“And I love you, Mom!”
Five months after that conversation, Arline got married and moved to California. Over time, Megan realized that her ideas about independent living didn't quite match reality. Due to her perfectionism, she demanded the utmost attention to detail in everything she did. Sleepless nights were spent with textbooks, and days at work. Vacation remained a distant dream, and there was absolutely no time left for a personal life. But she bravely carried on, telling no one just how hard it really was for her.
When Malcolm McKenzie learned during one of his visits that his granddaughter had been living alone and managing the restaurant by herself for a year, he was beside himself with rage. He yelled, unable to contain his anger.
“Your mother was a frivolous girl twenty years ago, and she hasn’t matured one bit since. To imagine, abandoning her child, her only daughter, for a man. How dare she, the shameless woman?! Look at you, all skin and bones! Dark circles under your eyes! You’re still just a child, but everything has fallen on your frail shoulders! When I die, she won’t see a penny of the inheritance. Never will I permit the fortune of our clan to be squandered in another country, and for our family name to be scattered in the wind and forgotten as if it had never existed. You are my pride and joy, Megan. Proud that you stayed and didn’t trade Great Britain for another continent.”
This conversation had taken place five years prior, and Malcolm has since been visiting his granddaughter in London every year.
Eight months ago, on his last visit, he said, “My health is not what it used to be, Megan. In all likelihood, this is probably my last visit. Now it’s your turn to come and visit your old man.”
“I was planning to do so this year, but you see, mom had surgery, and I needed to be with her in California. Next summer I will come to visit you for a few weeks. The summer there, as I’ve heard is the only time of year when you don’t freeze to death and drown in the rain,” Megan laughed. “But I promise; this time I will definitely come; nothing will make me change my mind.”
“Drown in the rain? What nonsense! No doubt your good-for-nothing mother planted such ideas in your head. Of course, it’s cooler in the north than in the center of the country, but it’s not nearly as awful as you say! Your visit will give me great pleasure. I will arrange a celebration to mark this day.”
3. Bagpipes
And now she was here. He would have been so glad to see her. What cause for celebration her arrival might have been. But, as it turned out, she arrived the day after his funeral. He had passed in the evening, and the very next day his body was buried in the McKenzie family crypt, such were the burial customs in this place. Feelings of guilt had tormented her ever since she learned of his death.
“Grandpa, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please. I didn’t make it in time,” she whispered. Wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks, the girl thought that she couldn’t permit herself to break down right now, she needed a clear head to make important decisions. Tomorrow would be a difficult day and she had to be ready. She would have to meet her grandfather’s brother Alaric and his grandchildren, Warren and Duncan. As she recalled from Malcolm’s stories, by the twentieth century, their family had two castles in possession: Castle Mal and Castle Raven. Castle Mal was the ancestral home built by the McKenzies, and Castle Raven was inherited from the neighboring Drummond clan in 1898, when the last member disappeared without leaving any heirs. Grandfather Malcolm and Great-Uncle Alaric were the two heirs of David McKenzie, who bequeathed to Alaric, Castle Raven and the wool factory, while Malcolm inherited Castle Mal and the Scotch whisky distillery. At present, Alaric and Duncan are residing at Castle Raven, while Warren and his wife are temporarily staying at Castle Mal with Megan, who, from tomorrow, will become the official owner of the ancestral home, after the lawyer reads the will. The best solution that came to Megan’s mind was to offer the relatives to buy the distillery and the castle from her, if they so wished. She had no intention of selling the estate to strangers; she didn’t want Malcolm turning over in his grave, knowing that the clan’s home had been sold to someone outside the family circle.
Having changed her clothes and finished unpacking, Megan looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel. What a long day it had been; the memories of arriving at the airport that morning felt as if they were a week old. The clock showed 22:25. The room was getting cooler, and turning on the heater, she draped a shawl over her shoulders. She was about to go and remove her make-up when she heard an unusual sound. It took her a while to figure out where it was coming from. She listened carefully. This intriguing continuous melody was mesmerizing, capturing her attention and evoking a vague sense of unease.
