Page 172 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Ainslee slunk back, resting her head on Marisse's shoulder. They were side by side in the fug of The Ship inn.

It was still afternoon, but outside, clouds swirled, blocking the scant daylight that the dreich winter's day had seen. Ainslee clung deep to her warm shawl, even though they were technically indoors.

It didn't make much difference, she bitterly observed, when the doors were opened that much - never mind the endless draft blowing in through the unshuttered, unglazed windows.

"Wheesht yer greeting!" Marisse said, in a voice that sounded sour, but turned to Ainslee with a rueful grin. "I said I'd get yer home again tonight, an' I will!"

The pair stared dubiously, at the heavy cloud descending rapidly over the seafront. Ainslee sighed.

"Father will be verra crabbit if I dinnae get home to make his tea!" grumbled Ainslee. She looked at the skies. It was impossible to even catch a glimpse of the sun, but she knew for sure it was already long past his tea. And by the time they returned it would be more like breakfast!

Taking another sigh, Ainslee supped at the mead in her cup, and promptly burped.

Marisse giggled. The mead had been her idea, of course, just like coming here and then indulging in daylong drinking. On a Sunday as well!

Rigid with mortification, Ainslee sat up tall. The bench they were seated on was uneven and uncomfortable, and not even the copious supply of drink could make it so. Her head swirling, Ainslee struggled to come to her feet.

Tugging at her arm, Marisse pulled her down. "Whit are ye doing?" she asked, irritably.

With a drink in her hands, she looked settled for the night - even though the day was still far from over.

Watching her, Ainslee narrowed her eyes. She had bought her herbs in record timings, and now was in no hurry at all to leave. But Ainslee was.

"I'm getting ready to leave," said Ainslee, pointedly. The room was swaying, this was bad. Especially when trying to make a moral stand. Sitting down fast, Ainslee regained what was left of her composure.

"Nae fash," said Marisse, looking at her. "Aye, so I've got ma herbs, but there is still plenty a wee dram left in here...," she pointed to the pitcher in front of them. "An' anyhoo, I have a duty to try oot this mead here, for the benefit o' my patients...!"

"A duty?" slurred Ainslee, somewhat skeptically. She looked about. There seemed to be a lot of folk in the inn that afternoon. Then, squinting, she realized it was because a recent ship had just come into dock.

Gazing through the thickened air, Ainslee made out the edges of the vessel, as it bobbed about in the port. Everywhere, men milled about - some in various stages of undress, disembarking from the boat, and spilling onto the cobbles.

Sipping on her dram, Ainslee giggled. "Och, is he nae jeelit?"

Marisse set down her mug, and looked up. Following Ainslee's finger, she saw a group of young men standing on the docks, with their baggy keks, open leines, and in some cases, not very much more.

Ainslee could not help but gawp at one topless lad, in particular - a tall, well proportioned man, with especially thick shoulders. She was unable to see his face, for the others, but right then was more interested in his open chest.

"Och," sniggered Marisse, now also craning her neck to get a good look at him. Oblivious to the looks from the tipplers around them, Ainslee also strained her head.

"Lemme ha' a keek!" she complained, trying to bat Marisse out of the way. Her blonde head and locks were all but blocking her view. Both of them were very relieved when the sailors began to pour in through the inn's stout doors.

"Hoo there, darling!" smirked one of them, coming into the bar. Ainslee blushed, as Marisse grinned, appraisingly.

"Where's yer brat? An' yer hat, laddie?" she asked, casting a brisk eye over his bedraggled state. All the sailors disembarking seemed worse for wear - in more ways than one.

Soon the barroom was very noisy, with sailors jostling for position at the bar. Marisse seemed in her element, giggling and laughing at their gay arrival. But Ainslee was more cautious.

It would not do to be fawning over strange men, in such a way. Especially not these roughnecks.

"Marisse," Ainslee murmured, her eyes cast down, as Marisse continued to make a spectacle of herself. Lost in her thoughts, she was too busy plotting an exit route from The Ship back to the village. If they set off soon, there would just be enough time to make it before dark.

Perhaps not quite in time to prevent a skelping from her father's tongue, but better than turning up at midnight. Which was what would happen if Marisse was left in charge.

Ainslee opened her mouth, but saw Marisse was engaged in full scale flirting with a broad shouldered blond man, fresh from the recent boat. He was brandishing what looked like barrels of whisky to the innkeeper, but still found time to turn to them.

"What ho, sweeting?" called the man, trying to connect with Ainslee's gaze. She cast her face down, muttering to Marisse by her side.

She did not hear her. In fact, she did not hear anything over the noise and clamor of the packed inn room then.