Page 178 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

"Ainslee, my ring...the one I gave ye...?"

The words died on his lips, the coldness in her eyes was all the reply he needed. Suddenly, Malcolm felt his heart bursting. If she would not believe him, what was the point? Defensively, he faced her.

But before he could speak, she butted in.

"Yer ring?" she sneered, derisively. "Do ye really expect me to be wearing it? After all this time? What is it good for? It wasnae even a betrothment!"

Malcolm tried to open his mouth, but she carried on.

"An' yer clan? What about them? Wheesht, ye just left them - wi'out a laird, an' to the mercy o' yer brother!"

Her eyes flashed, leaving Malcolm blindsided. "I didnae just leave them!" he yelled.

Sweaty, confused, he felt like he had been kicked. For a moment, Ainslee looked at him, with interest.

"I didnae leave anyone! I had nae choice! An' Ainslee... I didnae ken my father had died until just noo! I didnae ken... all o' this... all o' this is Bruce's fault!"

Malcolm's heart was thumping extra hard. In the last few hours he had discovered his father was dead, and his brother likely the cause. Now this.

There was not much more he could take.

But Ainslee was not having any of it. Eyes streaming with tears, she was too wrapped up in her own grief.

"Och, my heid's mince... awa' an' bile yer heid!"

Eyes laced with pain, she turned and ran, leaving Malcolm alone in the alley.

CHAPTER 8

But he was not alone for long.

Pounding heels raced down the alleyway.

"Ainslee?"

A woman's voice pierced the vennel. Malcolm couldn't see the owner. Night was falling - and the skies were shedding its load.

Sudden darkness had descended on the streets, and with it, a fantastic deluge. The rain was so hard Malcolm could not see or hear anything.

For minutes, all he could do was to cap his head, using his hands to fend off the onslaught of rain.

But the downpour did not deter the woman, chasing Ainslee through the mire.

"Ainslee?"

The woman's voice called again, and this time he saw her. A buxom blonde lass, of approximately twenty-five. Malcolm vaguely recognized her from the village.

Stretching her cape over her head, she was also struggling to stay dry.

The alley reeked of dirt and piss. The flood threatened to overcome them both, but the woman paid neither him, nor it, any heed.

"Where are ye lass?" he called to Ainslee. But she did not see him, and the chasing woman did not hear. Instead, she shimmied past, pressing his body against the walls of the vennel.

Knocking into his flesh, she gave a little yelp.

"Och!"

The woman screamed. Finally, she was aware of him! But Malcolm was in no mood for excitable wenches. Firmly, he pushed her back, vying for space in the narrow vennel.