Her Scottish Keep (Dream Come True Sweet Romance Book 1)

by Darci Balogh

  Tawnyetta's throat clenched and she couldn't answer. Her chin trembled and she was surprised to find that she had to swallow tears.

  "What do you dream of?" Sofia asked Angie. Tawnyetta wondered if Sofia was turning the question around because she couldn't answer it either.

  "I want to be a mermaid," Angie said with a boldness that made Tawnyetta think she was serious. Nobody laughed. The golden hour of sunset, the magic hour, had come and they were aglow in its glimmering shine. A sea of frothing periwinkle and white with Angie staring fiercely at the ceiling, a brilliant smile on her face.

  "I want–" Luna began, but her voice choked a little and she stopped.

  "What's your dream?" Bridget encouraged her softly.

  "I want to write novels," Luna answered, her soft brown eyes shimmering with excitement at the idea.

  Tawnyetta nodded. Of course. That was not a surprise at all.

  "What about you, Sofia?" Luna asked, quiet and encouraging.

  "I want to know everything there is to know," Sofia answered with a wide smile. "That's why I want to be a doctor...a professor. I want to be the wisest person in the room!"

  They all laughed in delight. If any one of them could achieve that, it was Sofia.

  All eyes turned to Tawnyetta. The light was dimming quickly. She wondered if she didn't speak her dream in this singular magical moment that they had discovered between childhood and their adult life perhaps her dream wouldn't come true. But she didn't have words for it. Not exactly.

  "I think I want...I mean I dream about...adventure. I dream about climbing mountains and crossing seas and fighting dragons," she laughed.

  "Here, here!" Angie said, lifting her Dixie cup again as if sealing their deal with the fairies that danced at twilight.

  "Here, here!" They all answered in turn, and toasted their dreams.

  Before the champagne fizz disappeared from the back of her throat the rays of the sun that had set the dust dancing and sparkling through the tree house like so many enchanted wishes, were gone. They sat in silence, as if waiting for something to happen.

  A heavy thump sent a tremor through the floor of the tree house and they all squealed. The trapdoor slammed open and Thomas poked his head up from below.

  "Are you all right?" he asked Bridget directly then turned his gaze on each of them for an answer.

  "Mister!" Bridget declared. "You scared us to death!"

  "Are you coming up?" Sofia asked, starting to make room for him.

  Thomas glanced warily around at the lack of room. "Naw, I don't know if this old thing can take any more weight."

  Bridget gasped. "Are you trying to say something, Mister?"

  Thomas shook his head. "No, I'm only saying this tree house has seen better days. I just wanted to check on you. I know it was a rough day." He directed this statement at Bridget and leveled a kind gaze full of concern at her.

  Bridget threw her shoulders back and sat up as proudly as she possibly could while sitting on the floor in her wedding dress. "I'm fine. Well...I'm going to be fine anyway."

  Thomas nodded. "Okay then, I'll leave you guys to it." He flicked his gaze to the champagne bottles. "If any of you need a ride home, let me know."

  As the trapdoor shut Bridget sighed, "We had a limo booked to drive us around all night. That's been wasted. And now the whole honeymoon will be wasted as well."

  All of them nodded sadly in unison, acknowledging her loss.

  Tawnyetta reached for the champagne bottle to refill Bridget's cup. She paused when Bridget sucked in her breath sharply. Tawnyetta looked up to catch her friend's big blue eyes staring at her, wide with excitement and a tinge of mischief.

  "Unless..." Bridget said.

  Tawnyetta waited and when no more words came, asked, "Unless, what?"

  Bridget grabbed Tawnyetta's arm. "Unless you go with me!"

  Chapter Two

  Before the wedding, as maid of honor, Tawnyetta had been sucked into all of the over the top romantic nonsense that precedes every wedding. After the glorious event collapsed into sheer chaos, she and the bridesmaids had rushed a screaming, bereft Bridget out of the church and into the tree house. Almost one full day later Tawnyetta had expected to be facing a few days off work. Nothing but free time stretching out in front of her. No particular plans. Maybe she would clean out her closets or go to a matinee movie or do some hiking in the foothills. She had expected to be bored. Instead, she found herself on an international flight heading to London with Bridget snoring quietly in the seat next to her.

