The Inheritance (3 page)

“The castle was completed in 1625 by Hamish McBride, who was the laird of the McBride clan at the time.  It sits on a cliff overlooking the North Sea and has withstood at least two sieges that we know about.  Many of the clansmen lived within the castle walls full-time, but there was also the village of Kilmaron which lay outside the walls of the castle.  The village grew over time and became the town of Kilmaron from which we all hail,” Danny informed me.

“Who
are we all?” I asked.

“My family as well as yours,” he answered matter-of-factly. 

“The McBrides were Jacobite supporters for generations.”

“And who, exactly,
were the Jacobites?” I asked, feeling slightly embarrassed.  I’d always been a big fan of history, but I had always been more drawn to British and French history, rather than Scottish, despite the fact that my family’s roots originated here.

“In a nutshell, the Jacobites were the supporters of the exiled King James Stuart.  He fled England
in 1688 when he was deposed by his Protestant daughter, Queen Mary II and her husband William of Orange.  James had hopes of regaining the throne, and there were several failed uprisings in Scotland trying to help James seize back the Crown.  The Highlanders were ardent supporters of the Stuart cause for two reasons, religion and politics.  Most Highlanders were Catholic, as was James, and they valued his support of the clan way of life. 

The Highlands were one of the few places in the British
Empire where chieftains still maintained their private armies, known as levies, and were able to provide military support to the Pretender upon his landing in Scotland. 

The most famous uprising took place in 1745 when
James’s son Prince Charles, known by his supporters as Bonnie Prince Charlie, landed at the island of Eriskay and raised his standard at Glenfinnan waiting for the clans to come and join him.  He enjoyed brief success taking Perth and Edinburgh with almost no resistance, but his inexperience as a general and his weak character, led to their ultimate defeat which took place on a battlefield of Culloden in April of 1746. 

It was a crushing defeat for the Jacobites
, and their dream of restoring the Stuarts to their throne was irrevocably destroyed.  Thousands died at Culloden that day, and those that didn’t were tried for treason and either executed or transported to the Colonies and sold as indentured servants.  Many clans lost their men and their lands, so the clan way of life collapsed shortly after.  The wearing of their native dress was prohibited by the British as was any display of national pride.  Any Jacobites who were pardoned had to swear an oath to King George Hanover of England,” Danny explained looking very grim.

“Prince Charles is still viewed
by most Scots as a national hero, and there is not a Scot who doesn’t wish for independence from England,” he concluded. 

“You sure know a lot about all this.”  I was surprised by his passion as he told me the story.  Most Americans certainly didn
’t get this emotional about the War of Independence or the Civil War. 

“Scots are a very patriotic people
, and there is not a child in Scotland who hasn’t learned about the bloodshed at Culloden,” he replied a little defensively. 

“Were most Scots Jacobites then?” I asked
, trying to show interest and encourage him to tell me more.  This was obviously extremely important to him, and I was eager to learn more, especially now that I knew that my family was involved in this endeavor in the distant past.

“No, mostly the Catholics and the Episcopalians.  The Scottish Pres
byterians didn’t support the Stuarts.  They were staunch supporters of the English monarch.”

“Up until shortly before the ’45 uprising, the laird of the McBride Clan was Alan McBride.  He was a cautious man
, and although he would have liked to see a Stuart on the throne again, he’d witnessed the disappointment of the 1708 and 1715 uprisings, and the subsequent appearance of British garrisons at Fort William and Fort George, and wasn’t in a rush to throw in his lot with the Stuarts unless he felt this time there would be more chance of success.  His bigger problem was the feud with the Grants that had been going on for over fifty years. It started over some stolen cattle and a murder of some McBride and Grant men during the resulting skirmish.  There were frequent raids by both clans on each other’s lands and livestock and Alan had had enough.”  I could see Danny was warming up to his story now.

“So, how did one end a feud in those days?” I was truly curious.

“Back in the day, the best way to end a feud was to seek an alliance through marriage, which is exactly what old Alan did.  He went to see the Grant laird and offered a match between his son John and Grant’s daughter Isobel.  She was said to have been a rare beauty with hair like molten lava and eyes the color of jade.  John would have nothing to complain of since he was getting the better end of the bargain.  Grant agreed, mostly because he was tired of suffering the losses and the two were married, uniting the two clans.”

“Is she the ghost that you mentioned?”  I was warming up to this story myself. 

“She is, indeed.  Old Alan died of pneumonia shortly before Prince Charlie landed on the shores of Scotland and John became the new laird.  John wasn’t as cautious or politically savvy as his father and immediately threw in his lot with the Stuarts.  He declared for the Stuarts and sent men, money and arms to His Majesty.  Not too much is known about what happened to Isobel during this time, but shortly after the massacre at Culloden, she vanished never to be heard from again.  A search for her had been mounted, but her body was never found.  Many believed that she died in some gruesome way, and that her spirit still haunts the castle.”

“Have you ever seen her ghost?” 

“Well, I did see something ethereal on a moonlit night when I was a lad camping in the woods by the castle walls, but I can’t say as it was Isobel.”  I could see that he was teasing me.  His gray eyes were full of mischief, and he was probably just trying to excite my overly romantic imagination. 

“Look,” he whispered.

As we turned a corner, I suddenly saw the ancient walls of the castle rising behind the treetops against the backdrop of the cloudless June sky.  The two truncated towers rose like silent sentinels guarding the living space within, the arrow slits like squinting eyes looking inland, waiting for an invisible enemy.  The walls of the castle seemed to sparkle in the morning sun and I wondered if that was just my imagination.

