Page 168 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

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 squinted into 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.