“I ken how you can bring about peace with Mungo,” Bruce said to him when they stopped to rest just before sunrise. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Are you going to say what I think you’re going to say?”
“Marry a Frazer.”
“I might have guessed.”
“Is that such a bad idea? Take one of Mungo’s daughters for your own and the clans are unified. That way he’d have no choice but to accept peace.”
Gavin’s shoulders sagged a little. “I wish there was another way,” he said quietly. “But I fear you’re right. I may have no choice but to marry a Frazer.”
“You look as if I’d told you to drink poison. Is the idea of marriage so abhorrent to you?”
“Marriage is a duty all lairds must perform,” Gavin replied. “You used to tell me that a lot.”
“And you used to say it was up to your parents who you wed.”
“And now they’re dead.” Anger rose up inside him. Dead because of the Frazers. The thought of marrying one of them filled him with revulsion.
“Swallow your pride. It wouldnae be that bad.”
“The thought of it fills me with rage.”
“But why? It is merely a means to an end, a way of cementing alliances and expanding your territory.”
“They killed my parents, Bruce.”
He thought of Wallace and Natalie, their kind faces, the way they had of making every problem seem small. They ran the clan so well people had called their reign a golden age. Then the feud began. The feud that seemed to come from nowhere. It was as if Mungo became a different laird, belligerent, aggressive, hard to deal with.
Gavin marched past his men, striking out alone, leaving them to catch up. The castle would be visible soon. The first rays of dawn were already lighting up the mountain tops. Not far to go.
He could not bring his parents back. Could he sully their memory by marrying a Frazer? If it wasn’t for the Frazers they would still be alive.
Bitterness took over so quickly he was barely aware he had clenched his fists and broken into a half run.
He would never marry a Frazer. Perhaps the men were right. Perhaps he should simply kill Mungo and take his castle. They might not be able to hold it but there was always a chance he could persuade the King to spare him, explain his reasons.
Up ahead a figure was emerging from the morning mist. For a brief moment he could have sworn it was his mother but that was impossible.
Then he saw who it was. “Mary,” he said, skidding to a halt in front of her. “Behind me comes a man who has much to say to you.”
She blinked and then dropped the pail of water she was carrying. “My laird?” she said quietly. “You are here. I feared you were dead. Is he…?”
The other men emerged from the mist, coming to a stop in front of her. Bruce stepped forward to the front and coughed, clearing his throat loudly. “Morning, Mary,” he said at last.
“Bruce,” she replied with a polite nod. “It has been a long time.”
There was a silence that lasted an age. Gavin willed one or the other of them to say something to break the tension, to talk of how much they had missed each other, to let the emotion out that he could see bubbling under the surface of the pair of them.
“Could my men get a drink?” Bruce said at last.
Mary looked disappointed. “Aye, come this way.”
They followed her along the track to the inn. Bruce had not moved. “Could my men get a drink?” Gavin said, punching him in the shoulder. “Are you mad?”
“I didn’t ken what to say.”
“Ask her to marry you? Tell her you’ve missed her? Tell her you spent most nights talking to me about how good her eel pie is.”
“Her trick is she uses more salt than most,” Bruce said, his eyes misting over. “You suppose she has some baked this morning?”
“Maybe.”
Bruce hurried after the men. Gavin stood alone for a moment. The sun had just crested the mountaintop to the east and the mist was burning through. Another moment and the castle would come into view. His castle.
In that moment he missed his parents so much it was like a blow to the stomach. He couldn’t breathe. They had done no harm to anyone. They did their best to bring peace to the land and what had been their reward? Death at the hands of the Frazers, the clan that had held him captive for half a year, set back his efforts to free the land of outlaws.
“I hate all Frazers,” he said out loud as the first rays of sunlight hit his castle. He paused and then added loudly. “And I swear I will never think of marrying a Frazer for as long as I live.”
3
The drive from London to Scotland should have taken nine hours. Heather stopped halfway, taking a short walk from her car to the service station.
Climbing into her car a few minutes later, she was about to start the engine when she realized she was crying. She still felt nothing but tears were running down her cheeks. She tried to work out why even as she wiped them away.
She decided it was the injustice of it all. Seven hundred years ago the laird of the MacGregors had stabbed her ancestor during peace talks. The Frazers lost their castle and their wealth, all stolen by the MacGregors.
She had been told the story by her grandmother who spat out the words. “Each generation made worse than the last ever since that fiend murdered one of our own.”
Each generation colder and more distant, her parents included. Two people alike only in misery. Why did she even care? Why was she crying?
Sobbing won’t do anything to fix things, she told herself as she wiped her face, taking a deep breath, glancing up to see her puffy eyes in the rear view mirror. You move on. You can’t change what’s been done. No one can.
By the time she set off she had herself back under control, whatever emotions the stop had brought out were back in the box where they belonged.
The rest of the drive was relatively painless, give or take a couple of sets of roadworks and steadily worsening weather. She made it to Cromarty just before seven in the evening.
