Chapter 3

"He"s got ye working Sunday?"

Marisse"s jaunty voice made its way into the hot and smoky smiddy shop. Putting down the scabbard, Ainslee looked up.

"Marisse!"

Her friend was a welcome distraction. Entering the smiddy shop, Marisse looked about.

At twenty-five years of age, she was a natural beauty; big blue eyes that sparkled from a delicate oval face, framed with a tumultuous crop of white-blonde hair.

As she entered the shop, she set down the heavy knapsack, full of potions that she used for her work as a healer.

"Busy?" she asked, curiously. Marisse"s light eyes danced around the darkened shop.

"Just a bit," said Ainslee, dabbing her brow with a spare cloth. It might be snowing outside, but the temperature in the shop was infernal. Sometimes, she wished there was somewhere in between the frozen Highlands winter and the burning heat of the smelting shop.

"Why so?" said Marisse, tilting her blonde head to the side. Pushing her long locks back, she gazed interestedly in the sword Ainslee was working on.

"Och, because mister bigwig clan leader says so," huffed Ainslee. The sword was halfway ready. Both Ainslee, and her father, had been working on it for days.

In fact, it was all they had done.

Now her father was snoring in the corner, asleep on his chair. Ainslee had not had the heart to rouse him,

Marisse looked at the sword, her expression a picture of comical interest. "But, I thought ye already delivered it to him...?"

Her face peered inquisitively into Ainslee, who just huffed. But quickly, Ainslee turned away, before she could see the scratch on her face.

In front of her, Marisse"s wavy blonde locks risked getting stuck in the grinder in front of them, and Ainslee had to usher her away.

"Aye, I thought I had, too," said Ainslee, her eyes rolling to the ceiling and back. "Turns oot, he wasnae happy..."

Marisse"s eyes rounded. "Whit was up wi" it?" she asked.

"Nothing," said Ainslee, setting the tongs down with an almighty clatter. "A muckle big fat naething, was wrong wi" it!"

Now Marisse looked confused. "So, ahm, why are ye doing it again?"

Ainslee shot her a look. "Well ye might ask!" she replied. "An" to get yer answer ye best ask Laird Fannybaws Jobbyheid!"

"Ah," replied Marisse diplomatically. "Him."

"Aye," said Ainslee, emphatically. "Him!"

Marisse watched as Ainslee banged about the workshop, picking up this and that, and finding everything to her general dissatisfaction. Then, her blue eyes caught a sight of the mark on Ainslee"s cheek.

"Hen," she said, moving closer. Rapidly, she sped over to her friend, watching her carefully. Marisse"s eyes pierced Ainslee"s.

Ainslee, who had all but forgotten about the wound, looked, perplexed. "Whit?" she asked. Her friend inched closer, bringing a perfectly shaped finger to her face.

"Whit"s this? Ye had a run in wi" the door, agin?" asked Marisse. Ainslee stopped, to touch her face. It stung, but the rest of the time, she had all but forgotten it.

"Och, this," she muttered, grumpily. "Tis another wee present from Laird Bruce... I told ye he wasnae happy wi" the sword!"

Marisse"s eyes roundened. "Ye mean, he did this to ye!" she gave a little shriek. Ainslee brushed her off, irritably.

"Aye," she said, attempting to work again, but it was useless. Marisse would not let her go. "Tis naething. He was a crabbit, an" threw a sword at me!"

Marisse"s eyes nearly popped out of her head. Ainslee tutted and shook her head.

"Och, nae quite like that. I didnae think he meant to hit me," she said, wondering for a moment herself if he did. "Mair just he was in such a big wobbly that he lost all control, an" lashed oot. I didnae move fast enough, that"s all...!"

Marisse shook her head. "The wee bawbag!" she murmured. But before Ainslee could say more, she was opening her knapsack.

"Nae move," she said, her fingers roaming for something in the bag. Eventually she pulled out something, a tincture, in a small pot. "Here, twill help it heal...!"

"Ow!"