  The logistics had been relatively easy. Her passport was already in place. She'd gotten it about four years ago when she thought she and her then boyfriend were going to take a romantic trip to South America. That never happened.

  Changing her name with Christopher's on the plane ticket wasn't too difficult, it just demanded a hefty fee, which Bridget happily paid. The rushed visa was the most challenging aspect of the whole thing. Other than that the entire trip was already planned and paid for, which seemed to give Bridget an extra vindictive thrill.

  "Is Christopher going to throw a fit when he finds out I took his place?" Tawnyetta asked as she grabbed random pieces of clothing out of her dresser and tossed them on her bed.

  Bridget's pouty lips tightened into a scowl as she folded the clothes neatly and packed them into Tawnyetta's banged up old suitcase.

  "He can complain all he wants to his hygienist," Bridget said with disgust. That's who Christopher had slept with, his dental hygienist. "Besides," she continued, "he's probably still sleeping off whatever bender he went on last night. By the time he figures out what's going on we will be in the air." She wiggled her eyebrows at Tawnyetta conspiratorially.

  "Remind me never to cross you," Tawnyetta said with a chuckle.

  Thomas and the girls dropped by to check on the progress of Tawnyetta's honeymoon hijack, as Thomas called it.

  "It's not a hijacking," she corrected him. "It's a Not a Honeymoon."

  "It's an adventure!" Angie said with a gasp. She plopped down on the bed next to the half packed suitcase.

  Luna's eyes got wide. "Just like your wish!"

  "Naw," Tawnyetta scoffed at the idea. "This is hardly me running off to fight dragons."

  "Well, technically you are crossing an ocean," Sofia added, arching one eyebrow at Tawnyetta teasingly.

  "And the Scottish Highlands are mountains...aren't they?" Angie asked.

  "I guess, but they don't have dragons," Tawnyetta said.

  "How do you know? You've never been there," Angie retorted.

  Tawnyetta rolled her eyes. "It's not really the kind of adventure I was talking about."

  "We will be staying in a castle, so that's something," Bridget added.

  "True," Tawnyetta stopped packing toiletries into her suitcase, interrupted by a twinge of guilt. "Are you sure this isn't a really rude thing to do to Christopher?"

  They all reassured her that it was not. Especially Bridget.

  "Serves the guy right anyway," Thomas said. "Anyone that would do that to Bridget is a complete waste of space."

  Bridget smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Mister."

  With the whirlwind of getting ready, Tawnyetta had little time to think too much more about what she was doing. Once they were through security and waiting at the gate to board, she let her mind wander and couldn't help but wonder what she may have gotten herself into.

  Knowing Bridget, the Scottish castle she had booked for her honeymoon was all about romance. What if it was dripping with touristy clichés of the Highlands, or staged, corny honeymoon moments? Or both? Tawnyetta could only hope that there was something other than swooning romantic fair to partake of once they got there. But she had already agreed to go, and it did seem like the best thing to do for Bridget. She couldn't let her best friend go on her honeymoon alone.

  Other than a few trips to Mexico and once to Canada, Tawnyetta had never left the United States. She had never flown over an ocean or set fo
ot in Europe.

  "Refreshment, Madame?" A stunning blonde stewardess smiled at her. She spoke in a hushed tone with a thick accent that sounded Swedish, although Tawnyetta couldn't be sure.

  Tawnyetta glanced at her friend who was still sleeping soundly in the aisle seat. She looked back at the stewardess. "Yes, thank you."

  The white noise in the large aircraft had put Bridget into a kind of emotional coma. The flight to London was long, very long. They wouldn't touch down at Gatwick airport until tomorrow early afternoon sometime. Then they would have to take off again and fly to Inverness. She may as well get comfortable.

  The stewardess waited patiently for her order.

  "Um...wine?" Tawnyetta thought wine sounded sophisticated enough for the circumstances.

  "Red or white?"

  What would a well traveled American drink? Tawnyetta had no idea. She took a 50/50 shot at it and ordered white.

  The wine was cold, bitter against her tongue, but it was good. She sipped out of her plastic cup and looked outside, watching the sky turn a gorgeous violet with tangerine clouds.

