Her Scottish Keep

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Before the wedding, as maid of honor, Tawnyetta had been sucked into all of the over the top romantic nonsense that precedes every wedding. After the glorious event collapsed into sheer chaos, she and the bridesmaids had rushed a screaming, bereft Bridget out of the church and into the tree house. Almost one full day later Tawnyetta had expected to be facing a few days off work. Nothing but free time stretching out in front of her. No particular plans. Maybe she would clean out her closets or go to a matinee movie or do some hiking in the foothills. She had expected to be bored. Instead, she found herself on an international flight heading to London with Bridget snoring quietly in the seat next to her.

The logistics had been relatively easy. Her passport was already in place. She'd gotten it about four years ago when she thought she and her then boyfriend were going to take a romantic trip to South America. That never happened.

Changing her name with Christopher's on the plane ticket wasn't too difficult, it just demanded a hefty fee, which Bridget happily paid. The rushed visa was the most challenging aspect of the whole thing. Other than that the entire trip was already planned and paid for, which seemed to give Bridget an extra vindictive thrill.

"Is Christopher going to throw a fit when he finds out I took his place?" Tawnyetta asked as she grabbed random pieces of clothing out of her dresser and tossed them on her bed.

Bridget's pouty lips tightened into a scowl as she folded the clothes neatly and packed them into Tawnyetta's banged up old suitcase.

"He can complain all he wants to his hygienist," Bridget said with disgust. That's who Christopher had slept with, his dental hygienist. "Besides," she continued, "he's probably still sleeping off whatever bender he went on last night. By the time he figures out what's going on we will be in the air." She wiggled her eyebrows at Tawnyetta conspiratorially.

"Remind me never to cross you," Tawnyetta said with a chuckle.

Thomas and the girls dropped by to check on the progress of Tawnyetta's honeymoon h****k, as Thomas called it.

"It's not a hijacking," she corrected him. "It's a Not a Honeymoon."

"It's an adventure!" Angie said with a gasp. She plopped down on the bed next to the half packed suitcase.

Luna's eyes got wide. "Just like your wish!"

"Naw," Tawnyetta scoffed at the idea. "This is hardly me running off to fight dragons."

"Well, technically you are crossing an ocean," Sofia added, arching one eyebrow at Tawnyetta teasingly.

"And the Scottish Highlands are mountains...aren't they?" Angie asked.

"I guess, but they don't have dragons," Tawnyetta said.

"How do you know? You've never been there," Angie retorted.

Tawnyetta rolled her eyes. "It's not really the kind of adventure I was talking about."

"We will be staying in a castle, so that's something," Bridget added.

"True," Tawnyetta stopped packing toiletries into her suitcase, interrupted by a twinge of guilt. "Are you sure this isn't a really rude thing to do to Christopher?"

They all reassured her that it was not. Especially Bridget.

"Serves the guy right anyway," Thomas said. "Anyone that would do that to Bridget is a complete waste of space."

Bridget smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Mister."

With the whirlwind of getting ready, Tawnyetta had little time to think too much more about what she was doing. Once they were through security and waiting at the gate to board, she let her mind wander and couldn't help but wonder what she may have gotten herself into.

Knowing Bridget, the Scottish castle she had booked for her honeymoon was all about romance. What if it was dripping with touristy clichés of the Highlands, or staged, corny honeymoon moments? Or both? Tawnyetta could only hope that there was something other than swooning romantic fair to partake of once they got there. But she had already agreed to go, and it did seem like the best thing to do for Bridget. She couldn't let her best friend go on her honeymoon alone.

Other than a few trips to Mexico and once to Canada, Tawnyetta had never left the United States. She had never flown over an ocean or set foot in Europe.

"Refreshment, Madame?" A stunning blonde stewardess smiled at her. She spoke in a hushed tone with a thick accent that sounded Swedish, although Tawnyetta couldn't be sure.

Tawnyetta glanced at her friend who was still sleeping soundly in the aisle seat. She looked back at the stewardess. "Yes, thank you."

