Page 175 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

The question disarmed him. He had been expecting a knife, not an interrogation. His hackles up, Malcolm gathered himself.

"Let me pass," he said, coldly. This time he did shove her, just a fraction, out of the way. Trying to get past, he pushed her, roughly, against the wall But she did not stop.

In a trice, the girl was straight back beside him, this time wearing an expression of stone.

"I said, what is yer name?" she said, repeating each word slowly. She was not budging. But neither was he.

This time, the woman really got in his face. He could see her eyes sparkling, in the semi light of the passageway. Even so, there was little else he could make of her features, beneath her heavy scarf.

Malcolm backed away from her. He was about to push her back, when she startled him.

"Malcolm," she said, crisply. Malcolm froze. Immediately, he turned to look. "Yer name's Malcolm, isnae it?"

Malcolm stopped in his tracks. He did not know who this woman was, but now he was troubled.

"Who wants to ken?" he asked, pulling close to her head. The woman did not flinch, although she did not come any closer. Recognition glinted in her dark eyes.

Malcolm's heart skipped a beat. Earlier that day he had imagined a face like this. Similar in shape and outline... but it could not be. Telling himself it could not be, he faced the woman stiffly.

"I dinnae ken who ye are," he said, gazing at her."But I demand to ken!" The dark eyes glistened oddly. Was she laughing at him?

"Who sent ye? Was it Bruce?" Malcolm spun around, to confront the woman, but she swerved, getting ahead again.

"Ye are Malcolm, aren't ye?" the lass said, her voice low and dangerous. Malcolm flinched. He fully expected a blade at his throat. Clearly his brother had sent her, he thought. And he was not going to wait for her to get her blow in first.

"I dinnae answer questions, I ask them, darling," he said, grabbing her by the shoulder. Now he had her in a lock. For the first time, the tables were turning. Keeping her pressed against the wall, he came closer. Close enough to hear her breathing.

"So tell me noo, lassie, who are ye working for? Bruce? The McIvers? Who, who sent ye?"

The woman threw her head back and laughed. But she did not answer.

"So ye willnae tell me yer name, well nae fash, I ken ye," she said, infuriatingly.

Annoyed, Malcolm wanted nothing more than to get away. He was sure Bruce had sent her, but his curiosity had piqued. He needed to know for sure.

"Hoo do ye ken me?" he asked, squinting at her face. It was hard to see in the shaded alley, and the heavy hood wrapped over her eyes did not help. Glancing up, Malcolm saw the heavy skies. A combination of rain, and oncoming nightfall meant it was darkening, now.

A tinge of disappointment came into Malcolm. He had hoped to ride tonight. To reach the clan, and maybe even confront his brother.

But judging by the skies, none of that was going to be possible. The woman just laughed.

His temper rising, Malcolm grabbed her by the shoulder.

"I asked ye a question. I said hoo did ye ken me. I dinnae ken ye... so tell me, mistress, who are ye, an' who do ye work for?"

A pause, as recognition darted through the woman's shaded face. But Malcolm had run out of patience. The woman was laughing at him, and he had simply had enough.

He turned to walk away, but in doing so, attracted her ire.

"Dinnae ye walk awa'!" hurled the woman, livid. He could tell she was angry, just from her hands, which rattled and shook, as she clutched at her kirtle. "Dinnae ye walk awa fro me, Malcolm Duncan!"

She pushed him, then smack! The lass's hand connected with his face - hard!

Stung, Malcolm recoiled. The sharpness of the slap reverberated all over him. But the lass was not sated. In fact, it looked as if she had only just got started.

"I said, dinnae...!" the fierceness in her eyes leaped out at him. She reached to slap him again, but Malcolm was too fast for her. Grabbing her with both his hands, he rammed her against the vennel wall. Holding her tight, he pressed her head.

"Nae lassie, yer dinnae get to give the orders, noo, who about ye answer some o' my questions, so come on, who are ye, an' were ye sent by the laird?"