Chapter 4

The air stung his eyes. As the cold Scottish winds hit Malcolm in the face, he looked around.

Blinking hard, he had to really check that this was not just Scotland, but Kilamory, the coastal town close to his clan.

A strange thrill ran through him. After all this time, he was home. An excited nausea gripped him, as he could not decide what to do first. The faces of the people he had left crowded him; his father, his friends, Ainslee.

It took a moment for the emotion to flash through him. It was almost as if he did not want to remember. Screwing up his eyes tight, he could not even summon a vision of her in his mind. Disappointed, Malcolm stared at the sea. Then, another voice came rushing to him.

"Nae forget, lad, all this will be yers!"

The voice of his father carried on the wind, as if he was there. Sitting up sharp, Malcolm glanced about. It was as if he could hear him - his own father. But they were words in his head, that had been locked up there since he had been twelve years old.

Taking a lungful of breath, Malcolm calmed down, and remembered.

It had been his twelfth birthday, his father had presented the black clan ring to him, in solemnity.

"Tis yers son, an" one day, ye will wear it, an" rule..."

Malcolm squintedinto the bright sky light. That had been many years ago, but the memory did not fade. In fact, it was like hearing it for real. Perhaps though, it was the screeching of gulls, ripping through the gentle breeze, that skewered his hearing.

Grasping onto the wall, Malcolm clung to the thin line between sea and town. Steadying himself off the boat, Malcolm had waded ashore, his baggy short pants sloshing with saltwater.

Only now, did he venture both feet on terra firma. The shingle beach between his toes felt cold, sharp and uncomfortable.

And in the distance, one of the drunken revelers spilling out of The Ship paused to puke, copiously over the side of the wall and into the sea.

Missing his head by a mere inch, Malcolm"s responses were impressive. But years at sea had taught him how to be quick in the face of danger, and he narrowly avoided wearing the merry fisherman"s tea for a crown. Shaking himself down, Malcolm emerged, grinning. He was home, alright!

Malcolm"s wet feet crunched onto the land. It felt good, if a little cold. All around him, locals were milling, with large red-faced fishermen staggering all over the quays. One barged straight at him, completely leathered.

"Well met, friend," said Malcolm, diplomatically, as he swerved the drunken man.

The blootered man wobbled a bit, so much so that Malcolm felt obliged to steady him. The man thanked him, and staggered on his way, into the raucous night, as behind, Captain James laughed.

"Where ye going, then?" he asked, following Malcolm.

Malcolm sighed. "For a wee dram," he said, with a long glance to the inn in front of them.

"An" then?" said James, archly. The rest of the crew were disbanding, casting a daunting presence in the chilly night sky. Things were hotting up and already, the curious eyes of locals were upon them. Malcolm could see a few of them sizing up the village lasses for later on.

Whatever happened that night, it would not be quiet!

"An" then, och, we"ll see," Malcolm had fallen into step with James, who was already rounding the entrance to the dark fug of The Ship. Its warm inebriate vapors enveloped Malcolm as he stepped up to the bar.

The room was packed, but as the sailors approached, the chatter in the bar dimmed, and Malcolm felt aware of the town"s eyes upon them. Bracing himself, he coughed.

"A pair o" wee drams, please, pal, an" one for yerselves...," Malcolm grinned, and turned to waiting throng of men behind him. The barman, a nervous young skinny lad, fixed down the whisky flask in front of the revelers without saying a word.

Malcolm placed a coin on the bar, and presently a couple of flagons of wine appeared, to cheering all round.

Taking his drink, James raised an eye. "Well, that"s one way to get the locals on board," he said, as Malcolm headed down the first of many drams. Its warm honey dew trickled down his parched throat. Malcolm wiped at his mouth, roughly, with the floppy leine sleeves and sighed.

Behind him, the crowd of men were enjoying his largesse. Shortly, they were joined by more crew from the Margret Rose.

A few drams in, and the noise was such that he could no longer hear anything James was saying to him. The townsmen were more than capable of making a noise, but it was really the exuberant sailors that were bringing the inn to a crescendo.

Months and months of being at sea had taken its toll. This was the first dry land they had touched in weeks. In fact, Malcolm was not quite sure how long it had been.

Then; a flash of eyes brought Malcolm up sharp.

Out of the crowd, a fresh face emerged. A woman. Blinking, Malcolm got a grip.

She was young, bonny, with dark hair and a pair of dancing dark eyes.

A shudder ran through him. Instantly, he remembered her face;

Ainslee.

But he couldn"t. In a flash, he could not remember her. And squinting, if she had been there before, then she was not any longer. Rubbing his eyes, Malcolm struggled to make sense of his vision.

