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Harlow and Carlos walked into the dining room, cheeks flushed pink from their exercise. As they passed the table, Carlos leaned over Duncan’s shoulder to speak to me.
“Good to see you with your clothes on, Molly.”
Immune to my glares, he followed Harlow to the buffet.
Duncan raised his eyebrows in silent question, but I slashed my hand through the air like an over-eager Jedi mind trick to erase whatever he had in his head.
“I wasn’t totally naked.”
His eyebrows hitched higher.
“I was wearing a towel!”
He rested his chin on his clasped fists as though ready to hear the rest of the story.
“Actually, never mind, that’s the best I can make it sound.”
“You see, Rupert,” Bea said only semi-confidentially. “There’s another difference between our generations. Women in our day had a sense of shame.”
After breakfast, we loaded onto the tartan mini-bus for a twenty-minute ride to where we would start the day’s hike. The road climbed into the foothills of the Cairngorms, and as the slopes grew steeper, I began to have serious doubts about what exactly constituted awalkon this trip. Yesterday’s trek had been mostly flat, since it circled a lake. Loch. Whatever. But this hike would involve actual ascent. The last thing I wanted to do was lag behind Bea and Rupert and hear more about the failings of modern women.
From the car park we hiked up a steep and rocky climb, but eventually it leveled out and led to a small green lake surrounded by pine trees. I had my camera out of my bag in a heartbeat, snapping as many pictures as I could, and experimenting with angles and zoom.
“Do you want one of yourself?” Duncan asked.
“Thanks.” I handed over the camera and walked a few steps off the path, close enough for my hiking boots to sink a couple of inches into the silty lakeshore.
“Say ‘lohan ohanye.’”
“Lohan ohanye?” The words didn’t roll off my tongue the way they did his, they just sort of fell out of my mouth and flopped onto the ground. I envied the ease with which he pronounced the Gaelic, although of course he would be used to it.
He snapped a single photo and offered my camera back. Pictures were clearly not a priority for him. We took our places back on the trail, our boots crunching along in unison.
“What does lohan ohanye mean?” I asked, trying to emulate the cadence of his pronunciation. “Is it like saying ‘cheese’ in Gaelic?”
His brows tugged together, and he stared at me as if I were the one not making sense. After a beat, he laughed and jerked his thumb toward the lake.
“It’s the name of the lochan. The little lake there.”
Idiot.Lochan Uaine.I’d read the sign for it at the car park but neither knew what it meant nor how to say the words. Apparently, the pronunciation of Gaelic had little to do with the spelling.
“It could just as easily have been cheese,” I grumbled.
He looked like he struggled not to laugh any harder. Clearly, I had the whole oblivious tourist thing down.
The trail turned sharply uphill, and my lungs burned as I panted along the rough path. Next to me, Duncan didn’t even seem winded. Meanwhile, dampness spread under my arms and the smell of sweat came off me with every step. But if I must reek, at least I reeked in Scotland.
Finally, we reached a plateau and stopped for a breather. Below us lay a gorgeous glen with the misty peaks of the Cairngorms in the background and dark green swaths of forest all through the valley.
I exhaled a breathy laugh. I almost reached out to Duncan to get him to share in my raptures. “It’s incredible, isn’t it?”
He seemed more entertained by my reaction than awed by the sights. Maybe my grin gave me an air of a madwoman, but what did I care? It. Was. Glorious.
Staring my fill of the otherworldly view would be impossible, so I took more photos as we climbed the last of the way to the cairn that marked the summit.
“Welcome to Meall a’ Bhuachaille.” Arnav swept his arms out wide to take in the hillside.
I tried to repeat the name with about as much success as I’d had with Lochan Uaine. Which was to say, none. “Meow and Vuhchuluh?”