“Bagpipes,” she said softly.
Her heart suddenly pounded loudly, while her soul clenched sweetly yet painfully. The girl couldn't understand why the sounds of a Scottish musical instrument stirred her so deeply. It was as if something magical, something supernatural, was beckoning her. She opened the window and saw that someone was playing the bagpipes not far from the castle. After listening for a short while, Megan left her room, drawn to stand outside and savor the melody. Leaving the house, she struggled to make out the shapes of objects until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was cool outside; the temperature had dropped and the wind from the sea sent chills down her spine.
Within a few minutes, she could clearly see the river at the base of the castle grounds, and hear the North Sea's rumble to her right. The sound of the bagpipes came from that direction. There was no one around, but she wasn't afraid. It was strange; she never made such reckless decisions, always cautious of the dark, but this time, she was magnetically drawn towards the source of the magical music. She walked as if enchanted. The area was private property and unlikely accessible to just anyone. With such thoughts, she calmed herself, rationalizing her impetuous act. She knew the entrance to the castle was nearby, and if fear overtook her, she could quickly return.
At that moment, the full moon came to her aid, appearing in the sky and illuminating the river and surrounding hills. On one of the hilltops, Megan noticed a man with a bagpipe. His tall, graceful figure resembled one of the true northern highlanders described in legends. He stood with his legs shoulder-width apart, wearing a Scottish kilt and high white woolen socks up to his knees. Megan couldn't make out the colors of the kilt, the moonlight wasn't bright enough to illuminate the details. The jacket, with a cape, was draped over his left shoulder. He continued playing the same heartbreaking melody, which was as beautiful as it was sad. Megan crept forwards, desperately wanting to take a closer look at him, to fulfill her irresistible desire. Her soul trembled as if her life depended on the encounter with this highlander. But the moon hid behind a cloud as suddenly as it had appeared, and the melody stopped.
It became very dark, and only the sound of the sea was audible. Megan felt an instant sense of unease, as if she had just awoken from a dream. Despite her attempts to discern the stranger's silhouette on the hill, she could not. At that moment, a crunch on the gravel came from behind. She froze in place, feeling as though someone was watching her. But there was no one around.
You're just tired, Megan soothed herself mentally, that's why you're seeing things.
But her heart was racing with fear. She had decided to return to the castle when she heard another sound, a rustling. The girl quickly turned and saw the shadow in a black cloak. It was following her. A soul-chilling fear paralyzed Megan. Somehow, she knew this was not the highlander with bagpipes, it was someone else.
The man in a cloak, with a hood thrown over his head, began to approach Megan, putting a finger to his lips, gesturing for her to be silent. Something ominous emanated from him; his intentions were clearly the most terrifying imaginable, she felt it with every cell in her body. The girl backed away, and in a state of fright, she didn't immediately realize that her feet were in the water; she didn't feel the cold of the river. Panic took over completely, and she dashed towards the entrance door. It was only about thirty meters away. The shadow moved along the shore, thereby blocking the path to the castle entrance.
“Gregor, help!” Megan screamed. She heard the man approaching, turned to see how close he was, and stumbling, fell backwards, hitting her head on a river rock. She didn’t even have time to feel the pain. All her thoughts were focused on one thing – survival. Frantically moving, she unsuccessfully tried to get up. Fear increasingly immobilized her movements. Meanwhile, the moon emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating everything once again, including the figure in the black cloak whose face was not visible. Suddenly, the flash of a blade of knife raised above her head. A rush of adrenalin gave the girl a little strength. She managed to crawl slightly away from the attacker, and just at that moment, a loud bird cry suddenly pierced the night. A huge, as Megan perceived, black raven flew directly at the face of the potential killer. The assailant swung the knife towards it but missed; the raven was more agile, hitting the face and head of the wrongdoer with its claws and wings. The attacker, trying to fend off the bird, dropped the knife and attempted to grab it by the wings, but in vain. Finally losing his balance, he fell on the riverbank, rolled onto his stomach, and covered his head with his hands, fearing the raven would peck out his eyes. After a minute, the assailant jumped to his feet and, bending over double to protect his face, ran away from the scene. Megan watched everything as if in a dream. Whether from the shock she had experienced or from the blow to her skull, her vision darkened, and she lost consciousness, never knowing how the struggle ended.
