Shattered Moments (38 page)

I called Sophia as soon as I got home to my apartment on the Upper East Side.   It was small but charming, and I was extremely proud of the way I’d decorated it.  It was all mine, and it felt like a sanctuary. 

“Hey, want to come to Scotland with me?”

“Ooooh, men in kilts!” she moaned in ecstasy.

“You are a sick woman!”

“And proud of it.  I would love to go, but I can’t.  I’m not up for vacation till October, but I’m so jealous.  You should find some hottie in a skirt and forget that evil Zorro,” she said.  Sophia had hated Xavier from the moment she met him.  She said his Antonio Banderas good looks and accent did nothing for her.  He was too smooth and all his moves seemed well-rehearsed.  He probably played this game with gullible American females way too often. 

I argued with her, telling her that he was different in his approach because he grew up in Spain.  He was so suave and romantic and his accent made everything sound so seductive.  Sophia instantly named him Pepe Le Pew and stuck to her opinion until I found out about his affair.  She hadn’t mentioned him since then, or at least since I stopped crying and questioning what I’d done to drive him away.

Sophia had tried desperately to get me back out there.  She told me about various sites for meeting single men, and dragged me to countless clubs in the meat packing district, which was appropriate since they were nothing more than meat markets and the meat wasn’t all that fresh.  I was put off by the men trying to grab me on the dance floor, and disgusted by the nearly-naked women who seemed ready to throw themselves at anyone who gave them the time of day.  I couldn’t imagine finding a life partner in one of those sordid places, and tried to escape my lonely state with Mr. Darcy and a glass of wine.  In my opinion,
Pride and Prejudice
made for a more satisfying Saturday night than watching the desperate gyrations of single New Yorkers searching for their next hookup.

“I’m not going there to look for a man.  I’m going to find out who this man was, why he thought I was his granddaughter, and why he decided to leave me a seventeenth century castle.  I’ll put it up for sale, although I’m not sure what the demand these days is for castle ruins, and then come home to my highly rewarding job.”

“Sounds like a plan. Make sure not to have any hairy encounters with Highland coos.  Isn’t that what they call them over there?  I hear they’re pretty scary.”  I couldn’t help but laugh.  Sophia had been my best friend since our freshman year in high school.  She sat next to me at the lunch table on the second day, and saved me from a life of loneliness and unpopularity.  I didn’t have an easy time making friends.  I was interested in quality, not quantity, and with my overly romantic imagination and love of British literature, that was not so easy to find in Brooklyn. 

Although people had always said I was the prettier one, Sophia was always the popular one.  She was a force of nature, and could draw even the most unsocial person out of their shell.  She was never afraid to say the things that most people wouldn’t be caught thinking, and her sense of humor and positive outlook attracted people to her like a magnet.  We were polar opposites in looks.  I was fair, with honey-blonde hair and brandy-colored eyes.  My mouth was always a source of comment because of my full lower lip that apparently demanded to be kissed. 

Sophia’s family had come from Greece and her looks bespoke her heritage.  She had bouncy black curls with olive skin and dark eyes.  Her nose was a trifle too long and her mouth a little too small, but the pearls of wisdom that came tumbling out of those lips were priceless. 

At this moment, her Greek heritage was the root of all her problems since her parents refused to accept her relationship with Jesse, who was Jewish.  They’d met at H&R Block last March when he did her taxes, got her a sizeable refund and stole her heart.  Sophia loved his witty sense of humor and positive
attitude toward life.  He made her feel beautiful and exotic, and I had never seen her so happy with any of her other boyfriends.  Her parents, however, had stonewalled him, and a future with him might mean one without her family.

“When are you going?” she asked. 

“The day after the term is over.  I’ll make a reservation tonight.  No point in waiting.”

“I want to hear every detail, and I expect to see a picture of your moldering castle as soon as you clap eyes on it.  I wonder if it looks gothic.  Have you Googled it?  Maybe there’s a picture online?”  Her excitement was contagious, but I wasn’t biting.

              “I don’t want to.  I want to be surprised and see it in person.  It’s more fun that way.”

“You’re right.  I’m jumping ahead of myself as usual.  It’s like waiting for Christmas morning to open your gift instead of finding it in your mother’s closet and taking a peek before she wraps it.  Not that I’ve done that.”  We both knew perfectly well that no gift had ever been an actual surprise.

“Exactly!” I said laughing.  “Okay, got to go book my flight.  See you tomorrow.  We’re still on for dinner, right?” 

