Page 161 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Once again, she shivered, and it was not all down to the cold chill in the air. Pulling her thick shawl around her shoulders, Ainslee repositioned the sword in her hands. The light tapered over it, illuminating it in gold.

"Here," said the man, roughly shoving it out of her hands. He was right beside her, now, giving Ainslee a chance to observe his lined face. Startled, she had to look at him twice. The man was roughly forty, but already missing his two front teeth. "Look, there's a dint in it here..."

He pulled her face towards the blade, almost scratching her in the process.

"Wheesht!" said Ainslee, crossly. Her impetuous temper was beginning to get the better of her.

Angrily, she stood up to go. "Anyhoo, I came to make the delivery, an' I have made it. Tell the laird his sword is ready!"

Quickly, Ainslee scrambled to her feet. She was making to go, when the man pushed her back down, for a second time.

"Did I say ye could go?" he snarled, as Ainslee struggled to get both her breath - and her temper - in check. "An' the laird doesnae want yer sword!"

A silence, as Ainslee felt her displeasure surge.

"Well, hoo do ye ken that?" she snapped, after a moment. She brushed herself down, adamant about leaving. "Anyhoo, I'm off, mister..."

"Nae so fast," the man physically stopped her from crossing his path. Ainslee huffed. She had a good mind to simply swipe him with the sword, but of course she didn't. Instead, she fixed him in the eye.

"Get oot o' me way, mister," she asked, before adding, "please," in the iciest voice she could muster.

"Gonnae nae dae that," said the man, his expression deadpan. "Nae until ye agree the sword is busted..!"

Ainslee scoffed. "Wheesht! Yer bum's oot the windae! It is braw! I watched faither make it!"

She fixed him with her flashing brown eyes. This man was really riling her now. "So ye tell yer laird, that it is the best in the toon!"

But the man just stared at her, unmoved. "An' the laird tells yer faither, to shift his wee backside, an' fix me another one...!"

This time he picked the sword up, and hurled it at her feet, Ainslee recoiled, but not fast enough to stop it nicking the side of her cheek. Incensed, she yelped.

Ainslee opened her mouth to gape. The man put his finger to her lips, to demand silence, as a droplet of blood ran down her cheek. Stung, Ainslee went to wipe it.

"One more word, an' I'll cut yer clarty wee tongue oot...! Yer lucky I dinnae throw ye in the cellars, speaking to yer laird like that!"

His pale eyes met hers, until finally, there was a glint of recognition in Ainslee's.

"Ye...yer...Laird Duncan," she gulped. An awful, cold feeling seeped through her.

"Aye, sweeting," said the laird, smiling mirthlessly. "Hoo did ye think I was? The pope?"

Ainslee shot a look up to the portrait of the handsome laird, then looked at the man before her. Despite herself, she hid a smirk.

Ye dinnae look like yer picture! She felt like yelling. But of course, she did nothing of the sort.

Pressing her eyes to the ground, she mumbled.

"I beg yer pardon, sir," she said, in the sorriest voice she could muster. Right then a mixture of emotions were surging through her; horror, anger, fear, everything, but not contrition.

If anything, she was more fired up than before.

"I didnae ken hoo ye were, I... I humbly beg..."

She hardly dared to look up, on the floor, a puddle of blood was forming. She cupped her cheek, in shock.

"Och, awa' an' bile yer heid, lassie," said the laird, waving her away.

Finally, he had tired of her. Blood streaming from her face, Ainslee ran.