4. Heather
When Megan awoke, she didn’t immediately realize where she was. In all certainty, she was lying in bed. The girl turned her head. The mantel clock showed 7:40. The sun was shining through the windows. Reconstructing the events from the previous night in her mind, she reached the moment when she heard the sound of the bagpipes and went outside. It took her breath away. Could everything that followed really be true? Or was it a dream? Just a terrible nightmare? Sitting up in bed, she took a careful look at herself. She was wearing the same clothes as the previous day. In the evening, she had put on white trousers, which were now completely soiled. Her beige and-white blouse was covered in mud, she had no shoes on her feet, and on the side of the bed lay her beige stole, all crumpled and wet.
“My God! It wasn’t a dream! How did I end up here? Who brought me back to my room?” Megan whispered in horror. Gregor? Warren? What happened to the man who tried to kill me? Could she have ever imagined that the trip to her ancestral home would turn out to be so dangerous?! After all, she hadn't even left the castle grounds.
Slowly getting out of bed, Megan went to the bathroom to clean herself up before meeting her relatives. Moreover, she was eager to see Gregor and find out what had happened after she lost consciousness.
* * *
Megan put on a formal black suit and low-heeled shoes, pulled her thick chestnut-brown hair into a bun, and finished off with a few light and subtle touches of makeup. She descended the wide staircase into the hall. Terrifying memories crowded in again, scenes of what she had experienced flashed through her mind like a movie. There she was, walking to the front door, mesmerized by the music, leaving the castle…
I wonder, what role the highlander with the bagpipes had to play in all this? From his vantage point on the hill, he must have had a clear view of what was happening on the riverbank. But he didn't come to help. Perhaps he was in league with the attacker?
Megan looked around. The castle was dead silent as if she were completely alone. Suddenly, the estate manager appeared, as if from nowhere.
“Oh, Gregor, I was looking for you,” she said anxiously.
“Good morning, Miss. What can I do for you? Are you comfortable in your room?”
“Yes, quite. I left the castle last night. I heard the bagpipes and wanted to find out who was playing…” she paused, waiting for a reaction to her words.
“The bagpipes?” Gregor asked, surprised. “I didn't hear anything like that.”
“You didn’t leave the castle at all yesterday evening?”
“No, Miss, I didn’t. After I left your room, I worked for several hours on the reports for our gathering today.”
“I see. Thank you,” the girl took a brief pause. “Where is the kitchen? I’d like to have breakfast before meeting my relatives.”
“The assembly hall is to the right of the stairs, and the kitchen is opposite it.”
“Thank you.”
“See you later, Miss.”
Megan was frantically pondering who had brought her to the bedroom after the night's incident, if not Gregor. Could he be the one in the black cloak? He hadn't heard the bagpipes nor responded to her scream. Could there be a conspiracy against her? Or was it truly a maniac who didn't care whom he killed?
Utmost caution is necessary; trusting anyone is now out of the question. Anybody could be the enemy. Yet, what reason would Gregor have to kill me? What would he gain from it? My relatives could be involved, considering their potential interest in the inheritance.
Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, ideas buzzing like a swarm of bees. The question of who had brought her into the castle at night haunted the girl. This person somehow knew which bedroom she was staying in. Lost in deep thought, she entered the kitchen. At the head of the table, was a man not much older than Megan, with hair the same color as hers, well-built and quite attractive. His face looked a bit tired. To his right sat a woman who appeared to be near Megan in age. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she was wearing practically no makeup, yet her face was open and pleasant enough. They sat in silence, drinking tea, and seemed quite contemplative.
