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We stop at a pizzeria in Fort William for lunch, one that Errol claims has the best pizza in the world "despite what those Italians think" because "Scots do everything better, including pizza." I don't bother arguing with him. That would take time, and I need to get to Dùndubhan soon, before my brain explodes from the pressure of thinking about what I might find when I view a topographic map of the Grand Canyon. I feel like we're so close, right on the edge of a major breakthrough, and I can't stand waiting to find out if I'm right. For so long, I've worked myself to exhaustion trying to find a clue, any clue, that might point me in the right direction.
After a few days with Errol, I've got more than a clue. I have a map, a legend, and a brilliant Scot to guide me.
The fact that Errol is the hottest man alive… Well, that's a bonus.
He was right about the restaurant. It does have the best pizza I've ever tasted, and I wind up eating four big slices. A girl needs nourishment before she can solve a mystery that has confounded people for more than a hundred years. Errol insists on ordering dessert too—New York cheesecake. I can't resist making a sarcastic comment about a Scottish pizzeria serving New York style cheesecake. Errol doesn't mind. He calls me a "cheeky lass" and proclaims that I could beat his cousin Callum in a pizza-eating contest.
The more time I spend with Errol, the more I like him. He makes me feel so good. And he believes in me like no one else ever has, except for my dad. But my father lost his faith in everything after his colleagues humiliated him. I feel like I'm so close to vindicating him that I could almost touch the proof. With Errol's help, I know I can succeed.
Wewill succeed.
Now that I'm stuffed, and Errol must be too, we climb into the car again and head for the castle. I don't even try to talk Errol out of taking the wheel. His gonzo manner of driving upset me during our first trip together, but I must've gotten used to it by now because I no longer need to take motion sickness pills while in the car with him. Since I needed that this morning, maybe my lack of nausea has nothing to do with his driving skills. Maybe I just feel safe with Errol now, and I trust him not to kill me by crashing his car or his plane.
This time, he turns on the radio so we can listen to music. Whatever this station is, it plays what sounds like a cross between sea shanties and bagpipe music with a dash of modern pop thrown in there too. I actually kind of like the music. When Errol starts singing along, I can't help laughing and clapping to the rhythm of the songs. He has a surprisingly good singing voice. By the time we reach Dùndubhan, a name I still have trouble pronouncing, I feel like I'm floating on a cloud with the sun beaming down on me.
Errol parks in the courtyard, near the main door of the castle. He orders me not to move a muscle, then hurries over to my side to open my door for me. He holds out his hand too. I lay my palm in his and let the Scot help me out of the car, though I don't really need the assistance. He seems to like taking care of me, and his chivalry makes me feel even warmer and floatier, like I'm still sunbathing on that imaginary cloud.
He holds my hand while we enter the castle, and we make our way to the first floor, which is not the ground floor. His cousin Rory's office, aka the former library, lies at the far end of the great hall. I had never set foot inside a building like this in my entire life until the day I cornered him in the long gallery a few days ago. I knew castles existed, obviously, but I hadn't visited one, not even as a landmark for tourists only. But Dùndubhan is a living castle, populated by a bevy of MacTaggarts and their friends who take turns hosting events here, maintaining a museum, and I'm sure even more things that no one has mentioned to me yet.
These people are unbelievably industrious.
We walk into the office, bypassing a large wooden desk, and approach the far corner to the left of the large windows and the bench beneath them. The object we're seeking hangs on the wall, in a niche between the windows and the corner beside them, and a wooden frame and a pane of glass protect it.
"Is this an antique map?" I ask. "Doesn't look old, but it's very well protected."
"You're right. It's not old, but Rory wanted to display it in a professional way. That's just the way he is."
"Well, the map does look amazing inside that case. But why does a Scotsman have a huge map of the Grand Canyon?"
"Weren't you listening?" Errol feigns disappointment. "No, ye weren't. Aye? Well, I already explained that my cousin Munro used to be a river guide in the canyon. He gave Rory this map as a birthday present last year."
"Oh, I see." I inch closer to the framed map, squinting to see through the glare cast on it by the sun shining into the room. "I wish the windows had curtains. It might blunt the glare."
"Donnae need curtains." Errol snatches the framed map off the wall and carries it over to the desk, where he lays it on the flat surface. "We can take it out to look at it."
"Are you sure Rory won't mind?"
"Nah. He's nowhere near as uptight as he used to be. Emery ironed that out of him."
"Did he want to be ironed out?"
Errol chuckles as he removes the metal tabs that hold the frame in place. "Ask him yourself sometime. But believe me, Rory is much happier now."
I watch while he takes the frame apart, exposing the large topographic map. He sets the elements of the frame on the big executive chair behind the desk, then lays the map out on the desktop.
Errol steps back. "It's all yours, lass."
"Wow, this is a beautiful map. It shows every little geological feature." I skate my fingertips over the map's surface. "It's textured too. I can feel the bumps of mountains and the depressions of valleys."
"This ought to give you all the information you need."
I still have my purse hanging over my shoulder, but now I drop it on the padded wooden chair behind me and hunt through the bag until I find the slip of paper on which I'd written down the pertinent facts about where the mysterious G.E. Kincaid claimed to have begun his trek down the Colorado River and where he'd found the cavern. I lay that paper on the desk beside the topographic masterpiece.
"Could you bring up the Ellsworth map on the computer for me?" I ask. "I need to compare it to the directions provided by Kincaid, and compare both of those sources to this topographic map."
Errol lays a hand on my lower back, sliding it up to my nape. "When you start talking in technical terms, it makes me very randy."
"Cool down, cowboy. I've got work to do."