For a moment, it had seemed that she was there. But of course, she wasn"t. All the same. He had finally remembered her face, but this had only succeeded in making him feel his heart break all over againn.

Trying to snap out of it, he was about to say something to James, when a tapping on his shoulder made him turn around.

It was the drunken fisher from before. Now even more inebriated.

"What ho! Friend, ta for the wee drams!"

The blootered looking man was swaying dramatically, at one point almost horizontal on the floor. All the same, he beamed merrily at Malcolm.

"Nae fash," said Malcolm, diplomatically, before catching drift of another voice.

"Och, aye, if auld Rabbie were still here it wouldnae ha" happened, that"s fer sure...!"

Instantly, Malcolm cut his attention to the owner of the voice, a red faced fisherman, with a brimming pint in his hand. Catching James" eye, he looked over.

"Aye, I ken, tis a shame whit happened to him," said another. Now Malcolm"s interest was piqued. Heart beating quickly, he listened intently.

"Aye," said the red-faced man thoughtfully. "An" by his oon son too, tis nae right..."

Malcolm put down his dram. Looking to the men, he leaned over.

"Whit wasnae right?" he asked, politely. "If ye dinnae mind me asking?"

The red-faced man smiled at him patiently. "The way the auld laird was killed. I still nae believe that he was a traitor...!"

Malcolm"s heart gave a start. "A traitor? My f- the... the... laird...?"

He was so shocked he almost let slip who he was. This was the first time he had heard anything about his father being a traitor. But worse still, the man seemed to suggest he was dead too!

Heart thumping hard, Malcolm struggled to gain a grip of himself. Biting his tongue down, Malcolm shared a quick glance with James, sitting back on his barstool. Hastily correcting himself, Malcolm smiled calmly.

"Forgive me, friend. I have been away at sea an" missed much, tell me, what happened wi" the auld laird, surely he cannae be dead?"

Malcolm rested his hands on his mug. Inside, his nerves jangled and buzzed. Really, there was no reason why he had to hide his identity from these men. Just that he did not feel ready to tell all and sundry who he was.

"Och, he is dead alright, friend. Hoo lang ha" ye been away?"

The men laughed, and Malcolm had to work again, at keeping his fearsome temper in check. A deep, sick feeling pierced him. He had no idea his father was dead.

Unabashed, the man continued, totally unaware of the devastating effects of his words.

"Aye, twas said that he had sold us oot to the enemies o" the clan," said the fisher. And beside him, the chronically drunk man popped his head up.

"Aye, Bruce claimed to ha" proof o" it. Then, when he tried to question him, he challenged him to a duel, an" lost..."

The slurring made it difficult for Malcolm to understand. That, and the very loud noise from the intoxicated crowd.

"A duel?" he asked, suddenly getting in the face of the red-faced fisher. There was a tense pause, as he saw James" watchful eye. "Ye telling me Bruce challenged my f- the Laird to a duel?"

Malcolm felt his heart speed up. This he had not known. The red-faced fisher nodded sheepishly, although some of the others, who still had their wits about them, craned their necks in suspicion. Malcolm knew he had to reel it in, keep things casual if he was not to arouse suspicion, but it was hard.

"Aye, a duel," slurred the fisherman, as the even drunker man in front of him nodded in time to his hiccups. "The son challenged his da to a duel, an" he lost!"

Malcolm went hot, then cold. Suddenly he needed to sit down. Before he could say more, one of the background men chimed in.

"It wasnae quite like that. He didnae mean to kill him, they say..."

Malcolm"s eyes pressed towards a tall, dark fisherman, sipping quietly from a mug near the bar. He was about to answer, when another man butted in.

"They say, he says, mair like," said the man, skeptical. His tanned, slender face wore an expression of amused disbelief. Malcolm felt sick. This was just a game to them.

Fighting a very strong desire to tell them all to boil their heads, Malcolm kept his counsel, just.

"What do ye mean, friend?" he asked, wearing a carefully placed smile.

"Och, I mean the laird, Bruce, he was walking awa". The duel was over, an" he had been declared winner. But the auld laird, he wasnae harmed... but he had been banished by the son, for conspiring wi" the McIvers to take mair land..."

Malcolm"s mind was buzzing. "The McIvers?" he said, more confused than anything. "Working wi" them?"

It was preposterous. His father? Of all people! Malcolm shook his head, despairingly. Surely no-one could believe that!

"Well, that"s what they say," said the tall, dark haired man, patting his nose. "But I dinnae ken... there was something verra fishy aboot it, an" I dinnae mean the halibut we caught today!"