These were Warren and his wife. Her grandfather had mentioned that the cousins were a couple of years older than her, but Megan couldn't recall their exact age. Seeing her, the man quickly put his cup down and stood up with a polite smile.
“Hello, I’m Warren, and this is my wife, Glenn. Malcolm spoke a lot about you, always in good terms,” he said.
“Good morning. It’s nice to meet you,” replied Megan, with a slightly strained smile.
“Please, have a seat,” offered Glenn, pushing warm croissants towards her and pouring a cup of hot tea. Megan felt that the woman seemed slightly embarrassed when their eyes met.
“Thank you. We didn’t have a chance to meet yesterday; did you come back late?” Megan asked, hoping that her relatives could shed some light on the evening's events.
“Yes, we got back well after midnight,” Warren responded. “There was a tragedy in Glenn's family, and we had to go to Inverness. My apologies we were unable to meet you.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Douglas and Gregor helped me.”
“Megan, Malcolm felt very lonely before he passed, and asked us to stay with him. I think it would be proper for Glenn and me to return to Castle Raven after today's meeting,” the cousin seemed to justify his presence in the castle.
“As you wish, but if you decide to stay a bit longer, I'd be glad. It would give us a chance to get to know each other better.” The thought of staying alone in this large, cold castle, aside from Gregor, terrified her.
“Alright,” Warren smiled more warmly this time, “we'll stay a few more days and help you get accustomed to the place.”
“Great, thank you,” said Megan. She thought to herself: First of all, it wasn’t Warren who brought me in last night. Most likely it was the Highlander with the bagpipes. But why would he do this, and how did he know which bedroom was mine? Time will sort things out. But it would be best to wrap up the business here as quickly as possible and head back to London.
Having finished their tea, they all went to the assembly hall together. Its stone walls were adorned with deer antlers and other hunting trophies. A massive mahogany table was placed in the center. Lancet windows along the long wall made the hall very bright, offering a beautiful view of the river and hills.
Mr. Douglas, Gregor, and two men unknown to Megan, were already seated at the table. The eldest of them stood up when she entered.
“Hello Megan. It’s my pleasure to welcome you to your historic homeland. My brother had been dreaming of your arrival for years, and now that day has finally come. I am Alaric McKenzie, your late grandfather’s brother.”
His words made the girl feel guilty, as they sounded like a reproach, but she kept her emotions in check and calmly replied that the pleasure was mutual.
“Hi, I’m Duncan,” said the other man, grinning broadly and gazing at her admiringly. “What a pity that we’re related by blood; otherwise, I’d have already started courting you.” The cousin not only shook her hand but also kissed her on both cheeks as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen one another in years.
Duncan was a bit taller than Warren. A good-looking figure, playful eyes – everything about him suggested that he was a very confident young man and had no shortage of women. When he smiled, his handsome face radiated incredible magnetism. If Warren gave the impression of a very serious and modest person, Duncan was the complete opposite: cheerful, lively, uninhibited, he immediately became the center of attention. It seemed that energy was bursting out of him like a fountain.
Megan was pleasantly surprised to find all her relatives – dressed in traditional style. Each wore a woolen kilt in clan colors, still an integral part of the Scottish national costume. The men's skirts with large pleats at the back; a tartan plaid thrown over the left shoulder, secured with a brooch. A white shirt, handkerchief tie, black waistcoat, and black jacket – all perfectly fit the members of the McKenzie family. High woolen socks up to the knees, and over the belt hung a sporran – a leather pouch on a chain that fastened around the waist. It featured three small, rabbit tail-like attachments.
Carefully observing all this magnificence, the girl thought that the male members of the McKenzie family were very distinguished by their tall stature and good physiques. Aloud, she remarked, “I’ve seen many Scots in national dress in England, including Grandfather, but never paid attention to the details. It's truly very beautiful and extraordinarily elegant, especially when men know how to handle all the accompanying accessories, which, I think, many people these days neglect. All three of you look gorgeous – like Scottish national fashion models.”
