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  He slammed the door and locked it, and Una heaved a heavy sigh of relief and sunk into a chair before the meager little fire burning in the hearth. She felt helpless, because that was what she was. In this precise moment she was at the whims and mercy of a man who wanted rid of her, and his wife whose jealousy seemed to know no bounds. But was the devil you knew better than the one you did not? She pondered this for a moment, imagining the sort of men who might come to the castle for this ill-fated game of dice. There were worse men than Feargan McDonald and she feared for her safety if one or several should take a liking to her. It was a desperate situation but there was nothing she could do but wait for the inevitable.

  “I am my faither’s daughter,” she whispered, and vowed to stay strong in the face of this fresh adversity.

  ***

  It was two days later and Una was watching from the tower as a number of carts and horses wended their way along the track by the loch. At first, they were just dots on the horizon but as they approached, she recognized several of the banners. There were Campbells and Frasers, riding side by side and followed by Mackintoshs and Wilsons. It seemed that men from across the Highlands had come to witness Feargan’s twisted game and to attempt victory in their own right.

  She had been presented with a new dress and told to make herself look pretty, since no man wishes to play for a sour faced woman, or so Feargan had said. Reluctantly, she had complied and was now awaiting her summons, watching as the guests arrived in the courtyard below. There was a flurry of activity, as the gates were opened and the retinue of clansmen began to enter the courtyard. She could see Feargan emerging from the keep to greet his guests, his swagger indicating his perceived self-importance. She recognized some men, they had once been friends of her father’s, though now they had sided with the winning clan. In her heart she held nothing but contempt and disdain for them and she watched bitterly, as they were greeted by their host.

  Amongst them was one man whom she did not recognize. He was dressed in a green tunic and had about him a thick woolen cloak. From her vantage point in the tower she could just make out his face which had a noble simplicity to it, and he somewhat sat apart from the others. She watched him for a while, standing at the edge of the courtyard and as though he had felt her gaze upon him, he looked up. For a moment their eyes met, and he looked at her curiously, his head tilted to one side. Una watched, and he blushed with embarrassment and turned away. There was something different about this man, he lacked the bravado of the other clansmen who even now were laughing and joking with their host. No doubt congratulating him again on his victory over Una’s father.

  She stepped away from the window and sighed. It would be only a matter of time before she was paraded before them at the banquet and made a spectacle of. How unfortunate her lot had turned out, and she shook her head sadly and sat before the fire. There would be no change in her fortunes, she would still be a prisoner, albeit in another castle. Was this how her life was destined to turn out? She had no power, no hope of escape, only the grim prospect of being at the mercy and whims of whomsoever should find his luck at the game of chance that night.

  She was arrested from her thoughts by the sound of the door being unlocked, and a moment later Feargan McDonald stood before her. He was smiling that sickly smile he had, and he beckoned to her from the doorway, flanked by several soldiers.

  “Tis’ time now, lass. Time ye were comin’ with me,” he said, advancing into the room and taking hold of her arm.

  “Were ye scared I might try to make my escape, Feargan?” she asked, pointing to the soldiers and laughing despite her predicament.

  “I need none of yer cheek, lass, come now,” he replied, dragging her by the arm towards the door.

  There was no use in struggling and so reluctantly she followed him down the spiral stairway and towards the Great Hall. Already, the sound of merrymaking and feasting could be heard echoing through the castle, for despite it being still early in the evening the banquet had begun in earnest.

  Una watched as servants scurried back and forth carrying trays of roasted meats and fowls. Several barrels were rolled past them and it seemed that Feargan McDonald had spared no expense in entertaining his guests. The Great Hall was full, and the visiting clansmen had arranged themselves in groups along the tables. Una was to sit at the end of the high table and Amelia scowled at her as they entered.

  The room fell silent as Feargan escorted Una down the aisle. She had decided to no longer struggle, it seeming pointless now, and instead she walked with a look of utter contempt and disdain upon her face. Several of the clansmen made appreciative noises as she passed, but Una ignored them. She might be a prize but she had no intention of being anyone’s trophy and whoever won her in this foul scheme would find her a most tiresome bounty.

