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“What?” I huff.
“It means suck up, brown noser,” Max supplies. “Canadian slang.”
“Well, fuck you,” I tell JL, not able to come up with a clever riposte. JL snorts.
Max grimaces, then goes on. “There was a royal visit. Balmoral is only about forty miles away and Queen Victoria and Prince Albert stayed incognito at the Grant Arms Hotel on the night of 4th September 1860. They arrived by horse-drawn carriage from Balmoral Castle on their way to visit Castle Grant. They stopped at Grant House before paying their respects to the chief.”
“That’s it?” JL sounds disgusted.
“The queen said the visit was amusing and never to be forgotten. But we don’t know what she was referring to.”
“I love these little tidbits,” I tell him.
“She also said the dinner was very fair, and all very clean…ending with a good tart of cranberries.”
“Oh, well, clean, that’s the most important,” JL says teasingly.
“No other royal visitors?” I’m dying to know more.
“Prince Philip and Prince Edward stopped in on their way from Balmoral to Sandringham one Christmas season, because of Meggy’s position working in the royal household.”
“Enough history,” JL groans.
“Because it’s Sunday, we’ll be enjoying the scenery. The museum is nice but closed today, as are the distilleries. We can come back if we can find a day. Aberlour isn’t too far from Grant House.”
I grin. Max knows Aberlour is one of my favorite single malts.
Max risks a glance at me, then refocuses on the road. “A bit of uphill walking, Cress?”
I frown. “I’m not keen unless the rise is really gentle and the path is clear.” With my well-known tendency to clumsiness, spraining my ankle again is not on my wish list. Nor is looking over wide vistas from a height.
“We’ll drive to some views. The scenery is spectacular, especially right around the Spey. If we have time, we can go on to Culloden and see the battlefield and their excellent visitor center. It’s about an hour away. Or wander around Kinloss Abbey.”
“Founded by King David I in 1150,” I break in excitedly.
Max’s eyes twinkle. “I thought you’d like that. Kinloss it is.” He looks over at JL. “We can go salmon fishing before you leave.”
“How about tomorrow, before our meeting?” JL sounds thrilled by the prospect of standing in a fast-running river in hip boots.
“Not tomorrow, mate. I’m giving Cress a driving lesson in the morning.” My small frown goes unnoticed.
“When we go climbing on Tuesday, Cress, I think Mum wants visit cousin Nikolai in Grantown. He’s a well-known concert pianist.
“On our last day, I thought we’d go to Ballindaloch Castle. The Macpherson-Grants live there and it’s open to the public. You can go fishing then, JL, if you aren’t interested in the castle. Or, if you don’t want to climb on Tuesday, we can set you up with fishing instead.”
“Do you go as public or family to Ballindaloch?” I ask.
“We’re related and I know them, but I don’t plan to make it a family call. They built the castle in the sixteenth century and that branch of the family has lived there ever since. It’s called the pearl of the north and while not well-known, it’s one of the best castles in the country to visit.”
We’ve reached Grantown and Max parks the Rover in the Highland Council car park. The dogs, gambol unleashed as we meander down to the Spey and walk along the A95, enjoying views of the river. Max keeps the leashes looped around his wrist in case we need them. We walk down to Spey Bridge. On the way back, we stroll down a lane, stopping so JL can chat with the fishermen.
“Can’t wait to be up to my knees in the river with a rod in my hand,” JL says as he rejoins us on the path.
“Off to a few other sights.” Max corrals the dogs into the backseat.
“Remember, we need to be back in time for Mrs. MacDonald’s fabulous meal,” JL reminds him, licking his lips in anticipation.
* * *
