by Finley Aaron
Now I’m starting to think maybe there’s a reason for that, and I study my mother as she guides the car down the rutted lane to the castle, which is a looming fortress jutting straight up into parapets and battlements and all those castle things we’ve missed seeing for the last six years while we’ve been living in the states.
My mom glances my way, perhaps a bit self-consciously, and flashes me this tiny, apprehensive smile.
She’s up to something. Oh, she is so up to something. The woman can’t hide anything. You can always read her face as clearly as any book—figuring out our birthday presents was only ever as difficult as guessing the right thing and then watching her face for confirmation. And right now, Mom’s face says she’s guilty of plotting something.
But what?
I’m going to have to corner her and rattle off guesses until her face gives it away. But before I can do that, we’ll have to get situated in the privacy of our suite of rooms, because most of my ideas have to do with us being dragons, which isn’t something anyone outside of our village is supposed to know.
The headlight beams flash across three men who exit the castle and approach our car. These are the guys from the castle website—handsome Scotsmen in ties and tweed jackets, none of them shirtless or kilted or carrying a sword. None of them Ed.
My mom stops the car under the shelter of the port cochere. We tumble out of the car and the men make their introductions—Malcolm, Magnus, and Angus Sheehy, the curators of the castle, who run the place like a vacation home bed-and-breakfast. Magnus and Angus are brothers. Malcolm is their father. His wife Blair is in the kitchen right now, heating up a late night tea for us.
The castle has been in their family for centuries.
I listen politely and shake hands as needed, but I’m listening to the subtext, filling in what I hear with what I already know of our plans. We’ve reserved a suite of rooms for six weeks this summer. The Sheehys occupy another portion of the sprawling castle. Ed lives above what used to be the stables. He’ll be around shortly to unload our bags and park our car.
Mom’s asking about activities now, tourist spots and seeing the sites, and here it is, the bit I’ve been waiting for. Indeed, she’s arranged it with Malcolm that his sons, who are both single and handsome and look to be twenty-something, will be on hand to escort us and guide us and provide any other services as needed.
I should have known!
She’s trying to set us up with these guys, isn’t she? It’s never been any secret that we’re expected to marry other dragons someday. In fact, the very existence of our kind depends on our finding proper mates and bearing young, and all that.
I look Magnus and Angus up and down. Proper mates, hmm? How does my mother know these men are dragons? Or is she only guessing? The fact that the castle has been in their family for centuries might be a clue, since dragons only started dying off in the past thousand years or so. Tracking down our extant peers could theoretically be accomplished by digging through history and finding the last known dragons, then rooting about to discover whether they have any descendants left. And since dragons traditionally lived in remote treasure-filled palaces and mountain fortresses, a castle such as this one would be the logical place to find dragons.
Not that we’ve ever actually found any dragons that way, not that I know of. To my knowledge, we’re alone on the earth, save for a couple of arch-enemies who are obviously not viable romantic partners.
But perhaps my mother has found some after all. That will be a relief to my sisters. Zilpha, in particular, has always been eager to marry. She’s spearheaded many a historical research project, trying to drudge up potential suitors, though we’ve never found a single one. And Rilla has said more than once she’ll gladly marry and do her part, as long as she can finish her degree first.
I, on the other hand, am hedging my bets that in a world where dragons are nearly extinct, we’ll be lucky enough to find a mate for Zilpha, and maybe even one for Rilla, too. If Angus and Magnus are the two, that’s perfect. There’s not a third. I can be blissfully free of any entanglements, as I’ve always wanted to be.
While I’m musing about all this and my mother’s making plans for Magnus and Angus to give us a tour of the castle tomorrow, Ed approaches us through a small door in the castle curtain wall. He’s put on a tweed jacket, but he’s still wearing his kilt and boots, and his flame-red beard looks wild.
And he smells like roasting meat.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t had anything to eat since the fish and chips in Fort Augustus, which we stopped for on our way through the first time, before Drumnadrochit, so that was several hours ago.
“Ed.” Malcolm pronounces it eed, too. “Bags.” He gestures with his head.
