Chapter 1

Ten years later…

The smell of rushes brought it back. She had avoided this room for a decade, but now the stale, cloying scent of the Duncan hall hit her in the nose.

Keeping her eyes down and her skirts up high, Ainslee scuttled across the strewn floor. Everything, from animal bones, to stale breadcrumbs, stuck to her shoes. And judging by the unholy smells in the room, something a whole lot worse as well.

Clutching the heavy sword her father had given her, Ainslee stopped a while. Its" blade glinted in the semi-light, showing off the rubies it was set with. She was here to present it to the laird, but so far, he was not here.

No one was.

Even the servant who had shown her in, had disappeared.

"Hello?"

Ainslee"s high young voice echoed around the chamber. Then, a scurry of feet put her on her guard. Instantly, she raised the sword, its heaviness strangely reassuring as she fastened it into her hand.

"Hello?" she called again, her eyes struggling with the lack of light. There was something in the atmosphere that was uncertain. For a start off, she could barely see in front of her. Even for a castle, this room was dark.

Ten years ago, it had all been so different. Then, the hall teemed with life. But now, the spiders were the only things living here. Ainslee struggled to make out the portraits on the back wall, but a sudden shaft of light illuminated them. Ancient nobles peered out from their cobwebbed frames. But as she came to the present day, there was an abrupt gap.

Ainslee blinked. The previous laird"s portrait was missing, and beside it, a newer canvas, in heavy oils, depicting the wiry face of the new laird; tall, proud, with a good head of dark hair .

A pang filled her; this should be Malcolm"s portrait.

Morosely, Ainslee was lost in herself, when a sharp voice made her spin around.

"Who are ye, and whit are ye doing here?"

Ainslee"s heart almost stopped.Searching furiously, she struggled to see the owner of the voice.

She couldn"t.

Squinting, Ainslee looked around. A shuffling came towards her, making her flinch aggressively. Hands wrapped around the sword, she kept it slow and steady in the air.

"Put doon yer blade!"

She still couldn"t see a face. But the glinting of a knife came quickly into view. Ainslee gasped.

"I said, put doon yer sword! And show me yer hauns!"

The voice was chilling and fierce. Trembling, Ainslee kept her cool.

"Nae til ye tell me who ye are!" she swiped back. Inside she was tensing, but outside she was hard.

A sudden noise jerked from beside her. The man had moved, and was now right beside her. Finally she caught a glimpse of his eyes, pale and watchful in the semi-light.

Ainslee froze.

"I asked ye first!" he growled, bringing his blade right up to her throat.

"Ye came wandering into ma castle waving a sword - drop it!"

Ainslee almost stopped breathing. This was not what she was expecting. Reluctantly, she dropped the sword, its heavy frame clattering on the grubby stone floor.

"Noo who are ye!"

The eyes glinted again, but most of the face was darkened. All the same, Ainslee could smell the remnants of the fish he had had for his tea. A stench wafted closer, as her nausea thickened.

"I...I am Ainslee McDonald, daughter o" the smithy, Alasdair McDonald," said Ainslee, in a small voice. She suddenly felt very scared. "The guards let me in, I am here to deliver this sword to the laird..."

Ainslee watched. The man scooped up the sword, and began examining it.

"Och, McDouglas, fetch the light,"he muttered to an unseen servant. A prickly, nasty sensation came over Ainslee. She still genuinely thought the man to be a brigand, or at least a servant out to rob her.

Ainslee shivered, as the man came close, bringing the candelabra over. The flickering light cast an orange glow over his features. Ainslee was still none the wiser as to who he was, but was beginning to suspect a belligerent guard.

He took the sword, examining it archly.

"Hm, hm, nae braw," he muttered, holding the weapon aloft. He ran his finger up and down it, as Ainslee watched in barely concealed fury. The man pulled a face again, before throwing it back down on the floor.

Squaring up to him, Ainslee stood her ground.

"Whit"s wrong wi" it?" she asked, angered. A strange mix of indignation and trepidation built in her. She was unsure of this impertinent servant, but she certainly was not about to let him disrespect her father"s handiwork!

Hotly, she looked up, as the man towered over her.

Now she got a good look at his face; his brown hair was slicked and greasy, and his pallid eyes followed her all about as she examined the blade.

Once again, she shivered, and it was not all down to the cold chill in the air. Pulling her thick shawl around her shoulders, Ainslee repositioned the sword in her hands. The light tapered over it, illuminating it in gold.

"Here," said the man, roughly shoving it out of her hands. He was right beside her, now, giving Ainslee a chance to observe his lined face. Startled, she had to look at him twice. The man was roughly forty, but already missing his two front teeth. "Look, there"s a dint in it here..."

He pulled her face towards the blade, almost scratching her in the process.

"Wheesht!" said Ainslee, crossly. Her impetuous temper was beginning to get the better of her.

