Page 180 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

"Here," he said, helping her with the heavy piece of wrought iron. No one else seemed prepared to help; not the guards, nor the servants, running hither and thither with plates.

Impatience grew in him, he would have to have words.

But for now, his attention was on the bonny dark haired lass in front of him. Smiling, he took the candelabra from her, and setting it at the end of the hall, where, at long last, one of the serving lads had remembered their responsibilities.

The lad disappeared, leaving Ainslee and Malcolm face to face, at the far end of the hall. With the din of the feasting behind them, Malcolm turned his head Ainslee.

"Gramercy, sir," said the lass, swiftly nodding in deference. "I am sorry that..."

Malcolm silenced her. He couldn't listen to her apologies.

"Nae fash, lass," he said, generously. Ainslee curtseyed again, as Malcolm glanced over her features. She was slender, but feminine. With curves in all the right places, she certainly met with his approval. But there was more to her than a shapely frame. Her eyes were absolutely beautiful.

He got his first taste of them when she finally raised her gaze. Her comely brown eyes pierced right into him, there was no mistaking their pertinence.

"I... hope the candlestick is to yer satisfaction," she said, with a small smile, before adding. "Sir..."

"Call me Malcolm," said Malcolm, instantly. And the rest had followed like that.

Standing in the onslaught of the Scottish weather, Malcolm hid his head in his hands, and stared into the street.

Somewhere, she was out there. Just waiting.

He would find her.

* * *

"It's dog-catting it doon! There's nae way we can go back noo!"

Marisse blue eyes were incandescent. This was madness, and Ainslee knew it. But all the same, she was desperate to get back home.

"Och, tis only a bit o' water!" huffed Ainslee, wrapping her already-soaked shawl around her head. "We've both seen worse!" she asserted.

Marisse looked at her with disdain. "A bit o' water! Ainslee! Anymore an' the horse will sprout fins!"

She looked at her friend, oddly. "What's the big rush, I dinnae ken?"

They were standing at the entrance to The Ship inn. The sudden deluge had sent folks scurrying their way, and now the place was jammed to the roof. Marisse was clearly determined to drag her friend in, but on the threshold, Ainslee hesitated.

"There's nae big rush," she said, unconvincingly. The pair of them moved, as a gaggle of fishwives pushed by. "I just want tae get home for father's tea..."

Marisse gave her the most withering look. "Tea? Hen, it's a wee bit late for that!"

Her dark blue eyes pierced the night sky with a harumph.

Ainslee knew she was right.

"Och," she muttered. The noise from within the inn was growing louder. Shrugging, Ainslee nodded to Marisse, and the pair went inside.

Inside, the room was sweltering. What might have been hot before, was now stifling. With the bodies from the docks now firmly inside, the small inn was packed.

Marisse eyed the crowd with uncertainty. "I hope they have got some room!"

Ainslee said nothing, but prayed fervently that they didn't. If the inn was full, then they would have to go home. But of course, Marisse turned on the charm. Within minutes, she was angling up to the bar, smiling daintily at the innkeeper.

"Sir," she said, widening her eyes and sending the aging innkeeper a sage smile. Ainslee watched the man unravel. Marisse had that effect on men. Sometimes Ainslee wondered if she had put one of her potions on him. It seemed so effortless.

"Sir, I dinnae ken if ye can help us, we are two poor, wee lasses, in need o' a bed for the night," her blue eyes flashed balefully at the man. Ainslee sighed and hoped Marisse was careful.