was some safe haven somewhere, with her gone, who would be left to plead the cause of the villagers and servants? It was her duty to protect them for many were old and had been loyal to the MacLeod family their whole lives. There was no one else to care for them or to speak up for them. And rumours were rife about how the Campbells treated their prisoners - appallingly and without mercy so it was said. She had hoped to bargain with Duncan on behalf of her clansmen, for surely he would not have forgotten the role she had played in saving his life. Those hopes had been dashed now. He despised her as a stupid girl with whom he’d had his way. It stung her to think that even as Duncan had taken her in his arms that night, which felt like another life entirely now, he was probably already plotting her family’s downfall.
Ailsa wept desperate tears as she recalled her encounter with him. After taking the dagger away Duncan had stormed from the hall without a word and he needed none for her defeat was absolute and she was sure he revelled in it. Having rejected him once, the tables were turned now and the power was all his.
She had been terrified and overwhelmed to see him again. Gone was the well-dressed, seductive suitor from Morag’s wedding and in his place stood a stony-faced warrior. With his hair scraped back and dark stubble shadowing his face, there was a roughness and brutality about the man that was not apparent before. He had loomed over her, a cold stranger, and those sensual lips, which had once been pressed to hers so gently, had twisted with contempt as they argued. His clothes were stained with the blood of other men and encrusted with grime. It seemed to Ailsa that he was covered in death. And the worst of it was that his eyes, which she had once considered beautiful, had become dark pools of rage and she the target of it.
Any hope of reasoning with him had burned away as she lost control of her temper, as hate and hopelessness flooded her heart. For a moment in their angry exchange, Ailsa had thought he was going to strike her but he had not, she could be thankful for that at least. Oh, how she loathed Duncan Campbell now. How dare he march into Cailleach, intimidating everyone and violating happy memories of her childhood home by his very presence in it. Hatred pulsed in her blood, like a wild animal trying to claw its way out.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm the thoughts twisting her mind into knots. ‘Think, you must find a way to beat him. He can’t take Cailleach from you. It’s yours and you must fight for it.’ But Robert was gone so who would fight now? And if she defied Duncan would he punish her? Would she end up in a dank cell like her brother?
If Ailsa was honest with herself she had to admit that since their angry encounter he had gone on to show some kind of compassion in protecting the occupants of the castle. Another man may have slaughtered everyone who had opposed him. Instead, Duncan had set about protecting MacLeod people, lands and interests, which she supposed were now his. For the few tense days since his arrival at Cailleach, Ailsa had tried to avoid him, glimpsing him only from a distance. She had been surprised to see that he spent his time overseeing the reinforcement of the castle’s fortifications, getting acquainted with its occupants and laughing affably with his men who clearly worshipped him.
Slowly Ailsa’s life had slipped into a downward spiral of anger, dread and loneliness. She stayed in her chamber as much as possible wracked with worry about the welfare of her clansmen. Many had indeed limped home badly wounded and suffered great hardship now in their meagre dwellings in the village. She did what she could to comfort and reassure the servants within the castle but felt inadequate in her task. Powerless and friendless now, what could she do?
She was watched at all times and guards had been assigned to follow her everywhere. It was not as if she had anywhere to go anyway. Even if she managed to escape to Morag, she was with child now and happy with William Strathairn. Her other sisters had all made advantageous marriages, though her eldest was recently widowed, so they would want to steer clear of her troubles. Seeking sanctuary was pointless as surely the Campbells would find her and drag her back and she did not want her sisters and their families to be put on the wrong side of them. The same was true of the McDougalls and the other minor clans. She couldn’t put them in danger.
And besides, she would never desert her mother who needed her protection, scant though it was. Hesther had not roused herself from her sick bed, indeed had hardly seemed to understand when told of their defeat at the hands of the Campbells. She remained in her room, her mind having taken itself off to a kinder place. ‘Where is Gordon, when is he coming?’ she would ask Ailsa over and over in a small tremulous voice, like a child, clutching her arms about herself for comfort. Strangely Duncan had insisted that she be taken care of and shown all due respect as Lady of Cailleach, for which Ailsa, if not exactly grateful, was at least relieved. So the old laird’s widow lived in comfortable oblivion while her daughter shouldered the burden of responsibility for the clan.