“You are absolutely correct. A properly assembled costume is our history, which started here in these mountains, and we are proud of our traditions. In the big towns, few people nowadays wear kilts; they mostly prefer trousers. But the northern Scots will never abandon their customs.”
Having delivered his speech on national attire, Alaric took his place at the head of the table. His grandsons, Duncan and Warren, sat beside him. Megan noted how much Alaric and her grandfather resembled each other. A robust, gray-haired man, shorter than his grandsons, with a serious expression on his face. The eyes, nose, authoritative chin, were all so reminiscent of Malcolm… It felt as if they were of the same age. This resemblance poignantly touched her soul. The whole family was here, but he was not…
She couldn't remember who was actually older, Alaric or Malcolm. Presumably, it was Grandfather since he had inherited Castle Mal, the ancestral home of the clan.
“Mr. Douglas, you may begin,” Warren said.
“All the members of the McKenzie family are gathered here today for the reading of the will of the late Malcolm McKenzie,” Mr. Douglas began. “Allow me to state his will: ‘I hereby bequeath Castle Mal and the Mal Scotch Production whisky distillery, as well as all the funds remaining in my bank accounts, to my only granddaughter, Megan McKenzie.’ Miss McKenzie, there is one more amendment you should be aware of. In the event of your death, if there are no legitimate children-heirs, your mother cannot inherit what your grandfather left you. The entire estate will pass to Alaric and his grandsons, as was the deceased's wish,” concluded Mr. Douglas.
Following these words, Megan was frantically thinking. It must be one of them trying to kill me, now it all makes sense. If I'm gone, they are the lawful heirs. This means another attempt on my life is imminent. Oh, what a nightmare! What should I do? There's no point in offering the family to buy the estate now. Why would they spend the money if they can get it all for free?
After several seconds of complete silence, Alaric asked her a question, “Megan, how are you going to manage the distillery and the castle? Are you going to stay in Scotland, or would you like to manage things from London?”
“This is precisely why I came here – to see the distillery first-hand and get acquainted with its management specifics. Based on this, I will make my decision. Perhaps you have some thoughts on this matter?”
“We can offer our assistance if you find it challenging. I believe Warren wouldn't mind looking after the castle, and along with Gregor, managing the production. Duncan is involved with our other factory with its woolen products. Warren is more available time-wise. As for the terms of your cooperation, I believe you are capable of negotiating them if you're interested in such an arrangement.”
“Thank you, Alaric. I will certainly consider your offer,” trying to speak very calmly and without unnecessary emotions, Megan continued, “but… there’s something I’d like to discuss. Last night, near the castle, I was attacked by a man with a knife. He tried to kill me. I don't want to accuse anyone of what happened, but just in case, I'm informing you that due to the inheritance order that has been revealed to me, I will definitely, right after the meeting, call my lawyer in London and ask him to prepare a document. If something happens to me, a thorough investigation will be conducted based on the information about a possible direct interest in inheritance matters.”
The meeting room fell into complete silence, surprised looks turned into offended ones. Duncan was the first to recover and find a voice to speak.
“Megan, what are you saying! You just arrived here, you’re meeting us for the first time, you’ve got no idea what kind of people we are, and you start threatening us? I can’t speak for my grandfather and brother, but personally, I’m offended to the core,” his cheerfulness and friendliness were abruptly replaced by a kind of aggression. His cousin's statement seriously angered him.
“I had no intention of offending or insulting anyone here. But since an attempt was made on my life yesterday, I think it’s quite reasonable that I bring this up – since I obviously have good reason to fear.”
“I'm terribly sorry that this happened to you, but it's hard to imagine. Could it have been some drunkard attacking you with the intention of robbery? It might just be a coincidence,” said Alaric in bewilderment.
“This man was following me and attacked me with a knife, but…” Megan hesitated for a moment, reluctant to mention the raven, knowing it would sound ridiculous, “but I swiftly dodged him. He slipped on some rocks near the riverbank and fell. That saved me, and I managed to escape.”
