Page 203 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

All the same, she held her ground. "Nae," she said, bluntly. "I am asking ye to do nae o' the sort, just wait for one night..."

She turned to Malcolm, impassively. "It's one night, what's the big rush? Ye've had ten years... one night more willnae hurt... an' it'll give ye chance to work oot what to do... Malcolm, he's got a whole army there... where as ye... ye've got ye two!"

She cast her gaze upon him, a warm treacly hue. Finally, he relented.

"Och, alright, then," he said, somewhat reluctant. Having come to a complete stop, Malcolm finally directed his horse to continue in its travel. He turned to Ainslee, his eyes gray in the moonlight.

"We will go first to yer Smiddy, an' bed doon for the night, but tomorrow - we ride for the clan keep... an' naething will stop us!"

As Malcolm trotted off, Ainslee's eyes met with Marisse. Both of them shared a look.

Ainslee could only hope that Malcolm was right.

* * *

It was approaching midnight when they rode into the barn that served as her father's smiddy.

Drenched, frozen and almost asleep upright, the four crept through the barn door, following Ainslee's lead to enter softly.

"Wheesht!" she warned, as captain James knocked a candelabra over. "My father is asleep in there, an'..."

"Ainslee?"

Her father's voice rang through the gloom, leaving Ainslee frozen to the spot. Beside her, Malcolm looked up.

"Ainslee, is that ye? Whit's the meaning o' coming in this late hour? Where've ye been?"

Alasdair MacDonald appeared from the backroom, wearing a long night shirt, and little else. Marisse suppressed a giggle, as Ainslee's brain struggled to compose an answer.

Slowly, the dull light from the backroom infiltrated the shop. Her father held a candle, flickering in the drafts, up to her face. For the first time he saw the others.

"Jings...! Who is this!"

Alasdair McDonald stood back, almost dropping the candlestick. Malcolm stepped forward.

"Guid evening, Mister MacDonald, how fare ye?"

He smiled, broadly, as Ainslee's father squinted in the half-light. Seeing him struggle, Marisse lit the small candelabra knocked over, setting it down straight on the work table.

A dim light spread around the darkened smiddy, illuminating the tools and metalware hanging down. A low shadow cast over the flickering room, adding to the conspiracy.

MacDonald saw Malcolm, and his jaw fell low. "Zooks, it is never!"

Ainslee rushed to steady her father, who suddenly seemed uncertain on his feet. But he shooed her away, as he sped to greet Malcolm.

"It cannae be," said her father, his pale eyes about to pop out of his head. He stared at Malcolm madly. "Nae, tis a trick o' the light! We thought ye were dead... or as good as!"

Malcolm raised his eyes. "I'm nae dead, Mister MacDonald," he said, drily. Ainslee felt her heart flush. All these years, she had believed he had left her. But she wasn't the only one. Everyone in the clan thought Malcolm had abandoned them.

"But?" the tiny smithy's eyes opened, almost about to bulge out of his face. "Lass?"

Wildly, he turned to Ainslee, his face agog, unable to make sense of this. Slowly, Ainslee nodded.

"Aye, tis true, Malcolm has returned," she said, a surge of pride rising in her. Suddenly, she could deny no more. She was pleased he had come here.

"By God's bones," muttered Mister MacDonald, but he remembered his manners. "Come in, come in," he said, ushering them into the smiddy. Gingerly, he eyed the captain, as he too entered the workshop.

"This is James, my captain," said Malcolm, introducing the two. MacDonald looked blank.