“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.
Chapter 4
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 18th 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.
Chapter 5
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 particul
arly 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.”
Chapter 6
“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 Presbyterians 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 hea
rd 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 gray 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.”
“Didn’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 Inheritance Page 2
