I’m blown away by all the people. It is a sea of men and women and children, even some dogs, all out bustling through the town square. The sights and smells, the massive stone buildings surrounding us, it’s all overwhelming. Studying something in a book pales in comparison to seeing it right in front of you. Everyone greets us as we pass them on the cobbled streets. The architecture of the town engrosses me, and I keep looking up at the buildings and cathedral in the town square. Trailing behind Dr. McKenzie, I listen as he discusses the weather for the games with the courier helping with our bags, but ram into someone as I pass through a crowd.

As I meet face first with the pectorals of a mass of human, I hear, “Watch yerself there.”

“I’m quite sorry, sir.” I stammer and sway, trying not to lose my laptop case to a puddle. Looking up quickly to the man assisting me, I’m struck by a kind, lopsided smile.

“Yer good now, jo? Ya look fair puckled.” I nod, slowly grinning at his use of common Scottish vernacular and move my gaze from his lips to his bright blue eyes. “Ya sure?” His eyebrows raise in question. His gaze, so intense and appraising, unnerves me.

“I- I am. Thank you.” Trying to calm my now rapid breathing, I push my glasses up my nose. I will myself not to stare at the tall, striking man before me, but it is difficult to say the least. His oceanic eyes sparkle a bit in the evening sun, and they contrast with his bright amber and scarlet hair. He’s lean, but muscle takes up all of his athletic frame. He’s wearing a red and green tartan kilt and dark grey t-shirt, but enough of his chiseled arms are showing to allow my mind to wander.
“Good then.” He straightens up as I do. We both stand in the melee of people coming and going, neither of us moving away until I hear Dr. McKenzie from before me somewhere in the crowd.

“Come along, Mr. Stuart! We’ve things to get settled before the games.”
When I turn back, the flame-haired Highlander is gone. Looking into the gaggle of people to-and-froing, I see not even a wake where he passed through the bodies, as though he was a figment of my imagination.

Shaking my head, I smile to myself thinking of how stupid I must seem trying to find a ginger fellow in a kilt on the streets of ye olde Scotland.