Page 179 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Now the woman saw him, her piercing eyes shooting through the gloom.

"Watch yersel'!" she huffed, pulling her large shawl around herself and giving him an evil glare.

Malcolm was not concerned with her. Only Ainslee. But if this woman could get to her, then it might be worth a punt.

"Miss," he began, calling after the blonde woman. But she was already on her way through the darkened vennel. With barely a look back, the wench pushed on, leaving Malcolm alone, for the second time.

"Ainslee!" called Malcolm, again, into the empty night.

No answer came.

No answer, except for the sudden onslaught of hail, which let rip from the skies. Muffled cries in the distance told him the whole town was getting a drubbing. Scurrying feet hastened in the cobbles, dashing for cover.

But oddly, Malcolm was not bothered.

Instead of hiding, he threw his hood back, and allowed the rain to cover him.

He was wet, and he was cold, and stuck in the middle of a midden.

But so what?

He had spent ten years at sea - with every type of weather the world could throw at him. He had had it all. Why not some more?

"Hehe!" Malcolm pushed his head back and laughed, as the rainstorm took him. There was rain, there was hail; even a stone the size of a fish's head. The air had turned even more bitterly cold. Malcolm could barely feel his fingertips, but it was of no matter.

He was finally free of The Margret Rose. He would return to the Duncan clan, and as soon as he had sought out his brother, he would track down Ainslee.

She could not have gone far.

Satisfied with his plan, Malcolm let the rainwater soak him. It washed all through his hair and clothes; stinking with seawater,

At least, he had seen her. For years, he had wondered after her.

Strangely contented, Malcolm's mind flashed to the first feast they had spent together.

Ainslee was not even meant to be there. As blacksmith's daughter, she was charged with delivering something - Malcolm could not remember exactly what - a candelabra, maybe.

As she had walked into the hall, he had been struck by her poise. Despite carrying a giant candle holder, she moved with grace.

His eyes had stuck to her, as she dragged the damned thing all the way across the large hall, and he could not help smiling.

His father had tutted with displeasure - a feast was in progress. The great and the good of the Duncan clan were amassed. All the scribes and the elders sat down, ready for the feasting.

Then, all of a sudden, this dark haired beauty appeared, battling what looked like an iron set of antlers.

She set it down, wallop, right into the middle of the head table, where the family had their seat.

He seemed to recall it was right next to Bruce, who was most put out.

"Och, watch yerself, lassie!" he had scowled, as the clatter had displaced his cups. Malcolm found himself smiling. Anyone who annoyed his pugnacious brother could not be all bad.

He loved her then. It did not matter that the elders had huffed and the scribes sighed, at this slip of a lass disrupting their feast. .

"Crivvens! I beg ye pardon," said the lass, quickly picking up the giant candelabra and grappling with it some more.

But the table was highly laden - with dishes and tranchers all over the place. With scant place to set down the candelabra, Ainslee was floundering.

Exasperated, Malcolm rose from the table.