The tincture stung, burning Ainslee"s face, but then, as it took hold, it soothed it down.

"Keep that there," said Marisse, dabbing it with a small cloth. "It will help with the swelling..."

Reluctantly, Ainslee complied. But she had better things to be doing. As she kept the swab against her cheek, she glanced down at Ainslee"s bag. It was bursting full of potions and herbs.

"Who yer off to see?" she asked, looking at her bag. "Anyone I ken?"

Marisse looked uncertainly. "Och," she said. "Ye ken everyone, but ye ken hoo it is. Folk dinnae want the whole toon to ken aboot their gammy leg, or warty back!"

"Ah, then I do ken who it is," said Ainslee. She was refining the contours of the blade, and it was no easy process. Really she should wake her father, but all encompassing snores told he was out for the count.

"Ach, ye always ken, this toon isnae big!" said Marisse, still keeping her counsel. Her eyes glanced at Ainslee. "Like Laird , nae doubt the reason for his collieshangie is his piles have been playing him up again...I told him nae to push them back, that he would suffer the worse fer it!"

Despite her bad humor, Ainslee laughed uproariously. Even the mention of the Laird Bruce was enough to induce a ten minute sweary fit. Which really would not do on a Sunday.

"Mair like, they suffer from him!" retorted Ainslee, but she could not help laughing anyway.

Marisse pouted, then, her whim changed. "Och, forget him. Next time I"ll rub nettles up his wee backside...Anyhoo, can ye nae get off noo, we have mair important things to blather aboot...!"

Chiseling the edging of the scabbard, Ainslee raised an eyebrow. "We dae?"

"Aye, we dae," said Marisse, importantly. "Like yer love life..."

She watched Ainslee as she busied herself in her work, refusing to make eye contact. However, she did flash a quick keek to her father, still asleep in his chair. The last thing she wanted was him hearing any of this!

"Well, that shouldnae take long, I dinnae have one," replied Ainslee, smoothly. It was true enough, but even as she said it, she felt her heart panging.

There was another reason for his antipathy to Laird Bruce. His brother.

The one that she should have married. A sharp jolt pulled her up tight, but Ainslee pushed on through it. She had got used to doing this over the years. Still, it did not prevent inconvenient emotions from bubbling up inside her.

"Well," said Marisse, confidentally. "We have to dae something aboot that, dinnae we?"

Ainslee looked at her. "I cannae," she said, shutting her down. This was a subject she did not want to continue with. Putting the sword down pointedly, she met Marisse"s gaze.

"Why?" said Marisse, equally pointedly. She had got right into Ainslee"s face. She hated it when she did this. Already she could see that she was going to lose this fight. When Marisse got an idea she seldom let it go.

"Because I am nae sure I can trust myself nae to use this sword on him...!"

Ainslee picked the sword up again, running a gloved finger over its edging. It was getting there. Then, for half a second, permitted herself a moment"s interest. "If there e"en was anyone I would consider in the first place, that is..."

Marisse shook her head. "Ye should," she said plainly. "If ye ever want a normal life, ye need to find a love, an" marry..."

Ainslee took a breath. For a moment, there was no sound, save the clanging of irons, and her father"s low, rhythmic snoring. Polishing the sword, she shot a look at Ainslee.

"Who says I dinnae have a normal life," she answered briskly. Marisse did not lose a beat.

"I do," she said, her light blue beam fixed on her. "I do. Ainslee, lass, yer twenty-eight years auld, an" still working in yer father"s shop. Ye should be wed, an" wi" a couple o" weans on the way. I am only telling ye what ye plainly ken is true..."

"I see."

Marisse did not mince her words, but even for her, this was direct. Without looking, Ainslee continued her working.

"An" is this the way ye talk to yer patients, when they are ill, sick an" dying?" she said, acerbically.

"Sometimes," asserted Marisse. "If they"re nae in reality...I tell them, aye..."

"Remind me nae to have ye "round on ma death bed!" Ainslee flashed, but her heart was scalded.

