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sophie
“Inever pictured you with Chad anyway.” Matthew, my best friend, pursed his lips as he studied a broken cuticle. Matthew had recently taken a sabbatical from his professor duties at UCLA to work on his book, as well as to accompany his boyfriend on an archeological dig. As luck would have it—depending how you looked at it—Matthew’s boyfriend had found new love amidst the dirt and ruins in Israel, and I suddenly found myself with a traveling companion. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, and when I had confided about Arthur’s will, Matthew had happily packed a bag and joined me on the private plane across the Atlantic. We’d arrived in Edinburgh more refreshed than if I had flown economy like normal, and I had to admit I was beginning to see some upside to this whole millionaire lifestyle. That may sound ridiculous, but prior to this, I had just existedadjacentto a millionaire. While there had certainly been some perks along the way, like a free vacation here and there, for the most part, I lived within my means and enjoyed my simple one-bedroom apartment in a mixed-level neighborhood.
“Why? Was he too pretty for me?”
“Oh, hush. I’ve told you time and again, you’re a classic beauty. It’s just not what’s in fashion right now.” Matthew gave me a look that I knew meant he wasn’t going to put up with any self-criticism. Luckily, I’d forced myself out of that habit years ago and had learned to embrace my looks—a well-padded body that meant I’d be the last to starve in a famine, fair skin that set off my blue eyes, and my crowning achievement…luscious auburn hair that I regularly piled into a haphazard knot on top of my head. Living in the land of perfect bodies and routine cosmetic procedures was enough to give anyone a complex and, after a particularly disastrous run-in with bleach and a hair straightener years ago, Lottie and Matthew had both intervened.
“Stop trying to make yourself look like everyone else. It’s not going to happen.” That had been from Lottie, a woman who had perfected the art of not following the crowd.
“You’re ruining a beautiful canvas.” Matthew had held up an orange strand of my hair, a disgusted look on his face. “Lottie’s right. You’re trying to take everything that makes you unique and turn yourself into another copycat Barbie doll. News flash, it’s never going to happen. Just embrace who you are…men love confidence more than they do perfection. Perfection is, ultimately, terrifying. Especially for fragile male egos. Stop trying to be Manet when you’re decidedly a Rubens.”
That had been a turning point for me in how I viewed myself and my body, though it had taken some time to reframe negative self-commentary. Now, I narrowed my eyes back at Matthew.
“I didn’t mean that he was too pretty for me in a self-derogatory manner. I meant, like, I’m just a little rough around the edges. I think I need someone who aligns with that a little better, you know? I mean, Chad took longer to get ready than I did,” I said, wincing as an oncoming car brushed close to us on the exceedingly small and winding road we were currently barreling to our deaths upon.
“Well, you’re certainly in the land for it. If it’s burly rough-edged men you’re looking for, that is.” Matthew shot a pointed glance at our driver, who admittedly met those descriptors.
Harold had thought ahead and, knowing we’d likely be tired from the flight, had arranged for a driver to take us from Edinburgh to Loren Brae, a small village on the banks of Loch Mirren. I’d been given very little information about MacAlpine Castle from Harold, besides instructions to find Hilda. Also provided, a set of keys and well-wishes for a safe trip. When we’d walked out of the airport and were greeted by a surly driver and sheets of pouring rain, I’d been grateful for the assistance. Not only did I doubt my ability to drive a car on the other side of the road, but the thought of attempting to navigate a roundabout made my stomach sour.
Even though the driver had barely spoken four words to us since we’d arrived, I’d always thought Scotland to be a hospitable country and wondered if there was a burr stuck in this man’s kilt. Because, yes, much to Matthew’s delight, our driver wore a traditional kilt. Matthew’s sharp intake of breath at the sight had been confirmation that I was in for a detailed fantasizing session later.
“I’m not looking for a new man, thank you very much,” I said, wincing as the little car rocketed around another tight curve. “The only thing I’m looking for is to get out of this car alive.”
At that, I could’ve sworn I saw the driver’s lips twitch in the rearview mirror, and I realized I should probably keep my thoughts to myself.
“Not to worry, lass. This is Loren Brae.” The driver finally spoke as we drove over a narrow bridge and onto the main street of an enchanting village. Cradled on the banks of Loch Mirren, the village of Loren Brae was picturesque in the way of places that made you want to pack your bags and move there. Which is kind of what I was doing, I realized with a start, and craned my neck to see more of the town. Rows of buildings with colorful doors, arched windows, and hand-painted signs lined the jaw-dropping loch hugged by rolling green mountains. An almost perfect circle of an island was situated smack dab in the middle of Loch Mirren, and I immediately wanted to explore. A dreamy sigh escaped as I felt the charm of the village settle over me like a warm hug from a loved one. For the first time in the tumultuous past few days, I felt a glimmer of hope.
