Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 59659 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59659 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“We are staying at a castle?” she asked.
“Not just any castle,” I said. “How much do you know about your family history?”
“Nothing?” she said questioningly. “I mean, I know my great-grandmother was named Roberts and she married my great-grandfather who brought the Brewer name with him. They started the store. That’s about all I know. They died before I was born.”
“Come with me,” I said, opening the door and holding out my hand.
She took it and looked back as the driver stepped out and shut her door behind her, then went to the trunk to begin unloading the luggage. I took her up a long cobblestone driveway, winding around a well-cared-for topiary and through a trellis covered in vines and roses. White roses.
Her fingers gripped tightly into mine as we got closer to the magnificent castle, the moors behind it in the distance and a light fog settling over the hilly countryside. It was breathtaking, and it took all my willpower to concentrate enough on telling her what was going on.
“You are right about your great-grandmother,” I said. “Roberts was her maiden name. Which, if you trace it, like I did, you will find came from the name Robertson in the eighteen-hundreds when they immigrated to the US. Before that, they belonged to a clan, one called Donnachaidh. As a matter of fact, your line is shockingly easy to trace, all the way back to King Malcolm the second.” I paused and watched, delighted as the realization settled over her face. “So, my princess, as far as I am concerned, this is your castle.”
“Oh my God,” she said, a slow, wide smile settling over her lips.
“I wanted to treat you like the royalty you clearly are. I hope this is good enough,” I said.
“This is amazing,” she said. “Come on, let’s go inside!”
Taking my hand, she ran to the massive door in the center. Another was just off to the side, and as she knocked, the little one opened and a bespectacled man stepped out. He wore a tweed jacket and had thin, gold-rimmed glasses on the edge of his nose. A whisp of graying blond hair fell over a bald spot on the top of his head, though his mustache stayed mostly yellowish white.
“Fáilte, my friends,” he said, holding out a hand for both of us to shake. “That’s Gaelic for ‘welcome.’ My name is Hamish, lovely to meet you both, then. Please, come inside and let us show you your place of residence for these next few days.”
Following him inside, we were shown around the place and noted the places where the staff would be at our beck and call at any point. At any other time, there would often be several other couples or families staying there, but I pulled a few strings and got the place all to ourselves. Hamish seemed to be happy about the turn of events as the workload was clearly smaller, and he seemed to revel in lavishing attention on guests.
Our room was incredible. With wide French doors leading out to a balcony that hung over the cliff, windowless portions of the castle curling in on either side, we were utterly alone. No one could see inside unless they were deep in the loch with a pair of very fine binoculars. Maids visited every afternoon and freshened the room while we were guided to tours of the town nearby and drives to larger cities to explore shopping and nightlife.
But every night, we ended up back in our room, bathing in the clawfoot tub that was as big as a car and curling up to sleep with the windows open, letting in a salty breeze. When our eyes closed, they did so stare out over a black, inky sky, filled with stars.
With only two days left in our time there, we came back from a lovely dinner down in the great hall, settling ourselves in the room. I lay on the bed and flipped through a book while Melanie brushed her hair out and then opened the doors to step out on the balcony. She had changed immediately upon getting back into the room, disappointing me a bit because the only thing I enjoyed more than looking at her in one of the dresses she wore each night was peeling them off her when we were alone again.
Now, she stood on the balcony, a sheer nightgown on that left little to the imagination. But just enough. I felt a stir in my center and tossed the book aside. She was facing away from me, arms out on the balcony’s marble railing and leaning out so her backside faced me, almost like it she was presenting herself to me. A glass of wine was clenched in her fingertips, and I watched as she drew it to her face and took a sip.