She knew what Marisse was driving at. Heaven knows, her father had said it often enough. And it was all true. There was only one problem.

Her heart only wanted one thing.

And it was what it could not have.

"At this rate, I"ll be the only one there, because ye"ll be an auld maid!" Marisse told her. She swished her hair in annoyance. Randomly, looking around the shop, her fingers alighted on a golden ring.

"So then, ye"ve taken it off, at long last... I suppose that"s a good sign..."

Marisse picked up the simple gold ring, with interest. Tilting it sideways, she glanced at the inscription on the inside; then screwing her face up she pouted.

"Monker sand?" she pronounced, badly.

"It"s French," said Ainslee, tutting. "Mon coeur, avez sans départir," she said. "It means... um... something..."

Ainslee felt her cheeks redden. She was not quite sure what it meant, but just that it was important and it mattered. Fastening the ring back onto her left hand, she studiously ignored Marisse"s gaze.

"Och, yer nae still wearing it," tutted Marisse. Ainslee gave her a sly look.

"Why nae? Tis still gold, as good as any other," she said, but with a trace of a blush.

"Because, sweeting, yer man left ye high an" dry, an" it is time ye moved on," said Marisse, not pulling any punches.

Ainslee fiddled with the ring, uncomfortably. Her brow prickled with sweat, which was not all down to the heat coming from the fire in the shop.

"Och, nae fash, will ye," she said, irritably. Pushing the hair out of her eyes, Ainslee continued her chiseling. But the light was fading, and the candlelight in the shop would never be sufficient for the intricacy of the work she was doing.

Putting the sword down with a clatter, Ainslee"s face drew into a frown.

"Och, tis nae use, I cannae see nae mair," she said, getting up. "The heavy cloud makes it impossible!" Inside, her thoughts swirled. Turning to Marisse, she let off steam.

"We"ll nae finish this!" she huffed. Marisse put her arm around her. "There should be hours o" daylight, but this rain means I cannae see it well enough for his Lairdship!"

"Ye ken hoo lang it takes to make a sword like this? An" hoo many men are needed? An" we only have the two o" us, plus Bobbie who can do the hilt?"

Ainslee looked despairingly at Marisse, who soothed her.

"I dinnae ken, but I can probably guess," she said, smoothing down Ainslee"s rebellious locks. Right then Ainslee looked wild. Fixing her with a grin, Marisse reached for a flask, tucked into her basket. Without a word, she set about pouring into the goblets strewn about in the blacksmith shop.

"Ye need a dram, hen...," she opined. Ainslee looked skeptical, but still took the drink.

One and a half minutes later, the world was imbued in an acceptable haze. Ainslee felt a little embarrassed. "Och, nae mind me," she said, by way of apology to Marisse.

Blushing deeply, she smiled at her friend. "Listen to me, blathering on, I didnae e"en ask ye hoo ye were, or what ye were doing..."

Leaning back against the work table, Marisse took a dram, as both of them snuck a glance at Ainslee"s father, asleep with his mouth wide open, across the room.

"Ye gonnae wake him?" asked Marisse, as it looked like Ainslee was preparing to leave the shop. Ainslee just laughed.

"I dinnae think wild horses could wake him!" snorted Ainslee. "Ye dinnae ken my father. In fact, did I tell ye the time he did fall off o" his horse, asleep?"

Clutching her face, Marisse laughed. "He didnae," she said, as Ainslee just nodded.

"He did," she said, gaily. Then she looked serious. "Anyhoo, what brings ye here?"

Marisse looked at her straight. "Ye do, I am taking ye into toon, so get yer warm wrap on...,"

Ainslee shot her a look. "I need to buy some herbs, for potions... an" Kilamory is the only place I can get them... besides, it"ll give us chance to have a chinwag....Och, one last thing. Take that ring off, lest any lad mistakes it for a wedding band!"

Ainslee smiled, ruefully. Slowly, she removed the ring, setting it down in a small pot on the ledge near her. Resigned, she fetched her cape, and arm in arm, her and Marisse walked off together.