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 wedding 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… anunforgettableface 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.’