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‘I don’t seem to remember you fighting me off Ailsa.’
‘I’m going to find a bed for the night,’ she said sharply walking away from him. ‘You are not welcome in it.’
‘As your husband under the law, I need no invitation,’ he snarled angrily. ‘Perhaps I will find you later and be the brute you think I am.’ He didn’t mean it, his words an empty threat born of frustration.
What did she expect, for him to spend the rest of his life apologising for his victory? Had the Sinclairs got hold of her she would have suffered much worse treatment. Did she now expect him to go on his knees and beg her to lie with him? Damn her pride, she had practically thrown herself at him for god’s sake and who was he to refuse, not that he could have. She had no idea of the kind of restraint he’d shown when he took her. It was a savage kind of desire he felt for Ailsa and even now, in the midst of their quarrel, he wanted her under him, wrapped around him, clinging to him. He wanted to pleasure her over and over again until she belonged to him and he could be sure of her. He wanted her to call his name and beg him not to stop and he wanted that soft look in her eyes, which made him feel like a man who could inspire love instead of a soldier, a harbinger of war and destruction.
He stomped into the inn in search of ale and oblivion from dark thoughts. ‘I’m done trying to puzzle her out. She does not care for me and she never will,’ he muttered bitterly. ‘You are a fool Duncan Campbell, a lovesick fool who has no more sense than a callow youth of sixteen. Be a man and make her do as she is told.’
Late the next day, with barely two words spoken to each other, they arrived at Dunslair, the Campbell’s’ seat of power. A forbidding place, it lurked like a sullen troll amongst the slate coloured peaks of its encircling mountains. A sodden mist clung round its walls which were black with age and damp. Ailsa had not travelled much in her young life but a cursory look around revealed it to be a heavily fortified and almost impenetrable stronghold. It screamed power and aggression and as the drawbridge lowered with a leaden clang, it was as though she were entering the gates of hell. It seemed to affect Duncan too whose demeanour had become increasingly morose and belligerent as they drew closer to the castle. As they dismounted he barked impatiently at his men to hurry along and settle the horses and beckoned her to come with him with a jerk of his head.
Duncan had looked up at the solid walls of Dunslair with dismay. He was master here, he belonged and it was the only home he had ever known, albeit a harsh one. Once he had basked in its strength and the certainty which it brought him but now there was no joy in being home. The past was intruding into his newfound contentment. He resented his obligation to his uncle and wished to God that messenger hadn’t arrived to wrench him back to reality. It was as if he had been in a delicious dream and had been shaken awake to a cold dawn. He stomped along a series of cold gloomy corridors in silence with Ailsa hurrying behind.
‘Stop Duncan, I can’t keep up,’ she said breathlessly.’
He turned to her. ‘I’m sorry Ailsa, you are tired. We are almost there.’ His voice sounded cold even to him.
They reached the chamber, a far larger and grander one than she was used to he was sure but there was no approval as she surveyed it with a desperate look on her face.
“Forgive me if I have not been gentle today,’ he said, feeling sorry for her. ‘You do not want to be here, I know that, but I could not bear to leave you behind especially after what passed between us in the stables…I …Ailsa know this, I do care for you in my rough way. I know I am not the easiest of men and that I need to rein in my temper. I am not accustomed to softness and have a tendency to crush it without meaning to.’ Ailsa said nothing and moved to look out of the window at the cold mountains. Duncan felt helpless in the face of her indifference.
‘You must stay here and rest.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have business to attend to with my uncle. Stay here until I return.’ It sounded like an order he would issue to one of his men so he left before she could lower her opinion of him any further.
Hours later Ailsa still sat alone in her luxurious prison. She could not even seek out Rory’s kindness for he had been left behind to guard Cailleach in Duncan’s absence. Her husband had gone and despite the roaring fire she felt utterly forsaken.
Duncan seemed to have taken on the brooding darkness of Dunslair, he was harder and more remote. She had lost her hold on him when he entered its gates and now he was becoming a Campbell again. His awful clan had swallowed him up and taken him back into the fold and any budding loyalties to her and the MacLeod’s would be driven out by his past and his old loyalties. The kind, tender Duncan was slipping from her grasp. Alone and a long way from home she realised that was not the worst of it; sooner or later the Campbells would have to be faced.