  The seat in front of her wiggled and jerked, bumping back towards her and causing her lowered tray to shimmy. White wine splashed over the edge of her small cup. A few moments later the round head of a middle-aged, bespectacled man popped up on the other side of the seat in front of her. Instead of facing forward, however, he faced backward, looking straight at Tawnyetta. The funny little man peered down at her and sniffed like a cartoon mouse that smelled cheese.

  "My apologies," the man said in a British accent. "I believe my seat is malfunctioning."

  "That's okay," Tawnyetta said.

  "Oh dear." The man glanced down as she wiped the spilled wine up with her tiny airplane sized cocktail napkin. "Let me buy you another."

  "Oh, it's not a problem. Don't worry about it."

  "I insist," he said. He twitched his hand into the air, waving down the stewardess. In so doing his seat jiggled even more and Tawnyetta had to lift her cup and hold it mid-air to keep it from spilling everywhere.

  The British man's name was Clark. After their initial clumsy introduction they fell into an easy chat. His seatmate was sleeping just as hard as Bridget so they ended up in a lengthy conversation with Clark leaning part way over the back of his chair nursing a scotch.

  Clark was a travel writer for a small British magazine on his way back from Denver. When Tawnyetta told him where she and Bridget were going, and how they had come to be going there together, his eyebrows lifted high above the edge of his wire frame glasses.

  "That's quite the adventure, isn't it?" he asked.

  Tawnyetta smiled at his choice of words and nodded. "I suppose it is."

  "Have you been to the Highlands before?"

  "Scotland? No. No, I haven't."

  Clark gave her a jerky nod and took a sip of his scotch. Then he tipped his glass, pointing at her as if she was very brave indeed. He swallowed and said, "You're in for quite a treat, you are."

  Tawnyetta couldn't tell if he was being serious or sarcastic, but soon he was entertaining her with stories of his experiences in the Highlands. She didn't know if she felt better or worse after hearing them, but she certainly found him amusing.

  The sky darkened to black outside their small oval windows. Clark fumbled in his shirt pocket and gave her his business card before bidding her good night and turning around to settle into his own seat. Tawnyetta was alone with her thoughts.

  Bridget remained sleeping like a rock. She'd slept through dinner, several pilot announcements, and Clark's anecdotes of Scotland. Tawnyetta leaned over closer to her friend's mouth just to make sure she was still breathing. She was. She must have been completely worn out.

  Tawnyetta pulled the in-flight magazine from the pocket in front of her, the one on the back of Clark's seat. She flipped through it and came across an article on an arts festival in Edinburgh. Apparently this was an annual festival held in the Scottish city that pulled in people from around the world. Hungry for more information on Scotland she read the whole thing twice over. She had a sudden sense of urgency to learn as much about the culture and the people of her destination as she could. When she was finished with that article she continued to a piece on French wineries until her eyes drooped. She pushed the button to turn off the light above her, put the in-flight magazine back in its pocket, and stared out the window until she fell into a fitful sleep.

  In her dream she was visited by mice wearing spectacles and kilts. They ran up and down the aisle of an ancient stone church while she tried to catch them in her empty plastic wine cup. All of the sudden the mice scattered under the pews, hiding in terror. Tawnyetta turned slowly toward the altar that stood at the front of the church and gasped in surprise. Standing at the altar was a huge, green dragon. Its chest heaved up and down, pulsing spurts of flame and smoke out of its nostrils. The dragon's golden eyes watched her carefully and she dared not move. She could hear the tittering of the mice from underneath the pews. They were talking in British accents telling her that she was going to have an adventure, but not to move or her adventure might eat her for lunch.

  Chapter Three

  By the time they reached Claymore Castle the next evening it was almost dark. Not completely dark, because at that time of year this far North the Highlands saw close to eighteen hours of daylight. Caught in this near night state, the skies were grey and eerie.

  Bleary eyed from traveling, Tawnyetta could barely stay awake. It had been raining since they landed in Inverness. A slow, cool drizzle that added to her sleepiness, making her feel groggy like she'd taken a sedative. From her position in the back seat of the car that had picked them up at the airport, she watched the scenery go by in a blur.