  As she took her place at the table, she looked along the tables and saw again the face of the young man she had seen in the courtyard earlier on. He was looking at her again, his head cocked to one side, as though a little puzzled by the proceedings going on around him. But before anything else could happen, Feargan called for silence.

  “Welcome, welcome, dear friends, welcome,” he began, raising his arms, as a cheer went up from the gathered guests, “welcome to the castle of the McDonald’s where tonight I call ye all together to celebrate a victory. Tis’ well known that I have won a glorious victory over the Gordon clan. How many of ye had said that such a feat could nae be achieved and that the castle of the Gordon would endure for generations, an unbreakable fortress? Well, I have proved ye all wrong.”

  Laughter went up from the guests and Una looked at Feargan with such contempt that it felt as though her heart would burst with anger. How she hated him and longed to see him punished for his wicked crimes against her and her clan. In that moment she once more vowed her revenge and as the cheers subsided, she watched as Feargan turned to her and smiled.

  “There is more though, for not only did I win the prize of victory over the Gordons and see to it that none of us shall have cause to fear that name again, I also won a prize,” and he pointed towards Una, as jeers and taunts went up from the guests, “the Laird’s daughter herself, who has been my prisoner here these past three months. A bonnier lass as couldnae be imagined and I am pleased to say she has been an obedient wee guest.”

  Once more laughter echoed around the Great Hall and Una stole a glance at Amelia whose face was set in anger. If one good thing had come from this sorry business, it was the fact that Una had caused a rift between Feargan and his wife and she wished them nothing but unhappiness in the future for what they had done to her.

  “But a guest is all she is and tonight I have invited ye all hear for a very special reason. Tonight, the Lairds gathered here will roll dice and play cards for the prize of this lass. I have nay need for her and I am keen to share the spoils of war with ye all and offer her up as a prize …” his words hung in the air and the Laird’s gathered below looked at one another in surprise.

  It was clear that none of them had expected this and whilst some looked pleased, others appeared uncomfortable. It was one thing to win a victory over a man and his clan but quite another to gamble for his daughter’s future. But Feargan McDonald looked pleased. He was clearly enjoying himself and he signaled the servants to bring in more ale and whisky to lubricate his guests.

  “The game will begin when the feast is over. For now, my friends, eat and drink. Be merry, for soon one of ye shall leave with a prize which money cannae buy,” and he raised his hands, as cheers went up from the guests.

  Una sat back in her chair, not wishing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing the sorrow behind her eyes. Which of these men would be victorious? As she ate, she examined them one by one. The Laird of the Campbells was a thick set man, elderly and with a scraggy and unkempt beard. He had bits of food stuck around his mouth and his chin was dripping with whisky. The sight of him repulsed her and the others held few merits either. The Wilson was disfigured, having l
ost an eye to an arrow some years previously, and the Mackintosh was hunchbacked, bent over with a sneering look upon his face. The thought of these men as her master disgusted her, and she thought sadly of the future. Would she hark back to life at the McDonald castle when one of these hideous men had her at his beck and call?

  Glancing around again, her eyes set upon the young man sat apart from the others, the one whom she had noticed earlier on. He was eating his meal slowly and methodically and had hardly touched the flagon of ale in front of him. She watched him for a while, wondering who he was. He could only have been a few years older than herself and whilst the others behaved with reckless abandon, he appeared reserved and respectful, talking quietly to those on his left and right. She watched him for a while, having no appetite herself to eat. Now and then he would glance around, surveying the Great Hall as though he were wary of his fellows. He seemed somewhat out of place and, as Feargan McDonald called for quiet, he shifted nervously in his seat.

  “Our feast is now comin’ to an end. We shall have the tables pulled back and then I invite those noble men amongst us to come and take their places for the game,” he said, signaling to the servants who scuttled forward.

