Page 1 of The Lone Wolf's Bride

Prologue

Scottish Highlands 1648

Stratherly Castle - Clan McDougall Stronghold

‘Murray is young and reckless Duncan, as all young men are. He wanted to prove himself to you,’ Ailsa Campbell pleaded, trying to quell the anger evident in her husband’s clenched fists and narrowed eyes.

‘Prove himself, by raiding the McDougall’s bloody cattle! Could he not, just once, have thought about the consequences?’

‘He has heard you speak ill of them many times and he is canny enough to know they raid our cattle too, no matter how much they plead friendship to our faces.’

‘So it’s all my fault he has got himself caught and faces a noose is it?’

‘No Duncan, calm down, that is not what I’m saying.’ Ailsa knew full well that her husband hated the McDougall clan, well, certain members of it anyway. She watched him rage about the yard where they had been waiting in the bitter cold for quite some time since Duncan had stormed into Stratherly, demanding an audience with Laird Angus McDougall. The insult of being left cooling his heels with the horses was fuelling Duncan’s temper to the point of exploding, which was probably the whole point of such rudeness in the first place.

He raged on. ‘I thought Murray was smarter than this. If you are going to raid cattle you don’t do it with a bunch of dim-witted young fools, on a night where there is a full moon.’

‘So it is not the raiding but the getting caught doing it which vexes you so,’ she replied crossly.

‘Aye, it is.’

‘Well he is in terrible danger Duncan, so we have to do something.’

‘By something you mean grovel to that old worm Angus McDougall and beg for Murray’s miserable life. Why should I? I took that boy in from nothing and raised him up and this is how he repays me, with foolishness and disobedience.’

‘You know why we are here, you know what you must do, so why be pig-headed about it? And I will go in with you to plead for mercy and to make sure you keep your temper.’

‘No you won’t, you will stay here and hope to god I can talk some reason into these fools. If I cannot, and if it is death for the boy, then I don’t want you to see them do it.’

Fear strangled Ailsa’s resolve. Murray was not her own son by blood but she loved him all the same. She couldn’t bear the thought of her beautiful boy, just on the edge of manhood and all he could be, thrown from the battlements to a criminal’s death. How the McDougalls would laugh as he kicked and banged against the stone walls, tearing at the rope around his throat, and his flesh with it, until his lungs gave out. Then his corpse would be left to swing in the wind as a warning to others until ravens had picked it clean.

She understood the impulse that had brought him to such danger. It had been a harsh winter and raids on the borders had been increasing. The Highlands were in dire straits and the boundaries between right and wrong had been softened in favour of mere survival. The poor had been reduced to eating dogs and cats, even vermin.

Duncan let such raids go unpunished for the time being, as long as the raiders did not steal too many cattle or hurt farmers. This was not cowardice on his part but restraint. Knowing full well the delicate nature of clan allegiances, he preferred to hold his strength for bigger battles, and to keep his allies on his side for when they would be needed, even the treacherous, thieving ones. Murray however, being young and eager to make his mark, resented the insult to his clan after the latest raid on their herds and had no such restraint. Now his life hung in the balance.

‘The Laird will see you now,’ sneered a McDougall clansman, emerging from within and beckoning them to follow with an insolent jerk of his head.

Duncan glared at Ailsa as she followed along in spite of his command and, though she could feel the waves of anger coming off her husband, she ignored them. It was a kindness on his part. He wanted her spared the anguish of seeing her adopted son condemned if this went badly. Duncan was the bravest man she knew but he could be hurt through those he loved.

***

Ailsa stood resolutely by her husband’s side as he waded into the bad blood between Clan Campbell and Clan McDougall, humiliated and angered in equal measure, but desperate to save Murray’s life.

When they brought Murray before them, filthy, wounded and in chains, Ailsa gasped at the state of him. He was black and blue from the beating he had received, his knees and knuckles torn and bleeding. His face, oh she could barely look at his once-handsome face as he was virtually unrecognisable. It seemed to be one big bruise and oozing fresh blood. This recent violence had obviously been inflicted in order to make the McDougall’s bargaining position stronger. In spite of this cruelty, and even though he was swaying on his feet, Murray was still capable of displaying his usual defiance.

‘Laird it was not my fault,’ he slurred through a swollen jaw. ‘These filthy bastards have raided us countless time and ...’

‘You will not speak to me,’ said Duncan through gritted teeth. ‘Not one word.’ Murray fell silent, eyes burning with humiliation. Duncan turned back to Murray’s judge and jury, Laird Angus McDougall.

‘If you free him then I will make amends to your clan with twice the number of cattle lost.’

‘He’s a thief and a fool and he should hang. It is what you would do to one of my clansmen caught doing such a thing,’ growled Angus, a grim-faced man, not inclined to mercy.

‘Ah, so you admit you raid on Campbell lands,’ replied Duncan in a less than conciliatory voice.

‘Of course we don’t. We maintain the peace as we should and as you do not.’

‘Then you are either a hypocrite or you have no control over your own men.’