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He looked at her long and hard, some deep emotion in his dark eyes which Ailsa could not read. She did not know what to say to him. Why couldn’t he just go and leave her alone? Why did he insist on seeking her out and then ask her questions to which she had no answer? She had absolutely no idea why she had called out – she just hadn’t been able to stop herself. She fumbled about in her head for something to say. ‘You should not be riding, you’re bleeding.’
‘Tis but a scratch, I’ve had worse. Try not to lose too much sleep worrying about me,’ he said wickedly.
More shouting came from around the courtyard as men mounted up and readied to leave. Ailsa flinched at it and to Duncan’s surprise she looked up at him and said hesitantly, ‘Did I stir up a deal of trouble for my family today?’
‘No,’ he said firmly, taking her by the shoulders. Her mother’s gaze intensified. ‘This quarrel was not yours in the making. It was only a matter of time before the Sinclairs revealed their true nature and intentions.’ Duncan suddenly realised where he was and reluctantly let go of her.
‘But if I hadn’t spoken out and caused my father to intervene…’
‘I would be dead and it would have made no difference anyway. This situation was inevitable and has been for a long time and everyone knows that including your father. I for one am glad it is out in the open and I can face my enemy head on. You are not to blame in any way and you did the honourable thing, the brave thing, so calm yourself.’
‘What will happen now?’ Ailsa asked.
‘War,’ he replied grimly. ‘Forgive me, that was badly said. For my clan, this feud can only end in war, perhaps not immediately, but it is inevitable I fear. The Sinclairs have hated us Campbells for a generation. We are old and bitter enemies and they want to see us burn. As for your clan, well, your father is a resourceful man and I am sure he will find a way to ensure you stay out of it.’
‘But Sinclair was so very angry with my father.’
‘Aye, he was,’ he smiled. ‘And I will forever be indebted to him for his intervention on my behalf but Ailsa your father is a fierce man, well respected hereabouts. He has strong men at his back so I have no doubt that he can more than hold his own against the likes of the Sinclairs.’
Rory rode over to them. ‘Come Duncan and hasten, we must be away before dark,’ he shouted. His ready smile was gone now, replaced by agitation and impatience and his gaze veered between Duncan and her.
‘Your men are shouting for you,’ she said.
Duncan turned and glowered at Rory. He was running out of time and could not find the right words. Ailsa had saved his life without a doubt and he had allowed himself the indulgence of thinking she had saved him because she might like him. But that was not the only reason he had for holding on to this moment and making her linger out in the rain. He wanted to memorise everything about her. He noticed her hair had been darkened by the drizzle intensifying the green of her eyes. He thought he would never again see such a compelling pair of eyes or such a lovely face.
He knew what he would have to overcome in the coming months and what a struggle it would be to survive for he had long ago relinquished any illusions. War with Clan Sinclair if not immediate was inevitable. His wounds today were but a forewarning of what he would have to endure as the bitterness that had been spawned this day eventually festered and exploded into open warfare. If he was going to his death he wanted to do so with the memory of her face and the taste of her lips etched in his mind.
So he stood speechless, longing to kiss her again and knowing it was impossible. The worsening rain seeped through his shirt and into the bandages beneath staining both a light pink with his blood, as he drank in every glorious detail of her loveliness. She knew so little of the world and he, who had seen too much of it in his five and twenty years, envied her innocence, her careless youth and her complete ignorance of what was to come.
‘Why did you shout my name Ailsa?’ For some reason, he had to have an answer.
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’ Ailsa felt as though she were falling off the edge of something down into his deep dark eyes which were fixed on her. ‘But I am regretting it already,’ she snapped at him, recovering her senses.
Duncan laughed heartily. He hadn’t really expected anything more from her and would not have known what to do if she had declared her undying love for him as had so many other women. Better that she remain a spirited prize he would never win, her reluctant kiss a glorious memory to warm him on a cold night.
He took her hand. ‘You have my gratitude for what you did today. I will not forget it. Take care, no more riding out alone. There will be war in the Highlands, men will choose sides and there are dangerous times to come. Keep yourself safe Ailsa.’ She took her hand from his so he turned away and crossed the yard to his men.
Ailsa watched Duncan wince as he mounted his horse in one graceful movement. She wondered why she should suddenly feel concerned for this man. So she stayed out in the rain looking after him, as he rode away from the safety of the castle and disappeared into darkness.
Chapter Three
Winter’s End 1638
Duncan sat astride his horse like a statue despite the rain lashing against him and dripping off his sodden wolf skin. Ares snorted and shuffled agitatedly sensing the tension in his rider. A lesser man would have had trouble controlling him. The storm rumbled in over the distant jagged tors, building to a series of ominous grey pillars of cloud, boiling over with rain but Duncan was impervious to it. He didn’t feel the bitter wind scouring his exposed face or the sodden breaches clinging to his thighs. There was only the intense focus of battle and the cold hatred of an enemy. If he were to die here in the mud today it would be a sacrifice for clan and family and there could be no room for regret or last wishes, save one perhaps.
‘Are you ready Duncan?’ His friend’s voice brought him out of his intense concentration.
‘Aye ready as ever.’
‘We’re badly outnumbered here,’ said Rory as the rain dripped off his ashen face and darkened his tawny hair.
‘No doubt about that my friend. But take heart, for the seer told me she had a vision in the night of our opponents wrapped in their death shrouds.’
‘You give such credence to the murmurings of that mad old besom?’
‘Not usually, but as she sees us victorious… on this occasion, it seemed the best course of action. Besides we have the righteous cause and the advantage of desperation on our side.’
‘Desperation is an advantage now?’
