The Black Wolf's Captive (The Highland Wolf Series Book 1)

by Tessa Murran

  If he hadn’t forced her to share his horse and his annoying company none of this would have happened and she would not have to be wracked with horrible shame and embarrassment. She had lost a battle when she had kissed him back but she resolved never to do so again. She would ignore the arrogant fool. Yes, he would not enjoy being overlooked as he obviously thought so highly of himself.

  A few days later her sister had been wedded and bedded. The wedding had been a sumptuous and, Ailsa had to admit, joyful affair. The MacLeod and Strathairn clans were united and happy. Much whisky and ale had been drunk by all and much rowdiness had ensued. Ailsa had for once managed to stay out of trouble and more importantly Duncan Campbell’s way. She had played the dutiful daughter to the hilt, constantly by her mother’s side as she fussed endlessly with the wedding arrangements. Lord knows where the annoying wretch had gone, hunting and drinking along with her brother and the Strathairns no doubt, but she did not see him and that was a relief.

  Unfortunately, he was impossible to avoid at the wedding ceremony where she could not help but steal a glance at him, just to convince herself how hateful he was. To her dismay he caught her looking and winked back at her in return, a conciliatory smile playing around his lips. Ailsa turned away in mortification. She hardly heard the rest of the ceremony as Morag and William pledged themselves to each other for all eternity. Instead, she stared balefully at the high windows of the kirk, her mind wandering to being far away from here and the stifling throng of people around her. She was grateful when the day was over and she could take sanctuary in her bed.

  The day of her sister’s departure from Cailleach dawned bright and fresh. Encountering Morag after her wedding night Ailsa had been relieved to find her glowing and happy with a shy smile playing constantly on her lips as if she had a precious secret. Ailsa had no chance to find what it was as Morag had eyes only for her husband. They seemed to be lost in each other and soon Morag would be absorbed into the Strathairn clan and become a mere extension of her husband. She already seemed to be elsewhere.

  Ailsa was feeling a little bereft at the loss of her sister and confidante and so set off for a walk to clear her head. She lingered in the stables with the horses and the dogs, enjoying the tang of fresh hay, calling out brief greetings to the stable lads as she went and stroking the velvety, questing noses of the horses as they pushed their heads out in search of a treat. As she passed her time in relative solitude she began to relax. All the guests would soon depart and the castle would return to normal. No one to avoid, no mother thrusting her in front of potential husbands and no handsome strangers to embarrass and confuse her.

  Muffled curses and groans wafted over on the breeze, getting louder and more excitable. There were men shouting just outside the castle walls. Fearing trouble Ailsa rushed forward to find the source of the commotion. She came across a large circle of men down by the brook, which included her father and brother. At the centre of the circle, two men were thrashing about in the mud. She pushed forward to stand at her father’s side and he smiled when he saw her.

  ‘Come and see Ailsa - a foolish wager! The Sinclairs were in their cups last night and bet they could best any other clan in a wrestling match. The best warriors of each one are facing up to each other and by the looks of it the Sinclairs may be victorious,’ he said as a large mud-caked man threw another onto his back as if he were a rag doll. Much cheering ensued from the onlookers and further bets were exchanged.

  There were several women in the crowd somehow out of place standing in the mud in their colourful dresses. They were egging the men on with hungry looks on their faces. The winded man limped off and Laird Alex Sinclair entered the circle. A beady-eyed, heavily-built man his untrustworthy exterior perfectly matched his backstabbing personality. He was relatively young for a clan chief and had been elevated to his position by the ruthless subjugation of his rivals, his inexhaustible propensity for violence and his complete lack of a conscience. In short, an extremely dangerous man to cross.

  ‘Can none of you put up a contender worthy enough to fight the Sinclairs?’ he shouted gesturing to his men. ‘Does your honour mean so little to you that you send these runts to fight us?’ he shouted, pointing contemptuously to the other clans. A hush fell over the crowd at this insult but none stepped forward to challenge him.