Ed nods. “I put the bull on the spit.”
Malcolm looks annoyed at Ed, which I can see because I’m off to the side from the others. But when Malcolm turns back to my mother, he’s smiling graciously. “In addition to tea, we have fresh flame-roasted beef. I don’t suppose you ladies would be interested—”
“I’d love some,” I offer before my mom can open her mouth to turn him down. Besides the fact that Ed killed the bull in large part to save me from the mad animal, I’m hungry. And from what I can tell from the scent still clinging to Ed, the meat is going to be delicious. Some people don’t like bull as well as steer, because the testosterone supposedly makes the meat wilder or gamier or something.
I like it better that way.
But then, I’m a dragon.
Ed’s opened the rear hatch and is pulling out our bags, which are heavy and numerous. The four of us barely managed to carry them all into the airport, but Ed’s stacking them up on his shoulders like a block tower. I half expect them to topple off any moment.
Ed turns to face us. “I kin show ye to yer rooms.” He doesn’t even sound out of breath. But then, if he carried a two-thousand-pound bull with no problem, our luggage is nothing. It all confirms my suspicions that there’s something peculiar going on with this place, Nattertinny Castle, and Mom’s plans for us to summer here. I can’t recall ever hearing anything about Scottish dragons having freakishly strong lackeys, but it wouldn’t at all surprise me. In many ways, it makes sense.
I follow Ed. My mother and sisters hang back a little behind me, almost as if they’re afraid Ed’s going to drop the luggage and we’ll all go tumbling down like so many dominoes. But Ed doesn’t even pant as he steps through the vast stone foyer and up the broad staircase.
This place is cool, if a bit spooky. There’s an enormous chandelier hanging down from the second-story ceiling high above us. It looks ancient even though it’s lit with light bulbs instead of candles, like maybe it was retrofitted to electric light. But even with all those bulbs, the massive room is dark, the polished wood stairs a deep mahogany finish, the stones dusky gray, the corners shadowed.
The damp of outdoors has followed us in, or perhaps has always been here. It’s cold and clinging, as thick as mist. Invisible, but as tangible as the scent of roast meat wafting back to me from Ed, as real as the scent of the lavender soap I packed in my bag, which got bumped as it tumbled onto the baggage claim carousel at Glasgow, which has been leeching out lavender scent ever since.
My lavender and Ed’s meat scents mix in the air as he navigates the hallways ahead of me. I follow like a hound on the hunt, chasing the smell through cold corridors, until light fills a doorway ahead of me, casting Ed’s burdened silhouette into dark relief.
“Here ye are, then, Miss. This’ll be yer sittin’ hall.” Ed places our bags on waiting luggage racks with a gentleness the Glasgow baggage handlers would do well to study. “There’s bedrooms ‘ere, ‘ere, ‘ere, and ‘ere. Bathrooms en suite.” He flicks on lights as he speaks, reaching through doorways and bursting the darkness, obliterating the shadows with the flip of a switch. “Is there anything else ye be needin’?”
“Mr. Sheehy mentioned fire-roasted beef?”
“Aye,
that’ll be ready any time. It’s in the courtyard.”
“Can you take me there?” The corridors we passed through were a complex maze. I can hear my mother and sisters approaching through the halls, drawn to the light. Much as I love them, I’d like a break from their presence. Besides, I’m hungry, and fire-roasted beef is one of my favorite foods.
But more than that, I’m curious about this place and Ed. Neither are normal, but I need to observe more before I can figure out just what’s different about them.
“I can. Show ye a shortcut, even.”
“Perfect.”
Chapter Three
I follow Ed through the doorway just as my mother and sisters round the corner to our hall. I explain where I’m headed. Mom and my sisters seem more interested in unpacking than eating, which is fine by me. I’m more interested in eating than changing out of my wet clothes because, let’s face it, in this weather, I’ll probably get soaked again the minute I step outside.