  The tables were soon rearranged, and the clansmen made a semi-circle around the center of the room. Feargan McDonald stepped forward, and another table was placed before him, this time with six chairs placed around it. He smiled and beckoned the others forward. Una watched, as the Lairds of the Wilson, Campbell, Mackintosh, and Fraser clans stepped forward, taking their places heavily at the table. Whisky was brought and a box of dice and cards placed ceremoniously upon the table.

  “Where is Callum McNeil?” Fraser said, looking around him.

  There was an empty space at the table and the clansmen looked around them, before a call came from the back of the Great Hall.

  “He is here, Laird,” one man said, and Una looked in surprise at the man who now stepped forward reluctantly.

  It was the man she had watched earlier, the man from the courtyard. How different he was to his fellow Lairds, and as he stepped forward, Una could not help but think how sorry he looked at partaking in this grim sport.

  “Ah, Callum. Come now, lad, sit yerself down. Ye wouldnae wish to miss this prize if tis’ to be yers,” Feargan said, laughing and looking around at Una who scowled. “Bring her here,” he called, and several clansmen took hold of her arms and brought her down forcefully to the table.

  “I am nay one’s prize,” she said quietly.

  “Ye are, lass. Whether ye like it or nae,” Feargan said, “now, shall we begin?”

  The cards were dealt and Una watched as her fate was played out over several games of chance and luck. She knew nothing of such games, her father had called gambling an idle pastime for no goods, a description which fitted Feargan perfectly. He was in his element, goading and urging on his guests in equal measure. They would play seven rounds until a clear victor could be ascertained, and it was late into the night before two clear opponents emerged. The Laird of the Wilsons had won three of the games, but so had young Callum McNeil. The others had declared themselves out, and it remained only for the elderly man with his dirty beard and lecherous looks to beat the young McNeil for Una’s fate to be sealed.

  She had no desire to be anyone’s prize, but surely Callum McNeil would be a better master than the Laird of the Wilsons. She wondered what he was like. He had hardly spoken a word all evening and appeared entirely nervous as to the proceedings. It was clear he had not expected to be put upon like this and though he skilled at the cards, Una wondered if he had the heart to follow through with the prize which Feargan McDonald had promised to the winner.

  “Queens,” Feargan said, the room watching with bated breath as the cards in the final game were laid down.

  “Then it seems the prize is mine,” the Wilson said, licking his lips and turning to Una with a delighted expression upon his face.

  “Daenae be so sure of that,” Feargan said, “young Callum still has his hand to lay down.”

  “Then let us see,” the Wilson said, and Callum laid down his cards.

  Despite herself, Una craned her neck to see what he had placed down, and a gasp went up from those still gathered around the table. There, laid out before them, were four aces and Callum glanced around in embarrassment at Una, as Laird Wilson brought his fist down hard upon the table.

  “Now, now, Callum has won fairly. There was nay cheatin’ and so it seems the prize is yers, young lad,” Feargan said, turning to Callum and then to Una with a smile on his face.

  “I … I cannae accept this prize. Tis’ nay right to win a lass like this in a game of cards,” Callum said, speaking almost for the first time that evening.

  “Nay right? Of course tis’ right. Ye need her more than this old fool,” Feargan said, pointing to the Wilson Laird who spat upon the floor and banged his fist upon the table again.

  “But … but what dae I dae with her?” Callum asked, and laughter went up from around the room.

  “Why, ye dae whatever ye wish with her lad,” Feargan said, slapping him on the back. “Come now, tis’ late, let us open another barrel of whisky and toast yer winnin’ lad.”

  The barrel was brought and the other Lairds, apart from the Wilson, toasted Callum royally. He had certainly won a prize worth celebrating and there was much talk of what he might do with her upon leaving the castle the next day.

  “She would make a fine wife, or a mistress if ye have yer sights upon another,” one man said, as Una sat meekly at the side of the Great Hall.

  “I am just pleased to be rid of the wee wench,” Amelia said, casting a withering glance at Una who scowled.

