"Welcome to Scotland, jackass," I say to myself, scanning the unfamiliar landscape.Rolling hills of green stretch out before me, dotted with ancient stone buildings that look like they've been plucked straight out of a fairytale.It's beautiful, sure, but it's also completely foreign.I feel exposed and almost...vulnerable.
Nah, that's bullshit.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I flinch, half-expecting another threatening message from Fulvio.Instead, it's a notification from a local news app I downloaded during the flight.My eyes widen as I read the headline.
Recent Excavations at Dùndubhan Castle Uncover a Treasure Trove of Priceless Artifacts.
As I climb into my rental car, visions of piles of money dance in my head.I hadn't planned on stealing anything here, but I can't resist the siren call of snatching some loot.Oh-ho, yeah.This country just might lead me to the score of a lifetime---and get Fulvio off my ass for good.
Chapter Two
Rachel
I stand atop the battlements of Dùndubhan Castle, my hair whipping about my face as I gaze out at the vast expanse of wilderness that surrounds the fortress.The wind carries the crisp scent of heather and pine, a familiar fragrance that usually soothes my restless spirit.But today, it only fuels my longing for something more than the cloistered life I've always lived.I might as well have grown up in a nunnery.
Adventure?Excitement?Romance?Nay, I have no such opportunities.I have only my parents and my great-aunts to converse with, and they are all considerably older than I am.No one has come here for such a long time that I feel certain I will never again see another stranger or even a long-lost friend.Well, my grandparents visit us occasionally, though they prefer to remain in the village of Loch Fairbairn.I am not permitted to go there.
Why?Because my family believes I must be cloistered for my own protection.
Not that any miscreants have ever attempted to harm me.My mother and father are overly protective.
My gaze travels toward the waters of Loch Fairbairn in the distance as I imagine what lies beyond the forest---and the hills I can see in the distance.Nothing of much interest lies o'er the mountains far yonder.But I do know what awaits in another time, another millennium that I cannot reach.My mother was born there.Her world bustles with cities filled with towering buildings that scrape the sky.That's why they call them skyscrapers.Those busy streets are filled with people from all corners of the world and adventures waiting to unfold.
Ne're shall I see that strange other world.
I sigh, resting my arms on the stone parapet.As I gaze at the horizon, I speak to myself."Oh, to spread my wings and fly far from this gilded cage."
I wince at my ungrateful thought.My mother and father have encouraged me to spread my wings however I choose---as long as I don't visit the village of Loch Fairbairn.I understand why they fetter me so.It's because they love me.And I am grateful for this life I share with my family.Though I lament my lack of excitement, I must admit that I have enjoyed second-hand adventures.Guarin Abadie has come to our home twice in my life, and the Frenchman told wonderful stories about faraway places like France and England and even the Far East.
Och, how I wish I could see the world.
The Highlands are beautiful, wild, and magical---and the only home I've ever known.But lately, the hills of Scotland feel confining, as if I wear a corset that's pulled too tight.I yearn to break free, to experience life beyond these ancient walls and mist-shrouded lochs.
"Careful, sweetie," a familiar voice warns."Lean over any more, and your wish to fly away might become a reality."
At the sound of my mother's voice, I spin round in surprise, feeling my cheeks grow warm, as if she's caught me doing something wicked.She strides toward me, wearing a motherly smile as her beautiful auburn hair glistens in the afternoon light.
"Màthair!I didn't even hear you approach."I struggle to hide my embarrassment with a forced laugh.
She joins me at the wall, bumping my shoulder affectionately."Lost in those daydreams again, huh?I swear, sometimes I think your head's so full of dreams in the clouds that there's barely room for your brain."
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling."Says thebeanwho frequently regales us with tales of skyscrapers and subways.Beanmeans woman, in case you've forgotten."
"Nope, I haven't forgotten," my mother concedes with a wink."Speaking of which, want to hear about another adventure in the concrete jungle?"
My heart leaps at the prospect of another story from the modern world."Always.You know I adore every tale you share with me."
"You're my best audience."She winks, then launches into her story."Picture this: I'm visiting New York on business and decide to power walk down Fifth Avenue.I've got my laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a venti latte in hand---because in New York, caffeine is essentially a food group..."
I listen, enthralled, as my mother weaves her tale.The way she describes the towering buildings, the constant hum of activity, the sheer energy of the city...it's intoxicating.I can almost smell the street vendor's pretzels and hear the cacophony of honking taxis.
"...and then this guy in a hot dog costume---don't ask, it's a long story---comes barreling around the corner.Next thing I know, I'm wearing my venti latte and doing an impromptu tango with Mr.Wiener!"
I burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the stone walls."Och,Màthair!Only you could turn a simple coffee run into such chaos."
"Sweetie, I love it when you call me Mother in Gaelic."
"After so many years in Scotland, ye still haven't learned the entire Gaelic language.But I wouldnae wish to change you.Now, please, please tell me the rest of your New York tale."