  Bridget, having slept most of their time on the overnight plane trip, was bright eyed and engaged in a lively conversation with their driver. She had both elbows propped on the front seat as she leaned forward eagerly, trying to catch everything he had to say.

  Bridget laughed. Something had struck her funny. Tawnyetta heard the driver's voice well enough, but she had all but given up on understanding the man's accent. She knew that his name was Allen. Or at least that's what she thought he'd said when he introduced himself. His name was all she had gleaned through his thick Scottish brogue. Bridget relayed parts of their conversation to Tawnyetta to keep her up to speed. Tawnyetta tried to listen, but honestly, she was too tired to care.

  Bridget, on the other hand, was happily attempting to understand everything Allen said. When there was confusion she giggled and fell back in the seat grabbing Tawnyetta's arm in delight. Tawnyetta offered a wan smile and tried to keep her eyes open. Drizzle fell on the windshield and dripped down her window. She watched the green and gold and grey landscape pass as they followed a narrow road twisting higher and higher into the hills.

  "We're here!" Bridget exclaimed, translating Allen's most recent comment.

  Tawnyetta's head ached with fatigue and everything outside her window looked fuzzy. She couldn't make out anything that looked remotely like a castle in the drippy, blurred view.

  "Ha-e flook, ick cashtel clemoor," Allen said.

  Must be some kind of welcome.

  When she stepped out of the car it smelled wet. Wet grass, wet stone, and a dank smell, like rushes along the edge of a pond that have died and are rotting back into the rich earth. Thin rain spattered on the umbrella that someone held over her head. She didn't see who it was. Shallow puddles on a cobblestone drive. Deep green trees and shrubs flanking massive stones that rose out of the ground in front of them.

  Finally, she saw it.

  Through the dim light and the mist and the rain, Claymore Castle. A gigantic stone structure looming up and up into the grey clouds. Lights were set on the ground in front of the castle to shine up on its huge grey walls. Wide stone steps leading to the entrance. Massive wood doors rigged with thick iron hinges. That's all Tawnyetta could remember of the first time she laid eyes on Claymore Ca
stle. Weariness ensured that her brain could not register much more.

  "Isn't it gorgeous?! Isn't it beautiful? Tawnyetta can you believe we're actually here?" Bridget's voice penetrated the fog that wrapped around Tawnyetta's head.

  No. She couldn't believe it. And more than that, she couldn't drum up much excitement about it either. All she wanted was to crawl into a soft bed and collapse into sleep forever.

  There was a butler. There was a cook. Somebody shoved hot tea in a china cup into her hands, but she couldn't focus on their faces and their Scottish accents may as well have been Greek for all she could understand.

  Thankful that Bridget had an ear for their way of speaking, Tawnyetta let her do all of the talking. And talk she did. She praised the decor. She asked about the amenities. She wanted to know if the prince of the castle would be there to dine with them the next day.

  When they finally made it to their room, the honeymoon suite, Tawnyetta was beyond exhausted. She located the bed, pulled back the covers and fell face first into her down pillow, plummeting quickly into a deep sleep. This night no mice or dragons disturbed her slumber.

  When Tawnyetta's eyes slipped open it was morning. In her first few confusing moments of consciousness she didn't know where she was. A soft groan escaped the pile of comforter and pillows bunched up on the other side of the bed. Bridget. Memories of their long trip here filtered into her mind. It hadn't been a strange dream after all. She was here.

  Bridget. Honeymoon. Castle.

  Tawnyetta pushed back the covers and sat up on the side of the bed. Her whole body was sore. She felt like she had done serious weight lifting at the gym the day before and was suffering the consequences. Her eyelids scratched when she blinked as if she'd walked through a sandstorm on her way home from the gym. Her mouth was dry, her nose was stuffed up, and she was sure her hair was a wild mess. Still, Tawnyetta looked around in wonder.

  Perched on a king-size four-poster bed, her feet rested on a thick rug woven in black and green with gold swirls lacing through the pattern. The rug pooled out around the bed in a giant circle, as if the bed wasn't a bed at all, but rather an island in a small pond. Around the edge of the room the rug ended and she could see the floor was made of polished stone. Stone. Not marble or tile, but ancient, grey stone.