  “Now, now, Amelia,” Feargan said, “we daenae want to put young Callum off from takin’ her away.”

  “He is welcome to her. She has been nothin’ but trouble all these weeks past,” Amelia said.

  Callum glanced over at Una who offered no response, either in word or expression. She was glad that it was he and not another who had emerged victorious. But the facts of the matter still stood. She would be his prisoner and it would be up to Callum McNeil to decide what, if anything, to do with her. One prison was the same as another and all that Una wished for was to make her escape as soon as possible.

  The hour was late, and the guests had drifted off to bed. The whisky barrel had run dry and, perhaps fortified by its effects, Callum McNeil came over to Una with an embarrassed look upon his face. She too had almost fallen asleep, and he startled her as he placed his hand upon her arm.

  “Tis’ all right, I mean ye nay harm, lass,” he said, his voice sounding gentle and meek.

  “I should hope so,” she replied, not making eye contact with him and instead staring resolutely ahead.

  “I … I noticed ye in the courtyard earlier on, before all this. I did nae ken that this game was to take place. I … I am sorry,” he said, placing his hand gently on her arm.

  She flinched at his touch and slowly lifted her eyes. He was looking at her with concern, his face bearing a puzzled expression, as though he had just awoken from a dream.

  “One prison is as another,” she said, not allowing her face to display any emotion towards him, though once again she offered up thanksgiving that it was not the lecherous Wilson Laird standing before her.

  “I … I promise ye shall be well treated. I shall nae allow any harm to come to ye,” he said, his hand still resting upon her arm.

  “See to it ye daenae,” she replied and rising from the chair she walked past him towards the doors of the Great Hall.

  “A fine prize ye have there, Callum. A fine prize for a young lad,” Feargan McDonald said, striding forwards.

  “I am nay one’s prize,” she replied, and turning to Feargan and Callum she fixed them with a stern gaze. “One day, I shall see ye revenged upon Feargan McDonald. If tis’ the last thing I ever dae.”

  “I hope ye can tame her Callum. She will take some handlin’ that is certain,”
Feargan said, and Una could hear his laughter echoing along the corridor, as the soldiers escorted her to her chambers.

  Once inside, the door locked securely behind her, she flung herself upon the bed and began to sob. It was all so terrible and whether Callum McNeil would be true to his word or not, it made no difference. She was a prisoner with him as much as with the McDonald’s. That was her fate, but Una was determined to survive, and as she had vowed revenge upon Feargan, she vowed there and then to do everything in her power to escape.

  “I will be a free lass again,” she whispered through the darkness. “I am my faither’s daughter and a Gordon, I will survive.”

  Chapter 2

  A Free Prisoner

  The next morning, Una was awoken early by a rapping at the door. She was surprised to find it opened to reveal Amelia McDonald, bearing clothes and exhorting her to rise and make herself ready.

  “Ye will be leavin’ in a few moment’s time, lass, and there is nae long to get ready,” she said, pulling Una up from the bed and pulling off her nightgown.

  “But … why,” Una began, surprised at Amelia’s cheery disposition that morning.

  “I want ye out, Una. As soon as possible and if even a few moments can be saved by my assistin’ ye then I shall gladly give them up,” Amelia replied in a low voice, and then raising it higher she continued. “Quickly now, Laird McNeill will nae wait all day.”

  Una was soon dressed, and she splashed water on her face as Amelia McDonald continued to fuss around her. She had slept badly the previous night, her thoughts mixed and tumultuous. What did the next days and weeks hold for her? She had become familiar with the McDonald's and whilst life as their prisoner had been unpleasant it could hardly have been called hard. She had been fed and given all the necessities for life. In comparison to many of the poor peasants who wandered in the glens and eked out a living on the crofts, her life was comfortable. Now, she was stepping out into the unknown and as kind as Callum McNeil appeared to be, she knew not what to expect. Would he be like all the rest? Subject her to harsh treatment behind closed doors and remind her of all that she had lost through the death of her father?