‘If I hurt you in any way then I am sorry. Ailsa, talk to me. Tell me what I have done wrong. You seemed to want me.’
She shook her head vehemently and backed further away from him. His triumph had turned to ashes. Hating himself and unable to bear the sight of her stricken face a moment longer, Duncan grabbed his things and left her. The door slammed behind him.
Ailsa stared after him and sobbed to herself. ‘I did want you. I did and it was wrong. Oh God forgive me, what have I done?’
Chapter Nine
Ailsa spent a sleepless night reliving the events with Duncan and overcome by sadness and self-loathing. She had mortally offended her new husband and, though she hated being under his power, she had not meant to undermine her cause by being on the wrong side of him. Striking at his pride by rejecting him had wounded the most vulnerable part of him. When she had said ‘I did not want this,’ she meant that she did not want to enjoy sharing his bed, to like his touch on her body. But that was not what he had heard.
Ailsa had held in the fear, grief and hopelessness which the fall of Clan MacLeod and the death of her father had brought her. It was all too much for her to bear and she had buried her feelings deep inside, resolving to be strong for the sake of her ailing mother and the people of her clan. This strength of purpose had enabled her to survive the darkest days of the past year and to steel herself against the uncertainty of her future.
This wedding night was one more ordeal to be survived. But Duncan had not been rough or cruel; he had not revelled in her defeat. His tenderness and the gentle way he had aroused her had been unexpected. He was something to hold onto in the darkness. Instead of keeping him at arms-length she had wanted him, needed him and she had given in to seduction like the tavern slut she’d first pretended to be. In Ailsa’s mind, she had become her enemy’s whore.
Worse still the feelings awakened by his touch were too much to bear. That moment of ecstasy, reached as one, had immediately been replaced by an awful guilt, shame and loneliness. Such feelings had burst over her like a dam breaking and she could not hold them back no matter how she tried. When the tears had come, as she lay shaking underneath him, they would not stop and he had seen them. There was no taking back the insult to his manhood now.
Ailsa slowly got dressed, aware of a sore feeling between her legs and fresh shame washed over her as her mind stole back to the previous night. ‘Please god let him have some good in him, make him listen to me, let me explain,’ she thought. She had to hold fast to her plan to protect those she held dear and to do that she could not be in Duncan’s bad graces.
She walked to the great hall on feet of lead. As she entered a hush came over its occupants and the room fell silent save for the spatter of gusty rain against the windows and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Duncan was nowhere to be seen. Instead of breaking his fast triumphantly with his new bride by his side Laird Campbell was not there.
What conclusion could everyone draw other than that the wedding night had been a disappointment, that she had failed to please her new husband and that he had already abandoned her? Ailsa walked slowly and mounted the dais to the high table fully exposed to the gloating stares of women who hated her for removing Duncan from the marriage market, for being young, for being beautiful. Then a wave of whispers snaked its way around the hall breaking into spiteful laughter. Ailsa took her seat and fixed each and every one of them with a baleful stare, holding their eyes with hers until shame made them look away. Holding her ground was easy because she was not frightened of them; she could brush off their malice and jealousy. But she was afraid of facing Duncan.
.
The stag crashed headlong through the wet bracken in a desperate attempt to escape its hunter. Duncan stayed with it, rain running in cold streams down his face and hands, slipping in the wet saddle but somehow holding his seat. He was almost on it now and rode recklessly through the dense woodland, driving Ares over fallen logs and lashing at branches that whipped against his face. In order to quell the feelings of frustration and anger swirling inside him, Duncan had resolved to go out and kill something.
He came to the top of a steep ravine, rocks tumbling down to a fast flowing river below, surging with floodwater. Without hesitation, he kicked his horse down over the edge and somehow managed to reach the bottom in one piece by slipping and sliding in a flurry of hooves and mud into the icy water. The cold took his breath away as the powerful steed pushed for the bank, its huge chest muscles driving the powerful legs onwards. The exhausted stag had already dragged itself out of the clutches of the river and Duncan followed.
The others had been left behind as they had not dared to go down the ravine and so it was him and his prey now. Almost upon it, he focussed solely on that. Rounding a bend in the river he saw it was trapped. Part of the high bank had collapsed in the heavy rainfall bringing several trees down with it and the stag could only escape by retracing its steps back towards its hunter. It bayed helplessly, running back and forth in panic.
Duncan drew his bow, stilled his horse and took aim. The desperate creature, as if knowing its fate was sealed, stopped dead in its tracks, panting heavily and looked at him with its soft brown eyes. It pawed the ground and lowered its antlers in defence. ‘Such courage,’ thought Duncan, ‘it is lost but it does not give in nor submit meekly to its fate; it chooses to fight on until the arrow pierces its heart.’ He stayed with his bow trained on the stag for what seemed like an eternity, warring with himself. Self-loathing overcame him again making him lower the bow. ‘I’ve broken enough beauty for one day,’ he said.
Riding back to the castle sometime later, Rory drew alongside him. He was not thrilled to have been dragged out of a warm bed at dawn by Duncan, along with several other astonished companions. They had set off in the half light and hours later Duncan still showed no intention of returning to the castle’s warmth and after a tiring hunt in appalling weather, they had nothing to show for their efforts. The icy dawn had turned into a cold morning, the sky on the horizon lit a drizzly grey.
It was clear to Rory that Duncan had not slept. This was to be expected on a man’s wedding night but the dark shadows beneath his black eyes and the thunderous look on his face had prevented Rory from questioning him and they did not speak other than the essentials. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him and when they drew ahead of the others and out of earshot he turned to Duncan.
‘So my friend, I trust you come well rested from your marriage bed.’
Duncan glared at him and did not reply.
‘What a crying shame to leave a warm and bonny wife to go hunting in such filthy weather,’ he continued, unbowed by his companion’s hostile silence.
‘My wife had no further need of me and I had a need to hunt,’ replied Duncan through gritted teeth.
‘No further need?’
‘The marriage has been consummated. All is legal and binding. I have done my duty,’ replied Duncan in a voice like granite.
‘It was hardly an onerous duty considering the lass in question and surely one should consummate one’s marriage more than once - just to be sure,’ Rory replied, smiling.
Duncan whirled his horse around. ‘Question me no further on this subject I warn you!’
Rory knew his friend well enough to see beyond the anger to the desolation on Duncan’s face. ‘Very well, but…’
Duncan cut him off. ‘The marriage is consummated. It is binding and Ailsa and her clan and lands are mine. All this is mine…for as long as I can hold it,’ he said gesturing dismissively to the mist and rain-sodden hills around them.
‘Then why are you not abed and happy my friend?’
Some moments passed before he answered. ‘Because I lay with her and she cannot bear me.’