Her guesthouse was on the outskirts of the village and she was glad to reach it. For the last hour rain had lashed down from a sky so dark it was almost purple, visibility reduced no more than the few feet in front of her car.
Coming to a stop in the guesthouse car park, she waited to see if there’d be a lull in the rain. It didn’t come so in the end she had no choice but to throw open the door and run for it through the howling wind.
The guesthouse was a haven of warmth and light calling her in. Pushing the door open was like going back in time. Inside the hallway was a grandfather clock that Heather almost crashed into in her rush to get out of the rain.
As she shoved the door shut behind her a face emerged from further down the corridor, an elderly lady with long white hair, frowning when she saw Heather was dripping onto the rug beneath her feet.
“You must be Miss Frazer,” she said in a strong Scottish accent. “I’m Edie MacDonald. Dinnae move, I’ll fetch you a towel. Jonathan!”
From the top of a stairs a young lad of no more than sixteen appeared. “What is it Grandma?” he called down.
“Help the wee lassie with her bags.”
The lad took the stairs two at a time, examining Heather closely when he reached the hallway. “You’re not Scottish.”
“ I have a Scottish background if it helps.”
“What’s your surname?” His eyes narrowed.
“Frazer.”
“Oh, I see. One of them.”
“What do you mean, one of them?”
The boy ignored her, picking up a raincoat from the rack beside him. “How many cases?”
“Oh, just the one.”
“Car unlocked?”
“No, here, take the key.”
He pulled the front door open, wind blasting in through the gap as he vanished. Edie appeared while he was gone, carrying a crimson towel which she handed to Heather.
“Here
, dry yourself off, lass. I’ve put the kettle on. You can come and have some tea while he takes your bags upstairs. I’ve put you in room three. You get a lovely view of MacGregor castle from there, when the rain stops of course.”
“Right, thanks.” She thought about asking for a room that didn’t have a view of MacGregor Castle but decided that would lead to questions she didn’t want to answer.
She could handle looking at it anyway. Didn’t she look at it in the painting each night before she went to bed? The real thing would make it just like being at home. Maybe.
Ten minutes later she was sitting in the living room with an empty tea cup on the low table in front of her. The room was warmed by a coal fire that glowed in the hearth. The shelves surrounding the fireplace were filled with books on Scottish history. In the far corner an upright piano quietly decayed, the wood splintering, four of the keys missing.
Edie had gone to fetch more tea and while she was gone Heather called Donna.
“I made it,” Heather said when her friend answered her phone.
“So, what’s Scotland like so far? Beautiful, I’m betting.”
“Raining too much to tell. I haven’t seen anything yet.”
Edie reappeared in the doorway with a fresh pot of tea in one hand and a tray of shortbread in the other.
“I’ve got to go,” Heather said down the phone. “Call you tomorrow.” She looked up at her landlady. “Sorry about that.”
“Och, it’s no bother. You didnae need to hang up for me.”
“It’s fine.” She pulled a book from the shelf and brought it over to the armchair. “You were telling me about the books.”
“This one’s a good one,” Edie said, pulling a volume from the shelf. “The History of the MacGregors. I ken that one well.”
“Really?” The mention of the name MacGregor made her smile fade.
“Aye, tells you everything about the clan for the last thousand years. A bit far fetched in places. I mean who believes all that nonsense about keys of destiny and all that?”
“Sorry, what?”
“Six keys made of silver, all marked with the letter M for MacGregor. The chronicles tell of them dragging people back in time if you can believe that rubbish.” The phone rang somewhere deep in the house. “Busy, busy.” She set the teapot down. “I better go answer that. “You’re welcome to have a read for yourself if you like, see what you make of it.”
“Thanks. I will.” Once Heather was alone she flicked through the book, stopping at random points, running over a blur of names and dates. About halfway through she reached the chapter about the first key. The sound of the wind outside died away, the tea went cold in the pot. She became lost in the book.
By the time Edie came back, she was nearing the end of the next chapter. “What do you think?” Edie asked. “Nonsense isn’t it?”
“I don’t know but it makes a great story. Keys that open doors through time? What a tale. I mean, I know the medieval writers were out there but that’s something else.”
“I tell you, I’ve often wondered what I’d do if I had a key like that, one that could open a door to the past. Know what I’d do?”
“What?”
“I’d go back to my childhood, see what it looked like second time round.”
“You think the key would let you choose what time you could go to? The writer here seems to suggest it’s random.”
Edie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe the key decides. When would you go to if you had the choice?”
“I don’t know,” Heather lied, getting to her feet. “Do you mind if I take this to read?”
“Of course not. Listen to me jabbering on when you want to get unpacked and washed up. Upstairs, third door on the right. Key’s already in there on the desk.”
“Not one of the keys of destiny is it?” Heather asked with a smile.
Edie laughed. “No, just for the room. See you in the morning, lass.”
“Good night, Mrs. MacDonald.”
“Please, call me Edie.”
“Good night then Edie.”
