Page 37 of The Tartan Thesis

“So much,” Maeve says, her eyes flashing with mischief.

“Speaking of learning,” Torin says, steering our tour back on track. He points down one of the narrow closes branching off the Mile. “That’s Mary’s King Close, where you can still see medieval roads underneath the modern city.”

“It’s rumored to be haunted,” Isla says.

“Don’t worry,” Maeve says. “Beau will protect us.”

“I ain’t afraid of no ghost,” I tell her with a wink. They all groan.

We stop at the Heart of Midlothian Mosaic, a granite memorial set into the pavement, which Torin tells us marks the entrance to Old Tolbooth, the city’s former prison and site of public executions until it was demolished. Based on the gruesome history he provides, this seems much more likely to be haunted than an old alleyway. Apparently, some people spit on it for luck, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Ghostbuster or not, I’m not taking the chance of a vengeful spirit being offended by my saliva.

We look up to see the crowned steeple of St. Giles’ Cathedral towering above us. Its architecture is magnificent despite a certain jumble sale quality that comes from centuries of restorations, repairs, and new additions. We take a peek inside the nave so we can lay eyes on fourteenth-century masonry, sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows, scattering color across the stone floor.

We don’t linger. Between lectures and reading for our ongoing Scottish Reformation class, this church has been well-covered in our coursework.

A few minutes later we’re climbing the final stretch of the Mile. Up the slope and through the portcullis, we find ourselves looking up at the imposing fortress of Edinburgh Castle. It can be seen from all over the city, perched high upon an outcropping of ancient volcanic rock, but no view from afar could have prepared me for the sheer size of the structure.

I pull myself out of my reverie and look over to see Torin watching me. “What?” I ask.

“Nothing,” he says with a small smile. “I just like how excited you get about experiencing new things. It’s cute.”

My heart thumps a little faster. I know he didn’t call me cute, but he wasn’t being facetious either, which feels like a leap from where we were just over a week ago.

Behind us, Isla and Maeve immediately demand a photo shoot in front of the castle gates. Torin obliges, stepping back to frame the shot while they pose dramatically in the shadow of the looming fortress.

While he’s busy playing photographer, I step to the side and purchase our passes on my phone. They’re not expensive, but I want to skip the inevitable argument over letting me buy again. I save the tickets to my home screen right before Maeve waves me over.

“Group selfie!” she calls. A moment later we’re all squeezed together for the photo.

We head into the castle, and Maeve pokes me in the ribs for paying the entry fee.

“Gah,” I yelp. “So much poking.”

“I honestly don’t know why I keep doing it,” she says with a shrug. “It probably hurts my finger more than it hurts you. I swear you’re made of steel.”

We’ve been on our feet for hours, so we make short work of the place, generally skipping the grand rooms and architectural bits, stopping only for high-brow historical discussions.

Everyone agrees that Isla would look the best in the royal jewels, with Torin being a close second. Maeve makes a bawdy joke about James II’s impressive girth when we stop to see Mons Meg, one of the largest cannons by caliber in the world. It’s especially impressive considering it was built in 1449. Torin even sets aside his lecture about the King of Scots’ artillery to point out the impressive size of its (cannon) balls.

We set the genital jokes aside when we visit St. Margaret’s Chapel, the oldest surviving building in Edinburgh. The tiny stone structure is quiet and dim inside, and we fall into a reverent silence for a moment, imagining all the history it’s witnessed.

I love spending time with other historians, people who understand the thrill of standing somewhere immemorial so we can bask in the past and fear no judgment. Just four nerds enjoying what we do.

The sun is almost to the horizon, bathing the city in golden light, when we make our way out of the castle grounds.

“Anybody up to grab dinner?” I ask, not ready for the day to end. “I’m starving.”

“Aye, I’m feeling peckish,” Torin says, and my heart stutters at the chance of more time with him. “My sister mentioned a great place I’ve been meaning to try. Plenty of high-end pub fare and one of the largest selections of whisky in Edinburgh.”

“Sounds good to me,” I say. “I still haven’t tried haggis.” I look to Isla and Maeve. “You two in?”

“We’re out,” Maeve says immediately. “As much fun as it would be to see you eat lamb guts for the first time, we have a book club to get to.”

It takes a beat for Isla to chime in. “Aye, lots to discuss about the book we read. It was a good one, wouldn’t you say, Maeve?”

“Yes, great book,” she says. “Excellent book.”

I’m about to ask what book they’re discussing when Maeve puts her arm through Isla’s and says, “You lads have fun,” before hauling her away.