Page 187 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

His weathered face softened a while, as Malcolm felt himself strangely touched.

"Thank ye, James," he said, taking a slow dram. Then, grabbing the flask, he refilled James' quaich. "So then, here, I make a toast... to ye an' me... an' reclaiming what is rightfully mine!"

Lifting his cup, heartily, James grinned. "To Laird Malcolm!" he said, slightly too loud.

For the first time, tipplers turned around, wondering what the commotion was about. Malcolm and James exchanged rueful smiles.

"Aye," said Malcolm, trying to keep both his eyes, and the noise, down. The last thing he wanted to do was to draw attention to himself just then. "An' ye nae ken, perchance there'll be a wee title in it for ye!"

But as he knocked back his umpteenth dram - and heaven knows, Malcolm had had a lot of them by then - the only feeling Malcolm had was of regret.

Ainslee's hurt expression flashed through his eyes. He could not bear it. Seeing those amber brown eyes so dashed.

Bitterly, Malcolm downed the dram. It did not stop him hating himself right then.

Her disappointment was palpable. Whatever had happened concerning his abduction, something Ainslee had said resonated, hard.

"Whit, ye were dragged off...for a whole ten years?"

The disbelief in her face was clear to see. He had argued, but his sense of guilt would not abate.

Maybe she had a point. Yes, he was abducted. But could he have not tried a bit more to get back? Especially after the retaking of the Margret Rose from the first captain. Perhaps he could have made it back to see her, a bit sooner.

Furrowing his brow, Malcolm frowned.

Guilt flooding his heart, Malcolm shrugged helplessly at the oncoming wind. Downing his drink, he sighed.

He had let her down. It was up to him to put it right.

He had to find some way of getting Ainslee back.

CHAPTER 10

The rain had stopped. Ainslee peered fearfully out of the shuttered window, a few stray squints of light coming through a hole in the slats. Pausing, Ainslee glanced quickly back into the darkened room.

No one was stirring, it was just the noise of dreamers turning in their sleep. Ainslee turned back to the window. It was early yet, and no one was awake. Well, almost no one, save her, and one or two of the inn staff.

Down below she saw them, the inn-keeper's wife, with her large broom, and one of the maids - whom she had running and fetching back and forth.

"Och, this storm has brought down the branches," tutted the woman, her starched coif perched stiffly on her head. In the harsh light of day, Ainslee counted the inn keeper's wife's lines. There were many. "An' made such a mess! Come, Norah, get it cleaned up!"

Ainslee looked out to the street. It was early, with only the sounds of the sea crashing the shore in the distance. A flock of gulls rounded on the cliffs, bringing with them their clacking cries. But mainly it was still.

Soon, the fishermen would wake, and push out to sea in their little narrow boats. But not just yet. Stifling a yawn, Ainslee rubbed her eyes and wondered what she had been drinking last night. Everything felt so fuzzy. She should not yet be awake, but with the dry dawn, she spied a chance to be off.

Her father would be missing her, and, more to the point, his breakfast. Gathering her things about her, she looked over to Marisse.

She was still hard asleep, the shape of her chest rising and falling rhythmically beneath her shawl. Despite the basic conditions, she had slept well, although that might have been something to do with the flagons of whiskey doing the rounds in the packed barroom.

Ainslee stared off. Bit by bit, fragments of the previous nightdrifted back; Malcolm.

He had been there, of course. She remembered that much. But now, gradual memories of herself shouting, getting upset, flooded back.

Then it was there; all of it. Her rage, his excuses. The look on his face when she had accused him of leaving her. It was all there. A sweep of nausea overtook her. For a moment, Ainslee thought she would be sick. Then, a fortunate gust of air rattled into the darkened room, bringing relief.

Ainslee took an ice cold gulp of breath. Outside it was freezing, with still snow on the hilltops. On the streets was ice, and traversing them would be tough. Still, at least there was no rain, for which Ainslee was truly grateful.

A sudden question pricked Ainslee. Malcolm; where was he? In a panicky rush, she suddenly realized he was probably here; if not tucked into the hay with the others, then certainly in one of the other rooms.