“Absolutely.  See you there.”

I logged on to Travelocity to find myself a flight to Edinburgh.  My adventure was about to begin and despite my apprehension, I was getting excited.  What was the worst thing that could happen?  Worst case scenario was that I would have a nice vacation in Europe all expenses paid.  Best case scenario, I would have a nice vacation in Europe all expenses paid.  Whatever I would find in Scotland wouldn’t change my life.  I would simply have to sign some papers and decide how to dispose of my new property and then return home restored and refreshed.  Nothing to worry about.

My flight to Scotland was very pleasant.  I flew Continental out of Newark and we took off exactly on time.  There wasn’t a screaming child within hearing distance and the meal was actually edible.  I thought I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but all my anxiety over this trip finally caught up with me and I dozed off, only to wake up as the flight attendants started serving breakfast and handing out the customs forms.  Mr. Ogilvy promised to meet me and drive me to a bed and breakfast close to my castle.  We would decide on the rest of the plan later.

Daniel Ogilvy wasn’t at all what I expected.  I think I was looking for a taller version of the Lucky Leprechaun, but this man was dark, handsome and well-dressed in an expensive pin-stripe navy suit, with a gorgeous silk tie in shades of blue and gray that brought out his slate-gray eyes.  He shook my hand as he introduced himself and immediately took hold of my bags.  His Mercedes was parked outside and he opened the passenger door for me before loading my bags into the trunk, or the boot, as he called it. 
Another suave foreigner
, I thought with an inward sigh of longing. 

“Sit back, relax and enjoy the ride.  It should take us close to three hours to get there.   I took the liberty of booking you a room at a B&B.  It’s the only one in the area, so it’s not as if there was much choice to be made.  It’s run by a lovely couple and the house dates back to the eighteenth century.  It’s charming.  The meals are included, so you don’t have to worry about anything,” he informed me with a smile as he took the airport exit and headed north.

“When will I see the castle, Mr. Ogilvy?”

“It’s entirely up to you.  I booked myself a room as well, so we can do it this afternoon, or if you’re tired from your trip we can drive out tomorrow morning. It’s not too far from
the town of the same name.  We can visit the distillery the following day.  And please, call me Danny.”

“I’m anxious to see it.  I didn’t look it up because I wanted to be surprised.  The anticipation is killing me,” I confessed.

“I see you have a flair for the dramatic,” he said with a smile.  “I would have done the same.  However, if you did look it up, you would have found some references to this castle.  It has a long and bloody history.”

“Just blood, no romance?” I asked, disappointed. 

“Oh, there was that too, aplenty.  There was even a great mystery surrounding a certain young lady whose ghost is still believed to be haunting the west tower.  Are you spooked?”

“Now you’re just teasing me.”  I pretended to be offended, but I was hoping there actually was a decent ghost at this place.  What’s a castle without a few ghosts?

“No, there truly is.  I’ll fill you in on the history when you actually see the place.  It’s more impressive that way,” he promised.

“I see you have a flair for the dramatic yourself.”

“Of course I do, lassie.  I am Scots!” he said with an exaggerated Scottish burr.

The rest of the drive passed in pleasant banter.  I was eager to see something of the countryside, and I was amazed at how quickly the landscape changed once we drove past the outskirts of Edinburgh.  We passed towns and some farms on the side of the road, but there was so much space.  Sometimes all I could see for miles were grassy valleys dotted with fluffy white sheep, distant mountains and open sky.  The terrain around us became more rugged as we drove further into the Highlands.  I could see the craggy, forbidding faces of the mountains and fields of purple heather blanketing the ground.  The landscape was vast and wild, and I could almost imagine long-haired, kilted men wearing swords and galloping toward us out of the
mist of the early morning. Or was I actually imagining Mel Gibson in
Braveheart
? 

Danny turned off the main road at Aviemore and then drove past the town and headed further toward the coast.  He took a local road until he swung the car into the wooded drive of the B&B.  It was a three-storey eighteenth century house built of gray stone with a sign proclaiming it to be the finest Highland accommodations.  I looked up at the chimney pots wondering if there would be a fireplace in my room.  I’d always longed for a fireplace.

A friendly middle-aged couple came out to greet us and introduced themselves as Linda and Bob McDonald.  Linda ushered me into the foyer, while Bob took care of my luggage.  They’d put me into the front bedroom on the second floor with a lovely view of the mountains, per Daniel’s request.  It faced west, and the sun sinking behind the mountains was a sight not to be missed. 