A quiet knock on the door announced the entry of a servant bearing clothing draped over her arm. ‘A gift from Laird Duncan lady,’ she said shyly holding out a stunning silk gown, the soft purple of thistles, inlaid with exquisite gold embroidery. Ailsa could not help but slide her fingers over the luxurious fabric, whilst pondering the meaning of such a gift. Was it a sign of Duncan’s ownership of her, an opportunity to show off a trophy? Or was it a genuine act of kindness? Her trepidation at being amongst her enemies was obvious and maybe, in his rough way, he intended this gift to provide some comfort to her? Or worse, was it her reward for playing the whore in the hayloft? The trouble with Duncan was that he kept his feelings and thoughts so well hidden that it made him impossible to understand. And other people’s accounts of him were so conflicted as to render her incapable of really seeing the truth of the man.
Nevertheless, Ailsa determined to wear the dress and wear it well as she had very few fine clothes now. Since her family’s fall from grace, there was little money nor time for such things and she was damned if she’d appear hopeless and defeated in front of Clan Campbell. She would be strong and defiant and show them how a MacLeod acted in adversity.
The servant fussed busily over her for quite some time, pinning her hair up into smooth coils with a few long ringlets left to hang free about her face and at the nape of her neck. Then she carefully encased Ailsa into the dress, lacing it so tightly up the back it was hard to breathe.
Duncan barged in just at that point. Could that man never learn to knock? He was quite a sight to behold decked out in a black silk formal coat – a perfect complement to his jet black hair, now tamed and swept back. Though not ornate, as such things were not part of his character, it made him look very fine indeed, a perfect foil for his rugged face and dark forbidding eyes. Where its opulence might have rendered another man a fop, on Duncan, it enhanced his brooding strength and highlighted his rampant masculinity. He seemed very grand, tall and handsome.
Duncan too was impressed. He was brought to a dead halt by the sight of his wife and a slow smile spread all over his face. What a vision. Half expecting Ailsa to defy him and refuse to wear the dress, he was thanking God that she had not. The luxurious material billowed dramatically, showing off her neat waist and tall, graceful body to perfection. The puffed sleeves were set low on her pale shoulders, the bodice a tight, daring flash of purple barely containing Ailsa’s creamy breasts which almost spilt over the top of it. The colour brought out the warmth of her almond-shaped green eyes and the burnished loveliness of her elegantly styled hair. He had never seen Ailsa look more like a lady but the dress made him want to take her like a barbarian. He allowed himself the brief indulgence of wondering how it would feel to tear it off her.
Under Duncan’s hot and hungry stare a blush spread across Ailsa’s bosom and up to her cheeks. This made her look even lovelier and Duncan crossed the room to stand before her. He toyed with one of the exquisite pearl earrings which swung softly against her neck.
‘Sometimes Ailsa you quite take my breath away,’ he said in a voice which was pure lust.
His interest should have been unwelcome but Ailsa’s felt a stab of female smugness at the effect she was having. She longed to push her hands into his hair, to feel his hard body beneath her hands, to have his mouth on her, to feel him inside her. But instead, she stood immobile, perplexed by the look in his eyes, for it was something more than desire.
Duncan took hold of a fat chestnut ringlet hanging down against her neck and slowly drew the full length of it through his hand, all the while not taking his gaze from hers. Then he laid it down gently on her bosom, fingers brushing skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake as if every nerve were screaming with desire.
If he kisses me I will stop him,’ Ailsa thought. ‘I will be able to stop him.’ But there was no kiss.
Duncan stepped back, his face a mask of indifference. ‘We should go, my uncle is expecting us in the great hall.’
‘Am I grand enough for the Campbells?’ said Ailsa lightly, trying to quell the desire fighting its way through her pride.
‘You’ll do,’ he said smiling.
As Duncan and Ailsa swept into the great hall a hush fell on it. They made a stunning couple and everyone stared intently as they made their way through the throng to Laird Hugh. Ailsa felt a hundred eyes look her up and down, an unnerving sensation, but she bore the scrutiny well keeping her head up and her arm through Duncan’s.
