AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"Yes, Mr. Bossy."
We climb out of the car and switch sides. Emery needs to move the seat forward, since her body is shorter than mine. After a brief instructional session that involves me behaving like a ruddy eejit, telling her which pedal is the accelerator and that she should avoid running into trees or lochs, I relinquish control.
Emery pulls out onto the road, on the left side.
So far so good.
Though I don't expect to fall asleep, I do.
Emery wakes me precisely twenty minutes later.
We're parked along the edge of the road, on the left side. We switch places and resume our journey while Emery peers out at the view without speaking. Should I report this miracle to the nearest priest? Maybe I don't dislike her frequent need to chat to me as much as I'd let her believe. I might sort of…miss hearing her voice. That's ridiculous, though. She's sitting right next to me, so I can't miss anything about her. Still, I develop a strange need to fill the silence by announcing landmarks and towns along our route, sometimes offering bits of information, but sometimes just reciting the names.
I am not a tour guide, after all. Havering is not in my nature.
The further we travel, the more we retreat into the countryside, which must seem to Emery like the back of beyond. She lived in the city of Colorado Springs, not in a remote home in the Scottish Highlands. We pass a house now and then, but there are no more villages to delight her. Everything delights her, though. Even the trees make her smile.
As I execute our last turn, onto a narrow dirt track, I announce, "Almost there."
"Where?" She bends forward, squinting out the windscreen.
"Home. This is the drive."
"You're saying this is your driveway, and we're almost to your house."
"If you insist on repeating everything I say, yes."
She leans forward more to stare up at the treetops. "I'm excited."
"We'll be there shortly."
Emery swerves her head left and right, up and down, craning her neck to take in the surroundings while a sweetly excited expression lights up her face. "You said there was a village, Loch Fairbairn."
"Can't see it from here. The village is past the mountain, Beann Dealgach, behind my home. Our home."
"Beann Dealgach?" She struggles to pronounce the name. "Is that Gaelic? I can't keep up."
I settle a hand on her thigh. "Easy, lass, we'll be there soon. And yes, many of the names in the Highlands are Scots Gaelic or Anglicized versions of the Gaelic."
She taps her foot on the floorboard, hands pressed to her thighs, her gaze riveted to the driveway ahead of us. I maneuver the Mercedes around potholes for a few minutes longer while my wife gnaws on the inside of her lower lip. Cannae believe how excited she is to see my home. I hope she won't be disappointed.
The dirt drive transitions into gravel that ticks on the undercarriage. Then we break out of the trees, and the house comes into view.
My wife gapes at the building.
Aye, it's a ruddy castle. So what? This is my home, not a museum. It has all the typical features of a medieval fortress, from its boxy contours to the wall that surrounds it and the large wooden gates that offer entry. The four-story structure, built from grey stones, features twin turrets. A flag flies above the highest turret, waving in the breeze.
Emery's attention is riveted to the blue flag emblazoned with a white X. "Is that the flag of Scotland?"
"Yes."
"How much land do you have?"
"One hundred acres."
She moves her head this way and that, almost like a bird, as she takes in more of the compound. A covered walkway joins the tower to the shorter structure behind and to the side of it. An old wooden fence extends from the covered walkway, past the smaller building, and around the backside of the compound. That's where we're going. The gates stand open, waiting for our arrival.
Honestly, I never close the gates. I'm not a medieval warlord.
