Page 185 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Ainslee needed help. She had not realized how heated she had become. The room was spinning. Putting one foot in front of another was hard work.

Guiding her, Marisse led Ainslee up the wooden steps to the upper chamber. There, was a long dormitory, full of hay and bodies - and a not altogether pleasant smell,

"Is this it?" Marisse asked, entering the low lit chamber. All around, slumbering bodies attempted to stay warm in the minimal blanketing. Marisse cast her eyes about. "Och, I supposed there may be a bed..."

Ainslee did not care about beds. Glancing about, she had seen worse. At least there was hay.

The more esteemed guests at The Ship had the adjacent chamber, where Ainslee suspected the actual beds were. For them, there was hay.

She could not care less. Finally away from the din below, hot tears burst from her. It had taken everything she had to keep them in.

Seeing her, Marisse murmured. "Sweeting..."

Holding her tight, Marisse hugged her. The heat of her body thronged through Ainslee, comforting her. Sobbing hard, Ainslee let herself go.

"Nae fash, hen," said Marisse, taking her in her arms. It was all coming out. All the hurt of the last decade, uncovered. And worst of all, quite undiluted.

"Tis all lies, all o' it," Ainslee mumbled. Inside, she was livid. He had played her for a fool, and expected her to believe it.

Everything she felt came rushing at her in that minute. This was too much. Her muffled sobs began to stir some of the sleepers, but Ainslee barely noticed. Instead, she clung onto her friend, breathing in her flowery scent. Marisse always smelled nice.

"I dinnae ken what I am gonnae do, Marisse," she said, sobbing tight into her arms. All the pain she had been holding for so long was now so free. "I thought I could forget him, but I cannae. He just left me, when we were to be wed. How can I ever forget that? How can I?"

Stroking her hair, Marisse replied thoughtfully. "Ye can," she said, slowly. "An' ye will. An' I am gonnae see to it. Ainslee, ye hark, ye are gonnae forget Malcolm Duncan!"

Wiping her eyes, Ainslee wished bitterly that she could.

CHAPTER 9

"I dinnae ken, Malcolm, pal, but that's some canny way ye have wi' the lasses. I'll be sure to take lessons in yer technique!"

James refilled their drams, with a wry smile cracking his weathbeat face. For a moment, Malcolm remained blank, then, he shrugged, helplessly.

"Och," he smiled, taking a dram. He did not feel like smiling, but attempted to put a brave face on it anyway. "I'll let ye in on a few o' my wee secrets..."

Sighing, Malcolm looked around the densely packed inn. It was heating up. Despite the epic wind, the tavern was snug. The plunging temperatures outside did not punctuate the heavy indoors - kept warm by the fire.

And Malcolm was more than heated already - the excitement of seeing Ainslee, setting his heart aflutter. If that was not enough, the half dozen drams he had taken had ensured he was sweating profusely.

And they were still not enough. Grasping his quaich, Malcolm drank deep, repouring another drink swiftly. Gulping it down, Malcolm sighed. Everything was comfortably numb,

"Women," remarked James, watching him tightly. Malcolm just rolled his eyes. He did not want to talk about it. Instead, his eyes wandered to the wooden slats, shaking with rain.

He had hoped to make it back home tonight, but now, that plan looked in tatters.

Seeing his thought process, James shook his head. "Nae, ye'll nae make it to toon noo, lad," he said, with a smile.

Rousing himself, Malcolm knew he was right, but that didn't make him happy.

"So, ye might as well make yersel' comfortable here for the night!" said James, with a wink. "Fir a few moments, I thought ye might make yersel' comfortable with yon Ainslee, an' me wi' her pal, but twas nae to be!"

He shot Malcolm a rueful glance, who laughed mirthlessly.

"Aye, I'm sorry about that, James," he said, watching around. What just happened hurt. How could it not? But Malcolm's head was full of many things. Not least, the loose talk from the men at the bar, before.

Instinctively, his mind flashed back to what the fishermen had said about his brother, Bruce, being the laird.

Maybe James read his face. Putting his dram down, he looked inquisitively at Malcolm.