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‘No reply. Do you not hold an opinion of my nephew Ailsa? What, cat got your tongue?’ Hugh continued, seemingly oblivious to Ailsa’s embarrassment or Duncan’s anger tainting the atmosphere. Suddenly there was a loud scraping noise as Duncan threw back his chair and with a clenched jaw strode angrily from the hall.
Hugh seemed unperturbed. ‘Grim fellow isn’t he, never could take a jest. Woeful manners too but then I got him late and the birch across his back had little effect in disciplining him. I fear he will never be a gentleman, too much like his father, he had a black soul too and they say the apple never falls far from the tree eh,’ he smirked, nudging her elbow with his. ‘And a wild temper to equal yours. Best not to get on the wrong side of it my dear but then I’m sure you already know that.’
Ailsa was in turmoil. Did Hugh know of their encounter in the hall? Was he trying to frighten her into submission, if so he was succeeding? To her relief, Hugh soon strode off in search of Duncan leaving her alone.
Some hours later, after a long feast and endless declarations of fealty to Laird Hugh, Ailsa stood stiffly in at the back of the hall, trying to avoid having to engage in conversation with anyone. She needn’t have worried as the other guests mainly avoided her, staring rudely whilst not deigning to look her in the eye. She wondered if the stench of defeat somehow clung to her. Perhaps she had been thrown so low and was now of such scant worth that she was merely something to pity or despise. Slighted by the Campbells, she stood alone and friendless.
From a dark corner on the opposite side of the hall, Duncan watched her intently. He beckoned his friend. ‘Keep an eye on her Rory,’ he said gesturing with his whisky glass in Ailsa’s direction. ‘Keep her safe from our drunken friends hereabouts’.
‘Does that include you as well?’ replied Rory up for some sport at Duncan’s expense.
‘Just do it,’ he glowered, as his friend went off laughing.
Ailsa saw one of Duncan’s men approaching and steeled herself.
‘Rory Mor Campbell at your service,’ he said as he swept into a courtly bow. He was tall and lean with the most extraordinary wide-spaced grey-blue eyes and his face had an honest friendly way about it. ‘Would you like to partake of some wine lady? ‘Tis a fine vintage I’m told and may be of help in bolstering ones courage on being thrown to the wolves.’
He winked at her and Ailsa recognised that he was trying to be kind. She gratefully accepted the wine. She wished to numb her feelings of panic and this seemed a good place to start. She gave him a weak smile and a quiet thanks and he melted into the crowd. Perhaps sensing that she did not want his company, he was kind enough not to force it on her, though he seemed to hover nearby for quite some time after.
Ailsa clutched onto the glass of wine Rory had given her as if her life depended on it. She took a big gulp and as its slow burn flooded her senses she started to recover her resolve. She took another large swig and heard a voice behind her say, ‘Best slow down lady or you’ll not last the night upright’.
She turned to see the welcome sight of her old friend Hamish McDougall. Her shoulders sagged in relief for she had feared it was Duncan come to torture her further. Hamish was peacock-like in all his splendour, dressed in a kilt of bright red and brown tartan, his ginger hair turned dark copper in the candlelight. His height and swagger drew many an admiring look from the females in the hall but Ailsa was indifferent to his male beauty and was simply overwhelmed to see an ally.
‘When I came into the hall I saw this vision all alone trying to hide in the shadows and I thought that won’t do at all,’ he said beaming at her.
‘Oh Hamish, it is so good to see you,’ she gushed, meaning every word. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m here as my father’s envoy to broker a peace between the Sinclairs and Campbells, though I’d have more success trying to drink a loch dry. I’ve no stomach for it as I despise the Campbells but if this fight is not quelled all the clans hereabouts suffer, including mine. I’m hoping to gain an audience with Laird Hugh but I was delayed on the road and have probably offended my host with my tardiness. Not a good start, but enough of me. Ailsa, are you in good health?
‘Yes, I am but my brother...’
‘Imprisoned, yes. He languishes in the dungeons at Dunslair, though I hear he is accorded some comforts. But this is not the place to discuss it – too many unfriendly ears for my liking.’
‘Of course, you have to be careful’. Old Laird McDougall had managed to stay neutral during the war between the Sinclairs and the Campbells but the current truce was a tentative one and Hamish would not want to offend his hosts.
‘Your situation here must be very difficult,’ he said smiling so as to deflect suspicion. ‘To see you under their power, it vexes me so. Be on your guard Ailsa. Hugh Campbell is an extremely dangerous man.
‘I have heard rumours about him, my father didn’t trust him an inch.’
‘Aye, and with good reason. He currently enjoys the patronage of King Charles and acts as his fist in this part of the Highlands.’
‘But Charles hates us Scots. He thinks of us as mindless barbarians and he would take everything from us, our language, our religion, everything which makes us Scots.’
‘Aye but that doesn’t stop Hugh from cultivating his favour whilst feathering his own nest. He may be entrusted with pacifying the more turbulent clans when they rebel against English law but he plays both sides. Charles is a distant master, distracted by his own struggles with the English Parliament and does not keep sufficient control over his Scottish lairds. And Hugh Campbell has several powerful highland families allied to him so he can exploit his wealth and power to further his own ambition, while the English turn a blind eye. If there is eventually a rebellion against English rule, and Ailsa there is a strong possibility of this, then Hugh’s allegiance will be determined not by his conscience, for he has none, but by which course of action is most likely to bring him the greater profit. Take care not to get on the wrong side of him.’
Hamish smiled charmingly as several guests approached him and asked after the health of his father. The warmth in his smile rendered him even more handsome but that warmth was fleeting and a sly intelligence took its place when they moved on. Ailsa suddenly felt as though her mischievous, childhood friend had gone forever. There was bleakness in Hamish’s manner and his sunny demeanour was brittle as if it might snap at any time and turn to something dark. It would seem the events of the past year had made them both harden and grow up. Ailsa felt as though she could cry for what they had lost.
Hamish turned to her. ‘Have they said what they intend to do with you? Did they mention any suitors by any chance?’
‘Suitors, no I’…Ailsa began, confused and horrified by his question, but Hamish continued.
‘Duncan Campbell must have said something to you of his plans.’
‘No, he tells me nothing and I, for the most part, try to avoid him. What plans are you talking about?’
‘You don’t have to concern yourself Ailsa.’
Now he was patronising. ‘What is it, Hamish? What are you not telling me?’