  Ailsa looked enquiringly at her father. ‘The Sinclairs are too powerful,’ he replied, ‘few will dare to challenge as many of them are either in league with them or beholden to them for their wealth and position.’

  ‘Surely our clan can challenge for we owe them nothing.’

  ‘Aye, but who will we put forward - your brother?’ he replied in a hard voice. Ailsa glanced over at Robert, white-faced, bloated and hung over. He did not meet her father’s eye. ‘Sinclair is one of the best fighters in the Highlands and one of the dirtiest. We have no one to best him Ailsa.’

  ‘I’ll fight.’ A tall figure pushed through to the centre, eliciting gasps of admiration from the women present. It was Duncan Campbell.

  ‘Hah, think you’re up to it whelp?’ sneered Alex Sinclair.

  ‘I’ll fight for the honour of the Campbells and for Laird MacLeod,’ he said, bowing in the direction of Gordon MacLeod but locking his black devil eyes with Ailsa. Then he turned to Sinclair and shouted, ‘And I’ll knock you on your arse Sinclair.’ Loud cheering ensued at this last comment and Sinclair immediately and without warning launched himself at Duncan.

  The fighting and wagering seemed good humoured at the start with the crowd cheering noisily for their champions and egging them on. But as the fight progressed, the two men being fairly evenly matched in terms of size and strength, it seemed to get more personal. Ailsa, who was as good at reading people as her father, began to sense that this fight represented something more deadly than clan pride.

  The two men rolled in the mud, each getting the upper hand only to lose it again. Both were soon caked in mud and then Sinclair threw a punch which connected with a sickening crack at the side of Duncan’s head.

  ‘That is not fair,’ protested Ailsa, ‘they are supposed to be wrestling.’

  ‘That is not what this is and hush, we cannot be seen to take sides daughter,’ commanded her father.

  Rules of fair play were abandoned, blood started to pour as the two men pounded each other mercilessly. The onlookers fell silent as the contest deepened, the women in the crowd gasping at the worst of it. Duncan fought grimly, his shirt torn and hanging from him, his eye swelling badly and pouring blood from a vicious blow. Rather than slow him down it seemed to galvanise him and he fought on, ducking and weaving while his fists managed to connect time and again with his opponent. Eventually, having weakened Sinclair, Duncan managed to wrest him to the ground, twisting nimbly to get a stranglehold on him. Sinclair’s feet thrashed wildly against the wet grass, weakening as his air supply was cut off.

  ‘Yield,’ growled Duncan. With no reply, he tightened his forearms around Sinclair’s throat and Ailsa held her breath.

  ‘I yield,’ croaked the other man. A great cheer went up from the crowd and Duncan got unsteadily to his feet, obviously in pain. He had taken a great deal of punishment, but he extended his hand to the other man. Sinclair brushed it aside, glowering murderously.

  ‘So you’re a bad loser as well as a bad fighter,’ said Duncan shrugging his shoulders and turning away.

  ‘Only a fool turns his back on me …bastard,’ muttered Sinclair through blood and broken teeth as he hauled himself to his feet and staggered over to his men. From where she was standing Ailsa could see Sinclair slyly reaching for his companion’s sword. As it dawned on her what he was about to do, he tore it free. ‘Duncan!’ she cried out.

  He whirled around just in time, jumping back and narrowly avoiding having his back opened down to the bone. Instead, the blade sliced across his abdomen. Ailsa gasped, unsure of how deep it had gone. Clutching at the wound, blood running between his fingers, he was still in mortal danger as his oppon
ent swung at him again. But Duncan was light on his feet and somehow managed to evade the blows. Ailsa could only watch on in horror.

  Suddenly there was an almighty clang. Her father had entered the fight and blocked Sinclair’s sword with his own.

  ‘Enough. Cease this at once,’ he bellowed, pushing the astonished Sinclair back into his men.

