Page 169 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Then; a flash of eyes brought Malcolm up sharp.

Out of the crowd, a fresh face emerged. A woman. Blinking, Malcolm got a grip.

She was young, bonny, with dark hair and a pair of dancing dark eyes.

A shudder ran through him. Instantly, he remembered her face;

Ainslee.

But he couldn't. In a flash, he could not remember her. And squinting, if she had been there before, then she was not any longer. Rubbing his eyes, Malcolm struggled to make sense of his vision.

For a moment, it had seemed that she was there. But of course, she wasn't. All the same. He had finally remembered her face, but this had only succeeded in making him feel his heart break all over againn.

Trying to snap out of it, he was about to say something to James, when a tapping on his shoulder made him turn around.

It was the drunken fisher from before. Now even more inebriated.

"What ho! Friend, ta for the wee drams!"

The blootered looking man was swaying dramatically, at one point almost horizontal on the floor. All the same, he beamed merrily at Malcolm.

"Nae fash," said Malcolm, diplomatically, before catching drift of another voice.

"Och, aye, if auld Rabbie were still here it wouldnae ha' happened, that's fer sure...!"

Instantly, Malcolm cut his attention to the owner of the voice, a red faced fisherman, with a brimming pint in his hand. Catching James' eye, he looked over.

"Aye, I ken, tis a shame whit happened to him," said another. Now Malcolm's interest was piqued. Heart beating quickly, he listened intently.

"Aye," said the red-faced man thoughtfully. "An' by his oon son too, tis nae right..."

Malcolm put down his dram. Looking to the men, he leaned over.

"Whit wasnae right?" he asked, politely. "If ye dinnae mind me asking?"

The red-faced man smiled at him patiently. "The way the auld laird was killed. I still nae believe that he was a traitor...!"

Malcolm's heart gave a start. "A traitor? My f- the... the... laird...?"

He was so shocked he almost let slip who he was. This was the first time he had heard anything about his father being a traitor. But worse still, the man seemed to suggest he was dead too!

Heart thumping hard, Malcolm struggled to gain a grip of himself. Biting his tongue down, Malcolm shared a quick glance with James, sitting back on his barstool. Hastily correcting himself, Malcolm smiled calmly.

"Forgive me, friend. I have been away at sea an' missed much, tell me, what happened wi' the auld laird, surely he cannae be dead?"

Malcolm rested his hands on his mug. Inside, his nerves jangled and buzzed. Really, there was no reason why he had to hide his identity from these men. Just that he did not feel ready to tell all and sundry who he was.

"Och, he is dead alright, friend. Hoo lang ha' ye been away?"

The men laughed, and Malcolm had to work again, at keeping his fearsome temper in check. A deep, sick feeling pierced him. He had no idea his father was dead.

Unabashed, the man continued, totally unaware of the devastating effects of his words.

"Aye, twas said that he had sold us oot to the enemies o' the clan," said the fisher. And beside him, the chronically drunk man popped his head up.

"Aye, Bruce claimed to ha' proof o' it. Then, when he tried to question him, he challenged him to a duel, an' lost..."

The slurring made it difficult for Malcolm to understand. That, and the very loud noise from the intoxicated crowd.