Page 157 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

PART III

RETURNING TO HIS HIGHLAND LOVE

PROLOGUE

1516

Midnight.

Black. Everywhere.

A fearsome wind blasted Malcolm Duncan sidewards.

With a nagging doubt that this was not his bedchamber, the heir to the Duncan clan prized his eyes open. It wasn't easy. His lids were stuck. And even when they did open, it was only to a deep blackness.

The candles at his bedside must be blown, he thought, as he shuffled along. But then, a blast of pure salt air gave him pause.

This definitely was not his bedchamber. On his guard, Malcolm Duncan steeled himself.

A sudden crash sent him to his knees. Steadying himself, Malcolm breathed deep and waited for things to come back to normal.

They didn't. Everything swam. His head in confusion, he looked around.

Dark.

Malcolm blinked, finding the light. Then, a familiar face. Out of the shadows, she was there!

Ainslee!

Malcolm's heart leapt. But, in an instant, she was gone, leaving Malcolm in a dark, dreamless sleep that lasted hours.

* * *

The second time he opened his eyes, it was to a harsh white light. A strange blue vista had enveloped him.

“Ainslee?”

Her name stuck on his lips. Forcing his stinging eyes open, Malcolm stared.

Where on earth was he?

* * *

“Kiss me!”

A smile played mischievously on Ainslee McDonald’s lips. Eighteen years old, and oddly puckish, her features were a strange mix; large, almond shaped eyes, dainty little nose, and wide, lascivious lips, which just begged to be kissed.

She shouldn't be attractive; but she was, and abundantly so. And when she turned those honey eyes towards Malcolm Duncan, he knew he was a goner.

She shone like gold, but was as sharp as any knife in her father's smiddy shop. Even with her small frame, she was still too much for most men to handle. So just as well Malcolm Duncan was not most men! His large build had seen off many a blaggard, and as heir to the Duncan clan, his future seemed secure.

So how when she smiled like that did he turn to aspic? Ainslee's smirk stirred something troubling within him.

The deserted tables and spilled goblets signaled the end of the feast. However, Malcolm's appetite had not yet been sated. His pulse quickening, Malcolm gazed at Ainslee with barely concealed glee.

She was ripe, ready for picking. He ached to take her, now. Slowly, Malcolm leaned in to kiss her. For a moment, she played along, her meadowsweet hair consoling him into bliss. But at the last minute, she swerved, suddenly.

"Ach, whit do ye take me for, lad?!" she chided, pulling away. "A stew house strumpet? I've got a reputation to think o'!" But the teasing smirk on her cheek told him she was playing. Stroking her ring finger, she looked at him plaintively. "I mean, if ye put a ring on this, things might change..."