Page 162 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

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"Lassie!"

Ainslee MacDonald crashed in through the heavy door to the smiddy.

The smell and smoke of the warm shop comforted her; a total contrast to the cold of the Duncan hall.

Immediately, her father leapt to his feet. Running towards his daughter, he was about to chide her, when he saw her cheek.

"Ainslee!" he gasped, going over to her."Yer face, yer bleeding!"

Ainslee collapsed, weeping into his arms.

"Lassie! Whit is it? Yer shaking?"

Taking her in his arms, Alasdair comforted his daughter, as Ainslee sobbed on her father's shoulder.

"Och," she muttered, embarrassed.

For as long as she was in the Duncan keep, she had held together, but now, with the oak door bolted firmly behind her, she began to unravel.

"Tis naething," she said, at last. Her father, brushing off her tears, looked at her sharply.

"Tis nae naething, lass! Yer bleeding! Who did this tae ye!”

Mister MacDonald was not a big man, but his ferocity made up for his lack of height. Seeing his daughter like this, he burned as bright as any of the irons in his fire..

"Laird Duncan," said Ainslee, bitterly. "He doesnae like his sword!"

Incredulous, her father took the sword, observing it fully.

"He innae gonnae get awa' wi' this!" he fumed. Anger burned in Mister MacDonald's dark brown eyes, stirring, he reached for his brat.

"Nae, father, nae fash," said Ainslee, wearily. She was calmer now, and anxious to stop her father doing anything foolish. "I am braw... twas... och, just a wee collieshangie... that got oot o' haun. I dinnae ken he was the laird... I kent he was some wee heid the baw, nae the laird... an' he got awfu' choleric..."

"Lassie, nae fash," soothed Mister MacDonald. "But one o' these days, that Bruce Duncan will get whit's coming to him, fer sure!"

Ainslee smiled. There was nothing he could do, and they both knew it.

By now, her father had recovered as well. His trademark grin was back in force. Mister MacDonald looked at her with a knowing wink. "An' I ken just where he can shove his sword!"

CHAPTER 2

"Land Ahoy!"

The captain's weathered face beamed into view. Groggily, Malcolm looked up.

"Wakey wakey, lad, ye dinnae wannae miss yer stop!"

The man shook him roughly, but Malcolm just gurned, muttering in his sleep. Now the captain, a young fellow, clapped his hands in front of his head.

"Hark! Hear ye! Come on, an' shake yer lazy bones!" he snapped, pulling the woolen blanket from the cot..

Finally, Malcolm came to his senses. In front of him was a swarthy man - weatherbeaten and lined, but behind the hardened skin, a pair of young, twinkling eyes. The captain gazed at him, a serious expression on his tanned face.

"James?" he mumbled, looking up. Quickly he scrambled to his feet, checking himself carefully. He had not seen his own face in years, but the wispy beard and bushy hair told him that he needed a comb, badly.

"Captain to ye!" growled the captain, and for the briefest moment, Malcolm paused. Then, the captain broke into a toothy grin. "An' dinnae ye forget it!"