Page 222 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Malcolm stared, without moving. He refused to budge his eyes. Bruce, starting slowly, began to shuffle about.

"Nae, nae, tis lies," he said, but Malcolm noted it was more for the crowd than him. When Bruce looked him in the eyes, he knew.

Malcolm stood his ground. "Ye ken the truth, Bruce," he said. James straightened up behind them. "James kens the truth, how ye sold me to the highest bidder!"

Bruce's eyes shifted from James, to the crowd, now noisily murmuring round and round. Edgily, Bruce tried to regain himself.

"Pish an' tish, I had to pay them to take ye!" he scoffed. He laughed along, but no-one else did, not even the dark-haired steward, watching closely from behind. "I mean, um, I would have had to pay for them to take ye...! Ye were the one who left the clan..."

Malcolm's eyes narrowed. He had forgotten just how slippery Bruce was. But he knew him of old. He would never admit to what he had done.

It didn't matter, because suddenly riled, Malcolm had the notion to break him, there and then.

"I nae left the clan! I was transported - away from the clan, away from my father...," Malcolm's heart shot through with bitter pain. He paused as he collected himself awhile.

"The father ye killed..."

So many feelings were whizzing through he could hardly begin. It was not just his father that Bruce had deprived him of, it was her.

Ainslee.

For the full ten years he had been away, he had missed her. The feeling had gnawed and kept him alive. Never once had he forgotten though.

But finally, Bruce was reacting. Off from his seat, he walked around, swishing his embroidered robes importantly as he went.

"How dare ye insinuate I deliberately hurt oor father!" said Bruce, his pallid eyes darting anywhere but at Malcolm. Malcolm wondered how he could even keep his composure.

"My father," Malcolm corrected. "He wasnae yers... Ye are nae even my mother's bairn. Face it, yer a cuckoo in a nest, an' tis aboot time someone pushed ye oot!"

Malcolm raised his voice. As he did so, the steward and a posse of men pushed through towards him. They were about to grab him, when Bruce motioned them to stop.

"Nae," he said, abruptly. "Let the wee runt have his say..."

Bruce's eyes glared, and Malcolm felt his temper race. Behind him, James took a step nearer, baring his sword. Reluctantly, the steward stepped away, leaving Malcolm and Bruce head to head. Eventually, Bruce shook his head and sighed.

"So then, ye think ye can beat me, well, all I can say sonny, is come an' try to!"

Bruce's pale eyes twinkled, he was serious. But then, as an aside, he added; "Remember, the last man who thought that ended up dead!"

Fury took him. Malcolm almost lunged right at Bruce.

"Ye murdering half-wit, ye have nae right to sit here, pretending to be laird!"

It was not Malcolm's voice. Both of them turned, in surprise. There was James, his dagger drawn, and face trained straight on Bruce.

"Och," said Bruce, with a look of faux outrage. "Ye think ye could do better do ye?"

He pulled a face, sending Malcolm into spasms of rage. Struggling to gain his self-control, Malcolm stopped himself from shoving Bruce's face into the dirt, but only just.

"So, what is it? All talk an' nae fight?" Bruce said, eyeing him, superciliously. He shooed the waiting guards away.

Malcolm straightened up.

"Aye, I challenge ye, for the seat o' this clan... if ye win, ye get it all. If ye lose, ye leave an' nae come back!"

"Accepted!" snarled Malcolm. Before he could make a move, Bruce dived right at him, tackling him to the ground.

Surprised, Malcolm shook him off, with not too much drama. He had gotten free before Bruce even flexed a muscle. Dusting himself down, Malcolm watched Bruce stagger back to his feet.