Page 173 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

The blond man had stopped flirting with Marisse and now was deep in conversation with the owner, a tall, thin, balding man who seemed to be less than keen on whatever it was he was selling.

In fact, the atmosphere between the locals and the incoming seamen was testy at best. Judging by the look on the barman's face, he did not want these men here.

Sensing a collieshangie about to happen, Ainslee tensed.

"Marisse, I," she began, but once again, Marisse was too busy. Her eyes went from the man, to the bar and back again. Everywhere, except on Ainslee.

Regardless, Ainslee struggled to make her point, tugging at Marisse's arm, she was about to admonish her when suddenly, her jaw fell open.

"Crivvens," her heart rate increased, pulsating around her chest. No-one could hear it or her. No-one at all. But across the tavern, her eyes had connected with someone.

Mal.

Ainslee blinked. "It cannae be," she muttered, her pulse rate zooming along. Straining to look again, she was thwarted by the blond man's head. No matter how much she attempted to look around him, he would not budge, and by the time he did move - pressed away by the flustered barman - he had gone.

If he had ever been there. Because it seemed impossible that her eyes were not deceiving her.

Ainslee was still staring, when Marisse finally remembered she existed.

"Och!" her friend gave her a sudden poke in the ribs. Ainslee came to. Marisse was looking at her keenly.

"What have ye seen?" she said, following Ainslee's gaze across the bar. Marisse's eyes flashed, as she cottoned onto her friend's daze. "Or maybe I should say, who have ye seen?" Marisse winked. "A noo sweetheart?"

Ainslee took a deep breath. "An auld one; Mal."

Marisse stopped. "Nae possible, lass," she said, effectively shutting down the conversation. Suddenly, she was done. "So come on, sup up, time to get on the move!"

Ainslee looked at her, wryly. "Ye changed yer tune, didnae ye?" she said, but without demurring grabbed her cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders even more tightly.

Her friend's eyes flashed. She was already halfway across the packed room, stopping only briefly to connect eyes with the blond man.

Ainslee was hot behind her. Within minutes, they were out in the cold winter air, sailors spilling everywhere. The atmosphere was lively and loud, the arctic temperatures not detracting from the merriment outside.

But Ainslee was so taken aback, all she could think of was whether she had really seen him.

Seeing her face, Marisse took her hand. "Wheesht!" she said, slapping her head playfully.

"Och, what have I got tae do to get that man oot o' yer heid!"

Stepping further into the street, Ainslee was about to reply, when she saw him again. Blinking hard, she rubbed her confused eyes. There, in front of her was a tall, well built man, his longish red hair spilling down around his shoulders.

For a moment, he stared at her, with no recognition at all - a totally blank expression. Inside, Ainslee felt herself boil. Tugging on Marisse's sleeve, she was ready to cry out to her - to all and sundry - that this was Mal, when suddenly, he disappeared.

Ainslee blinked. It was impossible. One minute he had been there, his green eyes fixed on her. The next, he was gone. And there was no trace of him anywhere.

Ainslee cast about wildly, swerving into the crowd, even knocking straight into another man, with tall, rugged shoulders. His head was turned, obscuring his face. For a moment, Ainslee waited, with impatience for him to turn. He was about the same height and build, and just for a minute, she really believed it was him.

The crowd milled all around, as Ainslee stood there, and stared.

"What is it, hen?" said Marisse, but Ainslee was not looking. All her attention was focused on him - the tall sailor in front of him. Tantalizingly, she could not see his hair, the large scarf wrapped around it.

Despite all the rushing around her, she stopped where she was, refusing to move.

"Ainslee," chided Marisse, trying to push her out of the way. Ainslee stood firm. She was waiting.

Finally, the man turned; his truculent gaze almost turning her to dust.

"Awa' lassie, oot o' ma way," he said. Ainslee looked up. A man's hardened face was upon her, his thistly eyebrows meshed together crossly.