Everyone in the assembly hall exchanged puzzled looks. Who could it be? Why and for what reason? No one had answers to these questions, and it seemed unlikely that the girl had made up this story.
The awkward silence was broken by Gregor, “Miss McKenzie, I’ve prepared all the accounting reports for you; they’re in this folder. You can review them whenever you deem necessary. I am ready to answer any questions you may have.”
“Thank you, Gregor. I’ll start on them today,” she replied.
“Since Megan does not yet have any ideas regarding the future of Castle Mal and the distillery, we should schedule another meeting in the near future. What do you say, Megan? How much time do you need? A week, two?” asked Alaric.
“I think we should discuss everything in about ten days. I need to study the documents carefully and make an informed decision,” she answered.
“Despite the unfortunate situation we find ourselves in today, on behalf of our family, I still invite you to join us for dinner this Friday at Castle Raven. I believe we all need to get to know each other better. We are still one family, after all. Maybe you will stop fearing and suspecting us,” said Alaric more warmly, but still a bit stiffly.
“We’ll be glad to have you as our guest,” added Duncan, now composed, with a restrained, polite smile.
“Thank you, I will come. Is it far from here?”
“A ten-minute walk up the hill behind Castle Mal. Glenn and I will escort you,” Warren replied.
“I would greatly appreciate that. Alaric, Duncan, it was nice meeting you. I'll go study the materials now,” saying this, the girl quickly left.
What a foolish situation. They offered help, seemed friendly, and here I am with accusations, threats… Such absurdity. But on the other hand, they could be pretending. It might be a cunningly planned game. Time will tell. I shouldn't torment myself with guilt over what I said there. At least, now everyone knows about the attempt on my life. She thought while walking through the castle's corridor.
Megan really wanted to visit the family crypt where her grandfather now rested. Before the meeting started, she had planned to ask her relatives to accompany her there since she was afraid to go alone. But given how things turned, she felt it was improper to ask any of them now. Before delving into the documents, she decided to take a short walk, familiarize herself with the surroundings, and organize her thoughts. The weather was splendid, with the temperature reaching twenty degrees Celsius, quite warm for the north of Scotland.
Walking toward the shore, she relished the warm summer sun caressing her face. Just to be safe, she looked around carefully to make sure no one was following her. There was nobody in sight. It took her about ten or fifteen minutes to reach the beach through the green-pink meadows.
Gazing at the horizon and admiring the sea, she didn't immediately understand what had startled her so abruptly. Megan looked around again – nobody was there. Then she realized it was a bird. A large black raven had flown over her head two or three times with a cry. She feared it was the same one from her nightmare, worried it might attack her face as it had done with the assailant. But the bird flew off towards a cliff. Perching on an outcrop, it continued to watch the girl unblinkingly. She too could not take her eyes off it for several minutes, then shifted her gaze back to the water. Megan didn't know how long she had spent walking along the beach in contemplation. An hour, two? The raven remained on the same spot, watching her intently. Soon, she stopped paying it any attention and headed back to the castle.
So much heather around, covering all the hills, fields, mountains, just as grandfather described. Now I understand those who say the most picturesque part of Scotland is the north. Could it be that my mother never wished to come back here again? To once more enjoy the beauty so generously bestowed upon this land by nature.
Megan's contemplations were abruptly interrupted by a voice, “In the North of Scotland, heather is considered a flower of happiness and good luck.”
Startled, the girl almost jumped on the spot, fearfully placing her hand over her mouth to suppress a slight scream. She had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed the old lady who had stopped beside her, holding a straw basket filled with heather. She held out one of the flowering sprigs to Megan.
“Oh God, you scared me,” said Megan.
The woman appeared to be about 85 years old. Short in stature, slightly stooped as if weighed down by the years she had lived, her snow-white hair was neatly tied back. Wrinkles furrowed her forehead, around her eyes, and lips, betraying her advanced age, while her bluish-grey eyes radiated wisdom and kindness.
“Take a flower, my dear; it brings luck. Who knows, maybe you will find the happiness left behind in the distant past…”
