Page 200 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

As they approached, riding closer to the homes, he felt it some more. Total silence.

"Whit's happening lass? Where's the bairns, the greeting, the dogs... the fiddlers?"

Ainslee watched him, blanche faced. She did not respond.

Going nearer to the front of some of the cottages, it was hard to establish if they were in or not, but as they drew closer a deep stillness set in.

"Where are they? Are they gone awa'?" Malcolm's haunted face peered over the mean cottages.

It was dark, but enough light to see by told him something was up. The houses were ramshackle and worn, even by Highlands standards. In the walls, there were gaps missing, and visible holes in the roofing,

From the total silence, it was clear no one was in there, although here and there, one or two of the cottages might have been inhabited, he was not sure.

Walking around the village, Malcolm watched, open-mouthed. But it was when they reached the village tavern that his blood ran cold. The place was empty, abandoned.

Glancing at Ainslee, he frowned anxiously. "Lass, what's happened? Was there a war?"

Ainslee just shrugged. "Might as well as been," she said, still mounted. Malcolm noticed her looking around more, as if she expected to meet something or someone. Edging closer toward her, he looked up, protectively.

"Where are they all?" he asked, simply. By now, they were at the front of the tavern. Close up, Malcolm could tell no one had been here for some time. Gingerly, he pushed the heavy door open. It creaked with an ominous sound, but then offered up nothing.

Just nothing. Shuffling slowly in, Malcolm glanced around the bar. It was dark, empty. No fire glowed in the center, and no lamps light the walls. A damp, low cold pervaded the stone walls, which clung to the gloom.

Malcolm shivered, somehow it was even more cold inside than out. From the low light in the bar, he dimly made out the mess - tables overturned, and cups strewn everywhere. Before the place was cleared, there had been a fight.

Now back outside, Malcolm gazed at the sky. He gave up asking Ainslee for information, and sat shaking his head.

Softly, she came toward him, dismounted her horse, and gently said;

"They left," she murmured. Malcolm just nodded, that bit had been clear enough. "Bandits, raids, attacks on the clan... but mostly... just fear..."

Malcolm looked up. Her face was cold and bland, setting her cheek against the skies, Ainslee carried on.

"An' hunger, an' cold, the most awful hunger...," Ainslee's voice trailed off. "Things ha' nae been right for a lang time..."

A hollow wind rattled around the village, Malcolm felt it chill him inside. "Tell me what happened," he said, slowly, as he sat down on the tavern step.

Ainslee, sitting beside him, just shrugged. "Nae much to tell... the place has been left to ruin... Bruce's men stole so much from the folk, the rest, the bandits took... an' he took their crops... an' animals... until there was nothing left... that's when the people went..."

The pale light in the corner of the skies faded, replaced by the thick curtain of black. Night had certainly fallen, and with it, the temperature dropped. Shivering, Ainslee brought the cloak closer, and tried to keep warm.

Malcolm's eyes went to hers. They were still, and dark.

"Nae," he shook his head. "He cannae get awa' wi' this...! Wait until I see him!"

The choler rose up within him, choking him suddenly. He was awash with cold rage. But Ainslee just sat simply, her head bent.

"Tis nae the time, yet," she said, calmly. Malcolm wondered how she could be so serene, but when he saw her face closely, he realized it was weariness not resignation.

Her pale face pressed to him, Malcolm felt her heat. She was tantalizingly close now, but in her face he saw that she was exhausted. So was he.

Despite his longing, he could not hold her. It just was not right.

Uncomfortably, he watched her.

"Nae," he said, unable to resist brushing a hair from her head. She was near now, really close. It took divine levels of willpower for him not to touch her. "This cannae be allowed... Ainslee, lass, we must take him tonight! While he sleeps! Then it will be over..."

As he spoke, his voice became louder, emboldened. It surprised himself, the rage he felt. To begin with, he had been numbed - in silence. The shock he felt at the devastation of the town had been disorienting. But now it was growing in his heart.