Inverlochy Castle, Scotland, November 2020
Amy MacDougall leaned back against the castle wall and let her eyelids slide down. The November sun warmed her, a relief after three days of freezing rain.
Amy’s sister Jenny came and sat on the boulder by her side.
“Everything okay with the rebels?” Amy asked.
“We’ll see.” Jenny threw a dubious glance around the grass-covered courtyard where a dozen teenagers walked, laughed, ran around, and took selfies. “Zach threatened to climb that tower and sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’” She nodded at the crumbled stump of a tower across the courtyard. “Of course, he’s showing off for Deanna. Here, you’re in a strategic position to catch Gigi if she does decide to go and see if there are any skeletons in the dungeons in the eastern tower.”
She nodded to their left and Amy frowned at the black, gaping entrance into the tower. A tiny chill ran down her spine as she imagined the confinement of the seven-foot-thick walls and the ancient ceiling that might collapse at any moment.
Jenny’s smile fell.
“I was just kidding, hon,” Jenny said, “no dungeons for you.”
Amy shook her head and forced a smile. “It’s fine, come on. I’m fine. I can go in a dungeon. It’s my job to go to dangerous places. Isn’t that why you asked me to come?”
“Well, hopefully, nothing will happen. It’s good to have a search and rescue officer as a backup on a school trip, but that’s not why I invited you to replace Brenda. I want to spend time with my sister, of course.”
Amy leaned her head against the wall. “Yeah, when does that part of the program begin? I thought there would be more whiskey, more hot Highlanders, and less teenage drama.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I thought so, too. Brenda has much more authority over them—she’d rule them with an iron fist. They think I’m a softy. Oh God, do you think they smell my fear like dogs?”
Amy chuckled. “Yeah, even I can smell your fear.”
They both giggled, and Amy rested her head against her sister’s shoulder. When was the last time they had laughed so wholeheartedly together? Both North Carolina and Vermont were full of memories, saturated with the sickening aftertaste of fear and rejection.
But here there was none of that. Here there was fresh, cold air and thick, ancient walls, and the breathtaking, raw beauty of the Highlands. The colors of fall reigned here, as though the very rocks had rusted, moss grew everywhere, and leaves were always aged. There was so much history—hundreds and thousands of years—and a part of her belonged here, too.
“Do you think any of our ancestors lived here?” Amy asked.
Jenny shrugged. “Maybe. Grandpa would have known.”
“Yeah, he would have.”
“Even Dad would probably—” Jenny suddenly stiffened, her mouth still open.
“It’s okay,” Amy said. “You can mention Dad. How is he?”
Jenny swallowed and looked at her hands. “Fine. Asking about you.”
Amy pursed her lips, her throat clenching. “Well, I’m asking about him, too, see? Is he still sober?”
“Yeah. Holding up.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“Yeah. Thank you for the money, by the way. Again.”
“Of course. You can’t support him alone on a teacher’s salary.”
It was hard to talk about Dad. To distract herself from the scratching in her throat, and to avoid Jenny’s grateful expression, Amy studied a bare bush growing by the wall to her right.
“I’m not alone. I have Dave—” Jenny’s eyes widened as she looked across the courtyard. “Hey! Zach! Stop it, get back down this minute!”
But Zach was already halfway up the pile of crumbled rocks, heading to the top of the tower, and not slowing down. Jenny jumped up and raced towards him, waving her arms and yelling for him to stop. Amy sat up straight, alert, just in case. Her hand brushed over the backpack, feeling the familiar shape of the first aid kit inside.
“What a bonnie wee crowd of children,” said a lilting female voice.
Amy glanced up, to her right. A young woman stood by the bare bush Amy had studied a moment ago. The air filled with the scent of lavender and freshly cut grass. How strange. Goose bumps covered her skin. She remembered having a similar feeling whenever she and Jenny had told each other ghost stories—suddenly the shadows had grown darker in the corners of the room, and she could almost see shapes she hadn’t noticed before.