The room was pleasant enough. The bed covered in tartan blankets, a fire lit in the hearth. Outside she could see nothing, the rain was still lashing down. She closed the curtains on it and then began to unpack.
The next morning she was up early. She was expected at the R and D department by nine and she had no idea how long it would take to get through security. She left the curtains closed. She wasn’t sure she was ready to see MacGregor Castle yet.
She breakfasted alone. “No other guests?” she asked when Edie brought a plate of eggs through from the kitchen.
“Just you at the moment. We’re always quiet this time of year though. Means all the more toast for you. Shall I do another round?”
“No thank you, I must be going.”
“Will you be back for tea?”
“I’m not sure.”
“No bother. Last call for tea is seven. If you’re back after that I can always put some sandwiches or something together for you.”
“Thanks.”
Once breakfast was over, Heather headed out to her car. Looking up, she saw the castle for the first time in person. It was strange to see something she’d seen in a painting so often. There it was.
She was surprised to find she felt nothing. Maybe one day she’d be able to let her emotions out but this was not that day.
How would it look if she turned up at the R and D building in floods of tears? Why are you crying? Because I’m still upset that an ancestor of mine was murdered seven hundred years ago. Anyway, nice to meet you.
As she drove she found herself wondering where it happened. The history books weren’t certain. All they specified was that peace treaty negotiations took place somewhere between MacGregor Castle and Frazer Castle, half a day’s walk from either location.
It might be right under the road she was on. That was a weird thought.
The GPS came to life, telling her to turn onto a track marked “Private.”
About a hundred yards along the track a security barrier blocked the road. Beside it a man in a black suit held a clipboard, looking into the back of her car as she stopped. Behind him a little wooden booth contained a desk and computer. He walked over to her window a moment later.
“Name,” he said, pen at the ready.
“Heather Frazer. I’m here to see Tony Carson.”
“Down the hill. He’s waiting.”
She did as she was told, making her way around a sweeping curve until the main road vanished behind a row of pine trees. Another minute and she was heading down a hillside and then there it was.
It was like something out of a government conspiracy. A solid black building with no visible windows, just a block of metal dumped in the middle of a valley, completely hidden from view unless you knew where you were going. It was surrounded by a barbed wire fence. There was only one opening.
In front of it a man in a white lab coat waved at her as she came to a stop. He was about fifty, very tall and thin, his face half hidden behind a thick black beard.
“Heather?” he asked, pulling her door open for her. “Tony Carson. Great to see you. Come on inside.”
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Heather replied as she climbed out of the car. “Reminds me a lot of a black hole.”
They walked over to the only visible door in the building. “Oh, I know it looks a bit creepy but there is a reason for it.”
“Couldn’t afford to have windows put in? Sale on black paint?”
“Both.” He smiled. “How much did Boris tell you?”
“He was supposed to email me the details but-”
“But he didn’t tell you much. That’s fine. To be honest he doesn’t know that much about what we get up to here.” He pulled the door to the building open, stepping aside for Heather to enter first.
“And just what is it you do here?” she asked as she walked inside.
“Lots of things,” he replied, the smile still
fixed on his face. “This way.”
She followed him down an empty corridor, the walls as white as the outside of the building had been black. They took a left, then a right, passing by a number of unlabelled doors. The floor squeaked under Heather’s feet. The place was spotless.
Up a flight of steel steps, then through more twisting corridors before Tony stopped. He pulled out a key and then unlocked the door beside him, stepping through and motioning for her to follow. “Take a seat.”
They were in an office that looked much like the ones back in the London office. On the desk was a computer, a pot of pens, nothing else. Tony sat, picking up a pen and then sliding open a drawer, pulling out a form. “I need you to sign this.”
“What is it?”
“Standard nondisclosure. More or less. What we’re about to talk about must go no further than these four walls.”
“I don’t even know what we’re going to talk about.”
“Just sign the form and then I’ll tell you everything.”
She looked down at the dense print in front of her. Page after page of legalese that she soon gave up any hope of understanding. “I’m not signing something I can’t make head nor tail of.”
His smile faltered. “Sign it or you’ve wasted a trip to Scotland. It’s your job to run this project and it’s my job to protect it. Ever heard the phrase loose lips sink ships?”
“Yes but-”
“Think of it like that. Don’t worry, it’s nothing scary. If you’re lucky you might even be there and back in five minutes.”
“There and back from where?”
“Can’t say until you sign. Sorry.”
She looked at the form again, skipping to the final page. “Fine,” she said, signing with a flourish. “I hope you haven’t just got the rights to my immortal soul.”
“Subsection nine,” he said, tapping the form with a long bony finger. “Only kidding. Right, where to begin?” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “Short version. A long time ago I set up a company here in Scotland. In time it became one of the biggest in the country and a long time later you joined the firm. I’m glad you did because you’re exactly the person we need. We need you to help me achieve my main goal in life. Want to know what that is?”
The Key to His Castle: A Clean Time Travel Romance (Clan MacGregor Book 5) Page 3