Ailsa had no place now in her own home, or what used to be her home. The Campbells had wasted no time in moving in some of their most loyal supporters and fighting men and it seemed there were new and openly hostile faces everywhere.
Eventually, in a fit of rebellion Ailsa decided that whatever the consequences she must find the courage to break out of this self-imposed solitude. She easily eluded the guards who had been assigned to watch over her. They thought her an ignorant, foolish girl and were contemptuous of their task in keeping her secure, seriously underestimating her. Ailsa knew every one of Cailleach’s secrets and easily gave them the slip by stealing down a staircase and out a hidden passage through the castle’s undercroft.
Once outside the walls, pulling her plaid up over her head and unseen in the half-light of dawn, she slipped into the homes of several families. They were all suffering hardship as many had lost men in the fighting and could not manage the work alone. Food was in short supply too as brigands had been raiding the countryside for months before the battle stealing livestock. Crops had been left to rot in the fields, farmers having been carried off or killed. Ailsa was wise enough to acknowledge the role her brother had played in this chaos and it saddened and shamed her.
Astonishingly the villagers did not report cruel treatment at the hands of Duncan or his men. They reported that he was a strict but fair master and kept his men well in line, meting out harsh punishment to any who stole, indulged in excessive drunkenness or attempted to molest the women of the village. Given that he was the victor in the recent power struggle this could have gone a different way entirely and though it didn’t diminish Ailsa’s resentment of him, she was relieved to hear that he had not unleashed vicious reprisals on her clansmen.
After several hours had passed she decided to return to the castle and present herself to the guards. ‘They’ll be so frantic trying to find me, they’ll think I’ve run away,’ she thought gleefully. It felt good to be causing trouble for the Campbells.
Winding through the muddy alleyways she came across some villagers trying to raise the main beam of a barn which had collapsed in recent storms. Unusually for the Highlands, it was a hot day with a fierce sun beating down on the men as they tried to get a hard job done before it turned to rain and sleet again. The beam was oak, heavy and tricky to manoeuvre and it kept slipping from their grasp.
Ailsa started as a pounding of hooves signalled the arrival of a group of heavily armed horsemen. She gasped when she saw Duncan amongst them and shrank back quickly into the shelter of the butcher’s stall. Peering around her stinking camouflage of pigs heads and rabbit carcasses she watched Duncan dismount and approach one of the villagers. He started shouting orders at his men and suddenly they were dismounting, grabbing the beam and lifting it with the villagers, some of whom stood quietly observant, intimidated by Duncan and his men and unsure what to do.
‘We need more men,’ Duncan shouted, beckoning the villagers to join in with them. Still, they seemed reluctant to help the Campbells, their resentment fully justified in Ailsa’s opinion.
‘Come,’ he shouted, ‘hate me if you will but I would not see you without shelter. ‘Tis your barn and ‘tis your livestock that will be lost come winter if we fail to do this. Let us put the past behind us and work as one to get this done.’
With that he unbuckled his sword and tore off his jacket, throwing it aside and grabbing the beam. He was incredibly strong and try as she might Ailsa could not turn away. Instead, she stared open-mouthed as he pushed and grunted with the effort of his task. His shirt fell away from his shoulders revealing the swell of his muscles, slick with sweat. Still, the beam resisted. Duncan swore loudly, tearing off his shirt completely and using it to wipe his brow before rallying his men once more. By now some of the bolder villagers were joining in and the beam started to lift, though it was hard going with their feet slipping and sliding in the mud.
Ailsa knew she should go but couldn’t tear her gaze away from Duncan. Her eyes made a slow progress downwards from his broad muscular shoulders, along the smooth channel of muscle framing his backbone down to the top of his kilt. His pale skin gleamed in the sun, like marble, under its sheen of sweat. He seemed in a strange way graceful in his efforts and Ailsa felt a stab of unwelcome lust. She utterly hated herself for it.