“It’s built of gr
ay granite and it sparkles when the rays of the sun hit the stone,” Danny informed me before I even had the chance to ask the question.  “The castle fell into disrepair after the failure at Culloden, and it remained empty for nearly two hundred years.  Angus was determined to rebuild the castle, and he was able to use the proceeds from his whiskey sales to restore one of the towers, the one where Isobel’s room was.  If you look closely, you’ll see that the left tower is shorter than the right because it crumbled in places.  It’s no longer safe to go up there, but the right one has been restored to its former glory.  Angus lived in that tower by himself until his death.  Many people thought he’d lost his mind, but he seemed to enjoy it.”

“Did
n’t he have any family of his own?  Seems like a very lonely way to live your life,” I had a vision of a sad old man wandering around the ruined castle trying to envision it as it once was.

“He did get married in the
‘50s, but it didn’t last long and produced no children.  He bought a small, struggling distillery and built it up into a thriving business.  According to my gran, he was always fascinated with the old place and wanted to restore it.  His dream was to open it to visitors and put it back on the map again.”

The tree
-lined dirt road snaked up the hill and eventually we pulled up to the crumbling castle wall.  Danny parked the car and we got out.  I stood staring up at the massive iron gates as Danny unlocked the padlock and swung them open for us to pass.  I walked through the gates looking up in awe at the imposing structure in front of me.  In its heyday, the castle must have been particularly large with many outbuildings surrounding it including kitchens, stables, a smithy, a dairy shed, and many more.  Most of the outbuildings had been destroyed, and only parts of walls remained here and there.  The roofs had long ago rotted or caved in. 

“The first floor of the castle was originally used for storage and the living quarters began on the second floor.  There was a
Great Hall where gatherings were held and clansmen gathered for daily meals and feasts.  The laird had his library and his office in that part of the building, as well as a large parlor to entertain his guests.  The rest of the castle was used to house the various people who lived within the castle walls.  The laird’s private chamber was in the west tower looking out over the North Sea and the room above it was that of his wife. 

That room had been empty since Alan’s wife died
, and Isobel occupied it after her and the new laird moved into the tower quarters.  Until then, they shared a chamber somewhere on the third floor.  Angus lived in the laird’s bedroom and had Isobel’s room restored.  Would you like to see them?”  Danny was already pulling out keys to open the arched wooden door at the base of the tower. 

As I walked through the door after Danny
, it took me a moment to adjust to the dim light inside.  The only illumination came in through the arrow slits in the tower walls, and their narrow shafts of light left large chunks of the spiral staircase immersed in gloom.  We walked up to the first landing which had a wooden door on the left. 
 

“That door leads to
the main part of the castle and to the Great Hall and library.  There’s another door on the other side leading into the other tower.”  We continued up the worn stone steps to the next landing.  There was another door leading to the main part and to the parlor and bedrooms situated there. 

The main body of the castle didn
’t go past the third floor, and the next two levels of the tower held the private bedchambers of the laird and his lady.  The laird’s room, which had belonged to Angus, had an old, heavily carved four-poster bed with a canopy and matching carved pieces consisting of a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a writing desk facing the window.  It was a very masculine room and I felt like an intruder walking through a room of a man so recently dead.  His things were still strewn around the circular chamber.  A dressing gown was lying across the blue coverlet and his pipe was on the desk waiting to be smoked.  Several books were lying on the bedside table as well as a couple of bottles of medicine of some kind.  Dust covered the surface of the furniture and the place had a sad, forlorn look about it.  I was eager to leave and headed for the stairs leading to the uppermost chamber.  I followed Danny up the stairs, and he opened an old wooden door punctuated by iron studs, to reveal the room behind it. 

This room was the complete opposite of the
room below. It was airy and light.  The walls were hung in peach silk, and the bed hangings and the drapes were all in shades of peach and cream.  The wooden furniture was made of either mahogany or cherry, and the style was a much more feminine one.  The carvings were of flowers and vines that curved delicately around the posts of the bed and legs of chairs and writing desk.  I walked over to the window and pulled aside the silk curtain to look out. 

The view was breathtaking.  This side of the tower was on the side of the cliff
, and I couldn’t see any land below.  It felt as if the wall dropped directly into the sea.  On this June morning, the North Sea was spread before me, sunlight glinting on the water.  It looked peaceful and calm, but I could imagine how it must have looked during a winter squall when the waves would have been crashing against the cliff, and the bitter north wind would be howling outside the tower walls.  I wondered if the fireplace built into the wall opposite the bed was enough to keep the winter chill at bay. 

There was an old tapestry hanging over the chest of drawers and I walked over to examine it.  The once vibrant colors were now faded, but I could still make out the picture.  There was a fair
-headed maiden in a white gown handing a sword to a knight who was kneeling before her, holding his helmet in his hands.   His horse was behind him, and he seemed to be heading off to battle.  I wondered if Isobel had worked on that tapestry, or if it had belonged to her mother-in-law who occupied this room before her. 

We left the room and went back down the spiral staircase.  On the second floor Danny opened one of the connecting doors and we were in the main part of the castle.  Most of the furniture was gone, but some pieces remained
, and we wandered through the ruined rooms trying to imagine their purpose and who might have visited them.  The Great Hall still had a few trestle tables and carved wooden chairs, and there was a monstrous fireplace, large enough to roast an ox on one side of the room.  Some old banners hung around the huge room and sad-looking eyes of deer heads stared at us from their place on the walls.  Anything of value had been looted a long time ago, and most of the rooms were bare and dusty.

“Can we go outside?” I asked feeling uneasy. 

“This place gives me the creeps.”