“It’s beautiful here,” Matthew said. “But a bit quiet, no? Is it off-season? There are so many places with windows boarded up. I wonder if they do that in the low season.” Matthew looked pointedly at the driver who did not offer any more information.
However, now that I looked more closely, I could see what Matthew had noticed immediately. Beneath the surface delight of the village, I realized that it was, indeed, very quiet. Many of the buildings were dark and nobody walked the sidewalks, though that could also be due to the weather. Many of the arched windows that I had thought to be lovely were covered with thick slabs of plywood. The rain intensified, adding to the gloom. What had caused this unpretentious village to fall into such disrepair?
The driver, apparently having exhausted all words in his vocabulary, offered no other information. He turned off the main road and drove through a gorgeous wooden gate flanked by tall hedges. I didn’t envy the person who had to trim those, and kept my eyes glued to the window as we wound along a paved road that followed a long line of towering trees. Finally, we turned, and our destination revealed itself like an actress popping from behind the curtain on Broadway.
“Oh my.” Matthew grabbed my hand. “That’s certainly some pile of bricks that you’ve inherited there, Sophie.”
“I... I had no idea,” I whispered. My heart picked up speed as we neared the imposing castle. This was no ruin tucked away in the overgrown Scottish Highlands. Calling it a ruin was like calling a Rolls-Royce a beater. The castle all but preened for us as we turned into the gravel parking lot and passed a ticket booth, rolling to a stop in front of a large arched double wooden door. The castle was a classic rectangle shape, easily four stories high, with honest to God turrets. Immediately, I imagined myself running through the hallways in a flowing dress living out my best romance novel dreams. What was the point in owning a castle if I couldn’t pretend to be a historical romance heroine? I made a note to order a fanciful dress for just such a moment. Honestly, though? I was floored. A building of such stature required somebody with knowledge far more than I held to return it to order. Just what had my uncle Arthur been thinking? I was no more equipped to restore this castle to order than the taxi driver was to hold a coherent conversation. Feeling faint, I forced myself to breathe slowly to push away the panic that threatened.
“Right then. That’s you.” The driver got out and had already deposited our luggage at the top of the stairs before I’d even worked up the courage to open the car door.
Matthew tapped a finger on my arm. Turning, I looked at my best friend, my eyes wide.
“What have I gotten myself into?” I asked.
“It’s an adventure, darling. Just look at the architecture! I’m telling you, this is going to be a load of fun to restore. I’m already getting the most fantastic ideas. Give it a chance.” Matthew’s face lit with excitement for the first time since I’d picked him up after he discovered his boyfriend’s infidelity. I reminded myself that he probably needed this as much as I did. If anything, it made me feel better to think that I was doing this for Matthew instead of for myself. If I was doing it for myself, I had to examine why my old life wasn’t working out. Such self-analysis required far more dedication than I currently could muster, so I would just leave that for Future Sophie to handle. The taxi driver waited at the door, clearly not wanting to jump back into the driver’s seat until he made sure that we had left his car.
“Are you ready?” Matthew asked, and I took a deep breath and stepped into the rain. A giggle bubbled up as I raced up the steps, the cold drops of rain a shock against my skin, jolting me awake far better than a cup of coffee would. Once we’d reached the door, the taxi driver gave us a terse nod, and before I could offer to pay him or even tip him, the taillights winked out of sight as he whipped the car around the corner of the castle.
“Delightfulfellow,” Matthew purred.
“I have the keys right here, so one of these should work.” I dug in my serviceable leather crossbody travel bag and found the set of keys that had made me laugh when I first saw them. They didn’t look like the keys we had in the United States. Instead, they were several inches long, slender, and had a notched head. I’d had a miniature version of just such a key for an antique jewelry box that I’d had as a child. I finally found one that fit into the lock and turning it, I pushed the massive door open. My skin tingled, foreboding washing over me, as the door creaked on its hinges.
A shriek split the night.
Matthew and I both squealed. We grabbed each other and looked wildly around as the security alarm screeched.
“Do you have the code?” Matthew demanded.
“No, I wasn’t given a code. I wasn’t expecting a pile of ruins to have a security alarm.” I half laughed, half gasped as the siren increased in volume.