Ed leads me through a hallway and down some stairs, and just when I’m starting to think the cold stones of the back hall are a little too reminiscent of a dungeon, I smell fresh wood smoke and roasting beef, and we step outside.
There is the bull, gutted, skinned and sizzling, over an enormous fire whose flames are a warm welcome after the rain.
“Yum.” I reach my hands out toward the fire, but it’s a huge blaze, so I don’t have to get very close to feel the warmth.
“It’ll be a mite wild-tasting, Lass. Not such as yer used to, I’m afraid.”
“I like it that way. Is it ready?”
“Only if you like it rare.” Ed didn’t blink when I said I like wild meat. Most people, when I say something like that, look at me like I don’t know what I’m talking about, or like maybe I’m bluffing.
Ed looked, if anything, impressed.
I can’t help smiling. “Rare’s my favorite.”
“Mine too. Ye can wash up there and grab a plate.” He gestures to a hand pump. We’re in a stone courtyard surrounded by the castle on three sides and a stone curtain wall on the fourth. Wide eaves provide shelter from the rain around the three sides, but where the bull is roasting, the courtyard is open to the endless dark clouds above.
Fat sizzles from the meat, hitting the fire and sending sparks dancing toward the starless sky.
I wash up, taking the time to brush the mud and gravel from the knees of my jeans. Then I splash water on my hands again and grab a plate, turning back to the fire to see Ed cutting meat from the sizzling carcass, using a broadsword and a long-handled prong that looks more like a pitchfork than a kitchen utensil. He’s got his jacket off again, which I guess makes sense when you’re that hot.
I mean, working close to a hot fire.
The fire is hot. Obviously.
I’m standing here, plate in hand, watching him work, the muscles in his back rippling (did I mention he didn’t have a shirt on under that jacket? He didn’t) as he carves through the juicy beef. Maybe a vacation in Scotland isn’t such a bad idea.
“Here ye are.”
I step forward and he lowers an enormous cut of beef into my plate. It’s probably three pounds, more like a roast than a steak. “Perfect. Thank you.” I carry my plate over to a table under the eaves, where utensils are wrapped in cloth napkins in a basket. Sitting, I slice off a big bite, and let the moist deliciousness sit on my tongue for a second before I chew and swallow.
Glancing back toward the fire, I notice Ed has sawed off a chunk of meat for himself, but he’s eating it in the far corner of the courtyard, his back to me.
“You can join me,” I offer, feeling isolated. Who wants to eat such a fantastic meal all alone? And Ed saved me from the charging bull. He should not have to stand in the corner. Besides which, I want to learn more about him, the Sheehys, and this castle. I’m not going to shout that conversation across the courtyard.
“I’m not supposed to eat with the guests.” He looks startled, maybe even a bit guilty. “I don’t have the good table manners, and all.”
“I thought your manners were exceptional when you saved me from getting gored by the bull.” I’m not going to push the issue, but he doesn’t strike me as a total caveman. I saw the way he handled our luggage. He’s considerate and careful, if brutishly strong.
With a palpable measure of hesitation, Ed settles his steak onto a plate and sits opposite me, off to the side, near the far corner of the table, where it’s darker, further away from the light of the fire. Still, the table’s only about eight feet long, so he’s easily within talking distance, especially since the rain is falling like thick mist now, almost soundlessly, and the stone walls reflect our voices back to us.
For a few moments, there’s only the clink of knives and forks against plates. The beef is fantastic, and I was hungry. Conscious of my tablemate and his claim to crudeness, I peek his direction and watch him saw through his meat.
Indeed, he is a bit clumsy. There’s something wrong with his hands. I’d noticed it before, briefly, in the rain. I still can’t see exactly what’s up, but his fingers appear to be gnarled and stiff, more fitted to beheading the bull with a broadsword than slicing bites of meat with a knife. Still, he manages, and looks my way after swallowing.
“Ye here to see the loch?”
An involuntary shudder moves down my spine at the reminder of the fathomless depths of the famous lake nearby. “I—I suppose.”
Curiosity sparkles in his green eyes, and he leans closer my way. “Yer not afeared of the monster, are ye? Ye don’t strike me as the fearful type. Didna even seem afeared of the bull.”