The white noise in the large aircraft had put Bridget into a kind of emotional coma. The flight to London was long, very long. They wouldn't touch down at Gatwick airport until tomorrow early afternoon sometime. Then they would have to take off again and fly to Inverness. She may as well get comfortable.

The stewardess waited patiently for her order.

"Um...wine?" Tawnyetta thought wine sounded sophisticated enough for the circumstances.

"Red or white?"

What would a well traveled American drink? Tawnyetta had no idea. She took a 50/50 shot at it and ordered white.

The wine was cold, bitter against her tongue, but it was good. She sipped out of her plastic cup and looked outside, watching the sky turn a gorgeous violet with tangerine clouds.

The seat in front of her wiggled and jerked, bumping back towards her and causing her lowered tray to shimmy. White wine splashed over the edge of her small cup. A few moments later the round head of a middle-aged, bespectacled man popped up on the other side of the seat in front of her. Instead of facing forward, however, he faced backward, looking straight at Tawnyetta. The funny little man peered down at her and sniffed like a cartoon mouse that smelled cheese.

"My apologies," the man said in a British accent. "I believe my seat is malfunctioning."

"That's okay," Tawnyetta said.

"Oh dear." The man glanced down as she wiped the spilled wine up with her tiny airplane sized cocktail napkin. "Let me buy you another."

"Oh, it's not a problem. Don't worry about it."

"I insist," he said. He twitched his hand into the air, waving down the stewardess. In so doing his seat jiggled even more and Tawnyetta had to lift her cup and hold it mid-air to keep it from spilling everywhere.

The British man's name was Clark. After their initial clumsy introduction they fell into an easy chat. His seatmate was sleeping just as hard as Bridget so they ended up in a lengthy conversation with Clark leaning part way over the back of his chair nursing a scotch.

Clark was a travel writer for a small British magazine on his way back from Denver. When Tawnyetta told him where she and Bridget were going, and how they had come to be going there together, his eyebrows lifted high above the edge of his wire frame glasses.

"That's quite the adventure, isn't it?" he asked.

Tawnyetta smiled at his choice of words and nodded. "I suppose it is."

"Have you been to the Highlands before?"

"Scotland? No. No, I haven't."

Clark gave her a jerky nod and took a sip of his scotch. Then he tipped his glass, pointing at her as if she was very brave indeed. He swallowed and said, "You're in for quite a treat, you are."

Tawnyetta couldn't tell if he was being serious or sarcastic, but soon he was entertaining her with stories of his experiences in the Highlands. She didn't know if she felt better or worse after hearing them, but she certainly found him amusing.

The sky darkened to black outside their small oval windows. Clark fumbled in his shirt pocket and gave her his business card before bidding her good night and turning around to settle into his own seat. Tawnyetta was alone with her thoughts.

Bridget remained sleeping like a rock. She'd slept through dinner, several pilot announcements, and Clark's anecdotes of Scotland. Tawnyetta leaned over closer to her friend's mouth just to make sure she was still breathing. She was. She must have been completely worn out.

Tawnyetta pulled the in-flight magazine from the pocket in front of her, the one on the back of Clark's seat. She flipped through it and came across an article on an arts festival in Edinburgh. Apparently this was an annual festival held in the Scottish city that pulled in people from around the world. Hungry for more information on Scotland she read the whole thing twice over. She had a sudden sense of urgency to learn as much about the culture and the people of her destination as she could. When she was finished with that article she continued to a piece on French wineries until her eyes drooped. She pushed the button to turn off the light above her, put the in-flight magazine back in its pocket, and stared out the window until she fell into a fitful sleep.

In her dream she was visited by mice wearing spectacles and kilts. They ran up and down the aisle of an ancient stone church while she tried to catch them in her empty plastic wine cup. All of the sudden the mice scattered under the pews, hiding in terror. Tawnyetta turned slowly toward the altar that stood at the front of the church and gasped in surprise. Standing at the altar was a huge, green dragon. Its chest heaved up and down, pulsing spurts of flame and smoke out of its nostrils. The dragon's golden eyes watched her carefully and she dared not move. She could hear the tittering of the mice from underneath the pews. They were talking in British accents telling her that she was going to have an adventure, but not to move or her adventure might eat her for lunch.