The B&B was charming as promised.  I felt as if I walked into an 18
th
century museum home.  To the right of the foyer was the parlor, decorated in shades of red.  There were maroon velvet sofas gilded with gold, and heavy red velvet drapes with gold braid at the windows.  The fireplace was lit despite the warmth of the June afternoon and there were pictures of hunting scenes on the walls.

Directly across the hall was the dining room.  This room was much lighter.  The walls were covered in pale blue wallpaper, and most of the room was occupied by a long table made of dark wood with stately chairs placed around it.  There was also a fireplace on the opposite side of the windows, which were curtained in dark blue velvet.  A portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie, as the caption proclaimed, hung above the fireplace and I took a moment to study the youthful, almost feminine face looking back at me with those hooded, dark eyes.  The kitchen occupied the back of the first floor and wasn’t part of the tour.  The second and third floors were the guest rooms and I was shown to my room by Linda. 

As promised, it had a magnificent view of the valley and mountains rising in the distance.  The room was dominated by the large four-poster bed, and the walls were covered in white and blue patterned wallpaper.  There was a small writing desk with some stationery directly in front of the window, to take advantage of the inspirational view as you were writing your correspondence, and a wooden wardrobe.  The only concession to modern times was a small end table that held an electric kettle, a small basket of tea and cocoa packets, and a package of shortbread.  I looked at the fat content and gasped in horror — no shortbread for me.  A small bathroom completed my living quarters.  I loved it.

“I’m sure you’d like to rest after your journey.  Dinner is at seven.  We’ll see you then,” Linda informed me cheerfully.  I was about to protest that I wasn’t tired, but I was, so I thanked her, and after taking a quick shower decided to take a well-deserved nap. 

I woke up at 6pm local time and took a deep breath of the fresh Highland air that was blowing through the open window.  I marveled at the quiet of the place as I pulled on a pair of jeans and a flowery chiffon top, brushed my hair, applied some make-up and went down in search of Danny. 

He was in the parlor having a drink with Bob and an older man dressed in full Highland regalia.  He was introduced to me as Hugh Cunningham, an ex-soldier in Her Majesty’s Army, lately running tour groups for Americans based on the novels of a popular romance writer who put Scotland on the map for her readers. They were particularly interested in visiting the battlefield at Culloden, where the Jacobites were defeated in a blood-soaked battle that forever altered the clan way of life, and destroyed the dream of Scottish independence for generations to come. 

I didn’t want to admit that I had no idea what they were talking about, so I smiled politely and walked over to the window to admire the view.  Mr. Cunningham’s group was spending two nights at the B&B and would be joining us for dinner.  They were a group of seven women ranging in age from mid-‘40s to ‘60s and were engaged in a heated debate based on one of the books as they sat down with us at the long table.  Danny looked amused and rolled his eyes at me in mock horror. 

We didn’t get to talk much during the meal, but the food was excellent, as was the wine served with the meal, and I was happy enough to listen and observe.  I wanted to ask who the Jacobites were, but didn’t want to draw attention to my ignorance and resolved to ask Danny tomorrow on our way to the castle.

I woke up the next morning eager to get going.  Danny was already downstairs dressed in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt looking like a tourist ready for a day of sightseeing.  He led me into the dining room where Linda was busy serving breakfast. 
After some hot coffee and a bowl of the famed Scottish parritch liberally drizzled with honey, we finally set out.

“It’s about a half-hour drive from here,” Danny informed me.  “Shall I tell you about it?”

“Please.  I want to hear all about the castle and the Jacobites,” I added, “but you still haven’t told me what I really want to know,” I answered a little sullenly. 

“And what’s that?”  He was in a good mood and immune to my peevishness.

“I want to know who Angus McBride was and why he left me his estate.  You do know, don’t you?”  I issued the challenge.

“I do, but I’m not at liberty to divulge the information.  I was his solicitor and my father before me and I have to respect client confidentiality, even if the client is deceased,” he droned in his best lawyer voice. 

“But I need to know.  It doesn’t make any sense.  Why would this man leave me his entire estate and claim I was his granddaughter?  My gran never mentioned him as far as my mom can recall, and I’d never heard of him until the day I got your phone call,” I complained. 

“I understand your frustration and will help you find the answer.  I can’t tell you the story, but I know someone who can, someone who witnessed it firsthand and is the oracle of truth,” he promised. 

“And who exactly is this Oracle of Truth?” I demanded. 

“My gran,” he said with an impish grin.  “Now, on to the castle, my lady.”