LITMIR.BIZ

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      June of 2016 proved to be unusually cold in Great Britain. The last suitcase was packed, and the path to Scotland lay ahead – Megan's ancestral home, yet a place she has never known. With a sense of longing, she looked out the window, where the rain had been falling incessantly for days on end. Her gaze then swept over her favorite room in the cozy Chelsea apartment, where she had spent most of her life with her mother, until she got married and moved to America, leaving her daughter behind. Megan was just nineteen when she found herself completely alone in London – a young woman in the heart of a vast metropolis. By the age of twenty-five, she had learned to live independently and handle all the challenges that life presented.

      The day before, she received a call from Thurso, a town at the northernmost tip of Scotland, informing her that her grandfather, Malcolm, the patriarch of the McKenzie clan, had passed away. This clan had been deeply respected in the north since the medieval era.

      Twenty – five years prior, following a bitter dispute with her father, Megan's pregnant mother, Arline, left her family home for good, moving to London and severing all ties with Malcolm. Over the years, reconciliation remained elusive. Even on his deathbed, the elder McKenzie could not forgive his daughter, leaving Arline with nothing in his will but regrets over the family discord. However, he harbored a deep affection for his granddaughter Megan, with whom he kept regular contact, and to whom he bequeathed his entire fortune, including an ancient castle and a thriving whiskey distillery.

      Megan was unaware of both the ancestral home and the distillery that had now come into her possession. She only knew that her grandfather's passing marked a profound loss for her. The next step was to venture to Thurso and decide what to do with the inheritance.

      1. The Arrival

      The trip proved to be quite challenging. After flying to Inverness, Megan boarded a train for an additional four-hour journey. She was pleasantly surprised by the stunning landscapes for which Scotland is renowned. The view from the window showcased mountains, crystal-clear lakes, scenic beaches, and ancient castles, each with its own secrets. Admiring the scenery, she became lost in thoughts about the future and didn't notice how quickly time flew by. There were very few people at the small station, but Megan immediately noticed a man in his sixties rushing to meet her – a silver-haired gentleman with a kind expression.

      “Miss McKenzie?” he inquired.

      “Mr. Douglas?” Megan responded.

      “Welcome to Scotland! I hope your journey wasn't too exhausting, despite the distance?”

      He greeted her with a warm, paternal smile and shook Megan's hand. She appeared quite youthful to him. The girl was of modest height, with a slender waist and lean legs. Her large, expressive brown eyes and thick chestnut locks of hair, both typical traits of the McKenzie clan, were certainly distinguishing. Her delicate build and facial features gave Megan a porcelain, doll-like appearance. She was dressed in a formal dark pantsuit that elegantly complemented her slim figure. Simple shoes with modest heels completed the young woman's business-like, sophisticated look – just as Malcolm had described his granddaughter.

      “All is well, thank you,” she took in the small railway station with a quick glance. Judging her surroundings, Megan quickly surmised that this was not a town but a village.

      “I'm delighted by your arrival and our acquaintance. I've heard much about you from your grandfather,” the silver-haired man said as he carefully placed Megan's suitcases in the trunk of the car. “He was very proud of you. I've spent a large part of my life by his side, always as his loyal friend and the family's solicitor.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Douglas. I’m glad to meet you too,” she said politely.

      “Allow me to escort you to the castle, Miss McKenzie.”

      “Please, just call me Megan.”

      “As you wish, Megan.”

      “Have we far to go?”

      “About thirty minutes. Your home is near Melvich Bay, roughly 15 miles from Thurso. Tomorrow morning at 10, your relatives will be waiting for you in the meeting hall.”

      “Is anyone currently living in my grandfather's house?”

      “Yes, your cousin Warren and his wife are there, along with the estate manager. The couple had to leave for urgent matters right after the funeral, so they'll be returning late. It's unlikely you'll meet them today, but there should be an opportunity tomorrow morning.”

      “I see. Thank you.”

      “My goodness! It’s gorgeous! I could never have imagined seeing such a delightful place,” Megan exclaimed in awe as she stepped out of Mr. Douglas's car.

      Before her, stood an extraordinarily beautiful castle. Its last renovation was completed in 1768. Over the centuries, the interior decor changed and improved with the latest technologies, while the exterior maintained its historical appearance, as depicted in pictures and postcards dedicated to medieval Scotland.

      The castle was perched on a hill, offering breathtaking views of cliffs and mountains stretching into the North Sea. The magnificent green landscape extended for miles around. The estate was meticulously maintained, Megan noted immediately. Near the massive entrance door stood the manager, observing Megan intently.

      “Good evening, Gregor!” she greeted, eyeing the tall, lean middle-aged man in a formal grey suit. He was exactly as her grandfather had described in his stories. Gregor's face seemed impassive and even stern, perhaps due to his thinness and lack of smile.

      “Good evening, Miss. Welcome.”

      Malcolm had greatly valued the estate manager for his impeccable manners, respectfulness, discretion, and cool, calculated intellect. He was one of those individuals who spoke little but listened much. When the distillery faced a downturn, it was Gregor who secured lucrative contracts with partners. Now, he was in charge of communication with the main whiskey buyers, working in tandem with Megan's cousin Warren, whom Malcolm had recently involved in the business affairs.

      Gregor took two suitcases from Mr. Douglas and led the way inside.

      As Megan entered the mansion through the grand doors, she paused, taking in the interior with interest, which blended modernity with history. The original stone walls were adorned with numerous hunting trophies.

      “Deer hunting has long been considered a noble pursuit for true gentlemen, such as your grandfather,” Mr. Douglas explained, noticing Megan's surprised examination of the hall's unique decor.

      “Are there bears around here?” Megan inquired warily, noticing a bear skin by the fireplace.

      The manager smiled at her question, “No, that skin was a gift to your grandfather from an American hunter, an old friend of his.”

      “That’s good…” replied Megan thoughtfully. She had always been afraid of wild animals.

      “One need not fear the beasts,” Gregor unexpectedly interjected, his gaze inscrutable as he looked at her. “Often, it is people who pose the greater threat…”

      Megan scrutinized his face with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. His last remark seemed odd, even menacing. Deciding she might be reading too much into his words, she chose to remain silent and turned her attention back to the hall's interior.

      The chairs and sofa were upholstered in wool fabric made at the McKenzie mill, featuring the family's traditional blue-green tartan. Legend has it that this pattern and color scheme were adopted by the clan chief and his kin in the 13th century. Consequently, it had become a tradition for all family members to own several items in the blue-green tartan, for holidays, significant events, and everyday wear, suitable for any weather.

      Megan's initial impressions of her ancestral castle were undeniably profound. A bittersweet melancholy washed over her as she realized that, despite the years which have passed by, she had never once made the effort to visit and see everything with her own eyes, to feel the deep connection to her lineage.

      All these years, Arline had painted these places as a godforsaken backwater, untouched by civilization. Megan had imagined nothing more than crumbling walls of an ancient castle, frozen ruins on the verge of turning to dust,

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