The woman was pretty, her features delicate, her skin translucent, with tiny freckles like a sprinkling of ground cinnamon on her nose and cheeks. A dark-green woolen cloak hung from her shoulders, and the hood of a cape covered her bright-copper hair.
“Yeah,” Amy said. Her jaw must have lost the ability to close.
She studied the northern entrance which was ten feet or so away. Was that how the woman had slipped in unnoticed?
“They are a bonnie…crowd,” Amy said.
Zach was already on top and began singing, “‘Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light…’”
“What is he singing?” the woman said. “I like that song…”
She swayed her head a little from side to side with the broken rhythm of Zach’s bellowing.
“Erm… It’s the American anthem…” Amy said.
“Oh. The American anthem. I shall remember that song.”
Amy smiled politely. Who was the woman? She seemed to be dressed in a historical costume underneath the cloak, a long green woolen skirt and a white shift that showed just a little from beneath the hem.
“I like your costume,” Amy said. “Are you a tour guide?”
“A tour guide?” The woman laughed. “I suppose ye might say so. My name is Sìneag. What about ye?”
“Amy.”
Zach continued yelling, “‘And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air…’”
He stepped back and lost his balance a little, and the small crowd of his schoolmates, led by Jenny, yelped.
“Come down, Zach! Right now!” Jenny cried. “Or no phone till the end of the trip.”
But Zach’s eyes were only on Deanna, who sang with him.
“Aw, looks like he is in love,” Sìneag said.
Amy chuckled. “I doubt it’s love. He craves attention, like all boys his age, that’s all.”
“Oh, aye? Do ye ken love?”
Amy crossed her arms over her chest. Sìneag was local, no doubt, so maybe it was normal here to skip the small talk and get straight to the deep stuff.
“Do I know love? I was in love. Who wasn’t?”
“But ye havna met yer man yet…” Sìneag said slowly and rubbed her chin.
“My man?” Amy laughed.
“Aye, the one man that ye truly love. The one ye change for. The one that ye want to die on the same day with. The one ye are ready to cross countries, oceans, mountains…and even the river of time for.”
Amy sighed with a smile. “I’ll never have a man like that. The relationship you describe doesn’t exist.”
Sìneag cocked her head. “Why so sure, Amy?”
“Because I was already married. I had thought he was my soul mate, but now I’m divorced.”
Sìneag studied Amy thoughtfully. “Do ye ken how this castle was built?”
“I read on the information board—built by the powerful Comyn clan in the thirteenth century—”
“Aye, but do ye ken it was built upon a stronghold of the Picts?”
Amy raised her eyebrows. “I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, aye. And those Picts, they kent powerful magic. They could open the river of time and build a secret tunnel under it to help people pass through.”
Amy smiled. Adorable. She enjoyed fairy tales.
“Do you mean like time travel?”
“Aye.”
“I’ve never heard fairy tales about time travel. How does this one go?”
“Well, the castle was built upon a rock that can open such a tunnel. It takes a person with a purpose to reopen it and take the journey.”
Sìneag’s smile grew a little mischievous, and Amy raised her eyebrows.
“There was once a Highlander here,” Sìneag said, “a Craig Cambel. A mighty warrior, and an honorable man. Do ye ken of King Robert the Bruce?”
Amy wondered why Sìneag didn’t answer her question directly, but maybe she was leading into the story of time travel.
“The Wars of Scottish Independence, right?” Amy said. “It said on the information board, he took Inverlochy Castle from the Comyns.”
“Aye. Cambels—they’re called Campbells these days—were his allies. King Robert asked Craig to guard the castle for him against his enemies.”
Amy chuckled. “Must be an important man, that Craig.”
“Aye, he was a man of high achievements, but with a deep sorrow in his heart. Clan MacDougall betrayed him and his family, and it scarred him for life. He swore never to trust so easily again.”
“Thank God he’ll never meet me—I’m a MacDougall.”
Sìneag’s eyes sparkled. “Are ye really?”
“Well, yeah. My grandparents immigrated from Scotland to the States, so I’m American. But my last name is MacDougall.”
“Aye! Aye! Good.” Sìneag’s voice shook from excitement...