Angrily, she stood up to go. "Anyhoo, I came to make the delivery, an" I have made it. Tell the laird his sword is ready!"

Quickly, Ainslee scrambled to her feet. She was making to go, when the man pushed her back down, for a second time.

"Did I say ye could go?" he snarled, as Ainslee struggled to get both her breath - and her temper - in check. "An" the laird doesnae want yer sword!"

A silence, as Ainslee felt her displeasure surge.

"Well, hoo do ye ken that?" she snapped, after a moment. She brushed herself down, adamant about leaving. "Anyhoo, I"m off, mister..."

"Nae so fast," the man physically stopped her from crossing his path. Ainslee huffed. She had a good mind to simply swipe him with the sword, but of course she didn"t. Instead, she fixed him in the eye.

"Get oot o" me way, mister," she asked, before adding, "please," in the iciest voice she could muster.

"Gonnae nae dae that," said the man, his expression deadpan. "Nae until ye agree the sword is busted..!"

Ainslee scoffed. "Wheesht! Yer bum"s oot the windae! It is braw! I watched faither make it!"

She fixed him with her flashing brown eyes. This man was really riling her now. "So ye tell yer laird, that it is the best in the toon!"

But the man just stared at her, unmoved. "An" the laird tells yer faither, to shift his wee backside, an" fix me another one...!"

This time he picked the sword up, and hurled it at her feet, Ainslee recoiled, but not fast enough to stop it nicking the side of her cheek. Incensed, she yelped.

Ainslee opened her mouth to gape. The man put his finger to her lips, to demand silence, as a droplet of blood ran down her cheek. Stung, Ainslee went to wipe it.

"One more word, an" I"ll cut yer clarty wee tongue oot...! Yer lucky I dinnae throw ye in the cellars, speaking to yer laird like that!"

His pale eyes met hers, until finally, there was a glint of recognition in Ainslee"s.

"Ye...yer...Laird Duncan," she gulped. An awful, cold feeling seeped through her.

"Aye, sweeting," said the laird, smiling mirthlessly. "Hoo did ye think I was? The pope?"

Ainslee shot a look up to the portrait of the handsome laird, then looked at the man before her. Despite herself, she hid a smirk.

Ye dinnae look like yer picture!She felt like yelling. But of course, she did nothing of the sort.

Pressing her eyes to the ground, she mumbled.

"I beg yer pardon, sir," she said, in the sorriest voice she could muster. Right then a mixture of emotions were surging through her; horror, anger, fear, everything, but not contrition.

If anything, she was more fired up than before.

"I didnae ken hoo ye were, I... I humbly beg..."

She hardly dared to look up, on the floor, a puddle of blood was forming. She cupped her cheek, in shock.

"Och, awa" an" bile yer heid, lassie," said the laird, waving her away.

Finally, he had tired of her. Blood streaming from her face, Ainslee ran.

* * *

"Lassie!"

Ainslee MacDonald crashed in through the heavy door to the smiddy.

The smell and smoke of the warm shop comforted her; a total contrast to the cold of the Duncan hall.

Immediately, her father leapt to his feet. Running towards his daughter, he was about to chide her, when he saw her cheek.

"Ainslee!" he gasped, going over to her."Yer face, yer bleeding!"

Ainslee collapsed, weeping into his arms.

"Lassie! Whit is it? Yer shaking?"

Taking her in his arms, Alasdair comforted his daughter, as Ainslee sobbed on her father"s shoulder.

"Och," she muttered, embarrassed.

For as long as she was in the Duncan keep, she had held together, but now, with the oak door bolted firmly behind her, she began to unravel.

"Tis naething," she said, at last. Her father, brushing off her tears, looked at her sharply.

"Tis nae naething, lass! Yer bleeding! Who did this tae ye!"

Mister MacDonald was not a big man, but his ferocity made up for his lack of height. Seeing his daughter like this, he burned as bright as any of the irons in his fire..

"Laird Duncan," said Ainslee, bitterly. "He doesnae like his sword!"

Incredulous, her father took the sword, observing it fully.

"He innae gonnae get awa" wi" this!" he fumed. Anger burned in Mister MacDonald"s dark brown eyes, stirring, he reached for his brat.

"Nae, father, nae fash," said Ainslee, wearily. She was calmer now, and anxious to stop her father doing anything foolish. "I am braw... twas... och, just a wee collieshangie... that got oot o" haun. I dinnae ken he was the laird... I kent he was some wee heid the baw, nae the laird... an" he got awfu" choleric..."

"Lassie, nae fash," soothed Mister MacDonald. "But one o" these days, that Bruce Duncan will get whit"s coming to him, fer sure!"

Ainslee smiled. There was nothing he could do, and they both knew it.

By now, her father had recovered as well. His trademark grin was back in force. Mister MacDonald looked at her with a knowing wink. "An" I ken just where he can shove his sword!"