  ‘Stay out of this MacLeod’ snarled Sinclair, ‘This isn’t your fight. That dog is my enemy and he will pay for his insult to me.’

  Her father was puce with rage. ‘This is my land and this is my fight if I choose to make it so. You fought without honour and now you will leave my lands while you still have your miserable life, you cur.’

  ‘You dare to speak so to me.’

  ‘I do. Now leave or die.’

  The crowd hung in stunned silence as the two men glowered at each other and then Sinclair and his men strode angrily away. Then there was a great tumult of voices raised in alarm and her father started barking orders at his men. Rory grabbed hold of Duncan, who was beginning to sway on his feet and then rushed his friend away.

  Robert grabbed Ailsa roughly by the arm and put an angry face into hers. ‘That was a mistake,’ he snarled.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean you are a fool Ailsa. You should have let Campbell die.’ With that, he strode away and she was left to follow on.

  Some hours later Ailsa sat alone and shaking in her room, trying to huddle close to the fire to stop her shivering. The Sinclairs had already left the castle in high dudgeon and great haste. Her mother hurried in. ‘You must come with me Ailsa’.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Everyone is leaving and Duncan Campbell wishes to speak with you before he goes.’

  ‘But he can’t leave, he’s injured,’ exclaimed Ailsa.

  ‘Not badly enough to want to stay here, can’t get away fast enough and that bodes ill for all of us.’ Why such fear in her mother’s voice. What had she done today? What trouble had she stirred up with her reckless actions? For her mother to be so white-faced and preoccupied it must be serious.

  “I don’t want to see him.’

  ‘You must, you cannot offend him or Clan Campbell by refusing. He is an important man Ailsa and there’s been enough trouble this day without adding the Campbells to our list of enemies.’

  So, on shaking legs, Ailsa hurried along to the courtyard. A chill rain had started to fall, men were shouting agitatedly, saddling horses and arming themselves to the hilt. Obviously, they were preparing for a possible ambush on the way home and Ailsa had an overwhelming sense of dread.

  She spotted Duncan coming towards her, his dark presence and height making him conspicuous in the throng. His once handsome face was almost unrecognisable, distorted by swelling and bruising around his eyes where the skin was turning the colour of raw meat. His bottom lip was split and bloody and there was a worrying pallor about him, throwing his face into stark relief against the black of his wolf skin. Pity coursed through Ailsa at the amount of pain he must be in after the beating he’d taken, though the only way he betrayed this was by stiffness in the way he moved. Then he was talking to her and she had no time to prepare herself for what he said.

  ‘Ailsa if it please you, I would speak with you. Rory tells me I have you to thank for still breathing this day.’ His jet black brows were drawn into a tense frown which made him look harsh, though he sounded sincere.

  ‘I have no need of thanks, I did nothing.’

  ‘If you had not called out my name Sinclair would have had me.’

  ‘I’m sure I was not alone in warning you and anyway he was not fighting fair.’

  ‘Fairness is not a word he is acquainted with and had you not been prompt with your warning he might have killed me.’

  For Duncan, there was an awkward moment when he did not quite know what to say next. He could not tear his eyes away from her lovely face and he was frustrated that he had no privacy or time in which to express his gratitude. He hadn’t exactly earned her intervention on his behalf and was embarrassed that he had to accept it.

  ‘Ailsa you probably saved my life today and I won’t forget it. I won’t forget you.’ The words spilt from him unbidden and Duncan instantly regretted them, was humiliated by them. He was acutely aware that by forcing his kiss onto her he hadn’t exactly covered himself with glory and that she must despise him to some extent.

  ‘You should not speak to me so and I did only what any honourable person would do.’ Ailsa realised her mother was looking over at her, alarmed in case she caused more trouble.

  ‘Are you sure that was the only reason?’ Duncan said gently.

  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 exp
loded 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.