How can I explain to Ed that neither bulls nor monsters scare me half us much as that deep water, where anything could be lurking, waiting to pull me down? Memories of what happened last summer threaten to surface, but I submerge them with a question. “Is there a monster? Nessie?”
Ed makes a face. “Don’t call him Nessie. He’s not a girl.”
Okay, now I’m curious. “So, the Loch Ness Monster is real?”
Ed shrugs noncommittally and saws off another hunk of his steak. Still, the twinkle in his eye says he knows something.
I press for answers. “Have you seen it?”
“It?” Ed corrects me. “Him.”
“Have you seen him?” It occurs to me that this local man might have insights into the matter that others, even the monster-sighting tour boat operators, may not have. Especially if he lives in a castle with dragons, as I suspect. We monsters tend to stick together.
“Would ye like to have a look for yerself? I could take ye out on the loch tomorrow.”
Me? Go out on that crazy deep lake?
No, no, no, no.
“Yes,” I answer in spite of myself. I’m afraid. Terrified, really. But more than the fear that makes me want to flee in the opposite direction, I want answers.
Are sea monsters real?
If so, that might explain what attacked me last summer.
Worse than the fear, is not knowing whether my fear is justified, not knowing my enemy or even being sure if I have an enemy outside of my own head.
Ed and I make plans to meet in this courtyard tomorrow at nine in the morning, then Ed finishes his steak moments before my sisters and mother arrive with the Sheehy men. Blair Sheehy, Malcolm’s wife, is right behind them, carrying a tray with tea.
Having finished my steak, I accept Blair’s offer of tea with thanks, and stand nearer the fire with the warm cup in my hands while Ed serves steaks to my mother and sisters. He tends to the roasting meat, rotating the spit to his satisfaction before slipping quietly away through the door in the curtain wall.
I watch him with curiosity. If it weren’t for his knobby knees and gnarled hands, he’d be the finest specimen of Scotsman I’ve seen on this trip, even accounting for the football team we saw go through the airport dressed in suit jackets with their kilts.
I can’t help wondering how old Ed is. He doesn’t look any older than I am, save for his thic
k beard which makes him seem older. But at the same time, something about him seems ancient. Maybe it’s the broadsword or the kilt or the centuries-old castle around us. I want to learn more about Ed.
My sisters, however, seem fully enthralled with the Sheehy brothers, and my mother announces their plan to tour the castle in the morning, then drive around the lake in the afternoon. She implies I’ll be going with them.
I inform her otherwise. “Ed’s taking me out on the loch.”
My mom looks shocked, probably because I’ve been avoiding deep water ever since I escaped from whatever it was that may or may not have attacked me in the Caspian Sea last summer.
Malcolm Sheehy clears his throat. “Ed doesn’t usually interact with guests.”
“Is it okay? I mean, he’s safe, isn’t he?”
“Oh, Ed’s one of the safest men I know, probably the best person in the world to take you out on the loch. He just…doesn’t usually interact with guests. Or people. Much.”
“Ever.” Angus coughs, the word half hidden under a snicker.
Magnus chuckles.
Their father gives them a stern look, and their mother leaps to her feet to offer another round of tea.
I accept the refill with thanks, and sip it slowly, mulling this newfound information. True, Ed was reluctant to interact with me. He’d made it sound like that was the Sheehys’ rule, though. Not his personal preference.
Being naturally reclusive, myself, I wouldn’t be surprised if Ed used the Sheehys as a mask to hide behind. If anything, the fact makes me feel more comfortable around him. My sisters and the Sheehy brothers can be sociable, while Ed and I slink off and be reclusive together.
Even my mother seems to resign herself to the fact. She’s a wise one, my mom, and she knows her daughters well. No doubt she’s reached the same conclusion I have—that if there are two Sheehy dragons, and the two of her daughters interested in getting to know them better are also the two who hope to find a dragon mate, then there’s no reason to force the introverted third daughter to be sociable.