Page 165 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

As she entered the shop, she set down the heavy knapsack, full of potions that she used for her work as a healer.

"Busy?" she asked, curiously. Marisse's light eyes danced around the darkened shop.

"Just a bit," said Ainslee, dabbing her brow with a spare cloth. It might be snowing outside, but the temperature in the shop was infernal. Sometimes, she wished there was somewhere in between the frozen Highlands winter and the burning heat of the smelting shop.

"Why so?" said Marisse, tilting her blonde head to the side. Pushing her long locks back, she gazed interestedly in the sword Ainslee was working on.

"Och, because mister bigwig clan leader says so," huffed Ainslee. The sword was halfway ready. Both Ainslee, and her father, had been working on it for days.

In fact, it was all they had done.

Now her father was snoring in the corner, asleep on his chair. Ainslee had not had the heart to rouse him,

Marisse looked at the sword, her expression a picture of comical interest. "But, I thought ye already delivered it to him...?"

Her face peered inquisitively into Ainslee, who just huffed. But quickly, Ainslee turned away, before she could see the scratch on her face.

In front of her, Marisse's wavy blonde locks risked getting stuck in the grinder in front of them, and Ainslee had to usher her away.

"Aye, I thought I had, too," said Ainslee, her eyes rolling to the ceiling and back. "Turns oot, he wasnae happy..."

Marisse's eyes rounded. "Whit was up wi' it?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Ainslee, setting the tongs down with an almighty clatter. "A muckle big fat naething, was wrong wi' it!"

Now Marisse looked confused. "So, ahm, why are ye doing it again?"

Ainslee shot her a look. "Well ye might ask!" she replied. "An' to get yer answer ye best ask Laird Fannybaws Jobbyheid!"

"Ah," replied Marisse diplomatically. "Him."

"Aye," said Ainslee, emphatically. "Him!"

Marisse watched as Ainslee banged about the workshop, picking up this and that, and finding everything to her general dissatisfaction. Then, her blue eyes caught a sight of the mark on Ainslee's cheek.

"Hen," she said, moving closer. Rapidly, she sped over to her friend, watching her carefully. Marisse's eyes pierced Ainslee's.

Ainslee, who had all but forgotten about the wound, looked, perplexed. "Whit?" she asked. Her friend inched closer, bringing a perfectly shaped finger to her face.

"Whit's this? Ye had a run in wi' the door, agin?" asked Marisse. Ainslee stopped, to touch her face. It stung, but the rest of the time, she had all but forgotten it.

"Och, this," she muttered, grumpily. "Tis another wee present from Laird Bruce... I told ye he wasnae happy wi' the sword!"

Marisse's eyes roundened. "Ye mean, he did this to ye!" she gave a little shriek. Ainslee brushed her off, irritably.

"Aye," she said, attempting to work again, but it was useless. Marisse would not let her go. "Tis naething. He was a crabbit, an' threw a sword at me!"

Marisse's eyes nearly popped out of her head. Ainslee tutted and shook her head.

"Och, nae quite like that. I didnae think he meant to hit me," she said, wondering for a moment herself if he did. "Mair just he was in such a big wobbly that he lost all control, an' lashed oot. I didnae move fast enough, that's all...!"

Marisse shook her head. "The wee bawbag!" she murmured. But before Ainslee could say more, she was opening her knapsack.

"Nae move," she said, her fingers roaming for something in the bag. Eventually she pulled out something, a tincture, in a small pot. "Here, twill help it heal...!"

"Ow!"

The tincture stung, burning Ainslee's face, but then, as it took hold, it soothed it down.