The inn cracked open, guffawing loudly, even though Malcolm did not think there was anything very funny about it. He waited patiently for the men to settle down, and carry on explaining.

"Anyhoo, the auld laird, he made a run at it, he wouldnae gae quietly, an" tried attacking the guards escorting him from the clan. So they killed him...since then, Bruce has been oor laird..."

Malcolm turned pale. He sat down, quick. Beside him, James placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Nae," he said, unable to hide his true feelings. "It cannae be. It cannae be..."

The world was swirling, and it was not just the packed room, and the copious booze. The shock of finding out his father was dead - and then how it had happened - had floored him completely.

Unaware, the blithe fisherman continued. "Och, aye, it tis! Michty me, like I said, ye must have been gone for a lang time!"

In despair, Malcolm turned to James. "Ma father"s dead!" he said, in shocked tones. All the same, he kept his voice down, so they would not hear.

He was not quite ready for the crowd"s reaction to his name, just then. Besides, he had no certainty how they would react. Whose side were they on?

"I ken, son," said James, a troubled look in his eye. "Who would ha" thought it. I am sorry..."

But Malcolm did not want his condolences. He turned away. He needed to know more.

"Ye dinnae really think that Laird Rabbie was a traitor, do ye?" he asked, point blank. There was a slight silence, and a bit of coughing. James looked at him, uncertain.

"Nae," said the dark haired man. "An" it hasnae been the same since he went! It"s nae safe round here...!"

"Nae a bit o" it," chimed in the quietly spoken man, between sips of his pint. "Tis a load o" fanny baws. Still, the new laird got enough folks on side to claim the spot!"

Now the dark haired man was looking at Malcolm, with interest. "So whit do ye think, stranger?"

He leered at Malcolm, who blinked.

Malcolm shook his head. He was still reeling. "I think, I need to get oot o" here!"

Setting his dram down, Malcolm pushed through the noisy crowd, leaving the fishermen to their revelries. Hot behind him was James, his dark head pressing through the bodies in the bar.

It was only when they were outside that Malcolm could catch his breath.

"Malcolm, pal, I am sorry to hear o" yer father," said James, rubbing his shoulder.

The night was cold and dark, and proved to be just the elixir Malcolm needed. He breathed in deep, but could not stop the emotions from clouding.

"I...," Malcolm swallowed the lump in his throat. "Thank ye..."

Darkness.

The sea quenched the shore, spraying it with foamy toss, as Malcolm reflected oddly on being on the other side of it for a change.

Blinking, he rubbed his eyes. Sea, sky, and water. It was all he had seen for the best part of ten years. He had not expected it, but being back was a greater shock than he was anticipating.

"Listen," said James, his parched hand still on his shoulder. Malcolm took a dram. He was not sure where it came from, perhaps James had handed it to him.

Malcolm let the mellow whisky slink down, whilst he tried to steady his motions.

"Ye are welcome anytime back aboard the Margret Rose," he said, gently. "The ship is in port for five mair days, but after that we shall leave... if ye want to, there"s a place for ye as first officer!"

A breeze came in from the sea, helping to sober up Malcolm. He turned to his friend.

"Thank ye," he said. It was so dark, he could only just catch the glint in James" eye. "But I dinnae ken... I have to go..."

James raised a brow. "Gae where? Yer nae gonnae do anything stupid, are ye?"

"Just into toon, to find a horse... I have got to get home...," he winked, but this seemed to worry James more. Malcolm felt his hot eyes upon him, but stood his ground.

"It"s nae to fash aboot," he said, turning to James. "But I really have to go..."

He hugged James, who grinned broadly. "Any time ye will be welcomed back," he said, sincerely. Malcolm beamed, but emotions gurgled up in him like a stream.

Then, he was gone, heading off down the lone path to the main street.

Except, he was far from alone.

A woman was there.

He had not gone far into the town, when he noticed her. She was following him, he was certain. Glancing about the darkened streets, Malcolm watched, unsure.

The noise of the inns, and the crashing of the waves blotted everything out. Sea spray was spitting over the low walls, and onto him. Perhaps in all the commotion, she imagined he would not see, but he did.

A black figure, huddled in cloaks, paced behind him. To begin with, he had thought it innocent; just a townswoman making her way home. But then he noticed that she stopped when he did.

Pulling into a gap in the wall, he noted that the lass paused also. Then, when he started again, so did she. And then, she did more. She turned and had a look.

Her bright eyes glinted in the moon, leaving Malcolm on high alert, and in no doubt at all that he was being followed.

Enough was enough. Malcolm reached for his cutlass.

Feeling its blade, Malcolms anticipation unfurled.

He was ready to take her.