Song for a Lost Kingdom, Book I

by Steve Moretti

  Jackie searched for the right response. “Something inside Kinnard Castle?”

  “Aye. Twas hidden a lang time ago by a Carnegie in our own family, the same who stole Kinnard from his cousin’s widow,” Margaret Rose spoke with a level of determination that belied the fragility of her cancer ridden eighty-five year old body. “Mah grandmother Faith told me stories, and now finally I know from mah dreams, where the bastard hid it.”

  Jackie and William sighed together. They drove in silence, William gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  “Mum. Really?” he asked finally, glancing at the rear view mirror at his mother. Her wide eyes danced with a far-away look as she gazed out at the Angus county scenery.

  “This is it, Will. Right here” Jackie motioned in the direction of an upcoming intersection.

  William turned the little red car onto a tree-lined lane. They soon arrived at the main entry gate of the walled estates of Kinnaird. They stopped in front of the imposing structure.

  Jackie noticed a stone guardhouse, nearly as big as her mother-in-law's cottage, on the other side of the closed gate. There was no one in sight.

  “Ye‘ll need this tae get in,” Margaret Rose said. She passed Jackie a hand-written note with numbers scrawled in the middle. “To unlock th’ gate.”

  “Did that you get that from your dream too, Mum?” William chuckled, as Jackie rolled down her window looking for a place to punch in the code.

  “Nae, William. They emailed it to me.”

  Jackie found a keypad and typed in the numbers. A series of beeps began to sound and the heavy gate slowly opened. William inched the car forward between the towering pillars that guarded the estate.

  “Finally,” Margaret Rose whispered from the backseat. “I can help her.”

  NO ONE SPOKE as they drove toward the castle, which lay nearly a mile ahead, nestled in more than a thousand acres of pristine forest and sprawling parkland. Something about the majesty of the sunlight filtering through ancient oak trees reduced the Stuart party to an awed silence.

  In the distance, a herd of Highland cattle grazed in open pasture while fallow-deer roamed freely. Pheasants scurried past the side of the road, their plumage becoming brilliant rainbows in the soft afternoon light. As the tiny vehicle approached an opening in the trees, they caught their first glimpse of Kinnard Castle, rising majestically over the Angus Valley as it had done since the beginning of the 15th Century.

  The castle’s stone-constructed conical turrets, steep copper-covered roofs and armorial carvings seemed out of place in a world of electric cars and smartphones.

  But as the view of the massive structure overwhelmed them, time itself seemed frozen forever.

  JACKIE FOUND THE luxurious Macduff apartment in the castle to her liking.

  After unpacking her clothes, including the outfits she bought with Adeena on their last trip to Montréal, she explored the three-bedroom apartment. The ornate dining room could comfortably accommodate twelve guests and the cozy panelled living room, with its old stone hearth with split firewood at the ready, was the perfect spot to enjoy a glass of chardonnay in front of a roaring fire.

  The view from the front windows of the formal front gardens looked like something out of the pages of National Geographic. When she opened the lead-cased windows, the fresh scent of the countryside filled the room with pine and lavender. She used her phone to get a picture of the front gardens with their ornamental hedges and the sweeping front lane that led to the one of walking paths crisscrossing the estate.

  She sent the picture to Adeena with a text message:

  Our castle in the Scottish countryside.

  Jackie and William also enjoyed a leisurely riverside stroll. They avoided the private area directly around the castle. This was reserved for the use of the castle’s current inhabitants, the Earl and Countess of Southesk.

  Now sitting in the finely appointed dressing room, adjoining master bedroom with it’s dominating four-poster bed, Jackie admired her reflection in the smoky Victorian mirror. The faded surface softened her features with a dreamy sepia effect, hiding the imperfections of her fifty-three-year-old face.

  This is a perfect mirror, she thought with a smile.

  “Lady Stuart, your Laird awaits,” William announced from the bedroom in a rolling brogue.

  “Almost ready my liege,” she responded playfully, putting the finishing touches on her mascara. The black satin blouse topped with sheer lace and thin straps that Adeena had picked out for her in Montréal was almost too daring for her. It reminded her of something she would wear during her ‘wild days’ as a single woman, when every man seemed to be pawn in her own private chess match. That was before she settled down, got her PhD, got married, got old…

  This was going to be fun, elevating her husband’s blood pressure, just a wee bit.

  William did not disappoint her.

  His eyes could not get any wider, as he took in the complete picture of his alluring French-Canadian wife - from her vermillion red four-inch heels to her high-split skirt showing a bare leg, to the thin blouse highlighting her ample curves. She smiled wickedly as he admired the view and finally looked her directly in the eye.

  “Let’s just stay in tonight,” he growled. “Forget the ball!”

  “My laird!” she squealed, just as they heard a knock on their bedroom door. It opened slowly and her mother-in-law stood before them decked out in a plaid sweater, long skirt and blue beret.

  “Are ye ready Will and. . .” Margaret Rose inquired and then stopped, looking at Jackie. “Oh! Yoo’re gonnae catch the eyes of a few soldiers tonight Jacqueline Stuart!”

  AS THEY STOOD outside under the imposing archway, waiting by the front doors of the castle to open and let them inside for dinner, Margaret Rose pinched herself to be sure she was awake. She touched the rough granite surface of one of the stone pillars. Only last week, the young woman in her dreams had stood in what looked like this exact spot, crying for help.

  She called the woman in her dreams ‘Ashlyn’, though she didn’t know if this was her real name. The woman had first appeared to Margaret Rose in a dream after the death of her husband Robert, who had died in a car accident when William was a toddler. In Margaret Rose’s overwhelming grief, the dreams were meaningless flashes of faces and images. She thought the dreams came from the stories her grandmother Faith had endlessly told her while she was growing up near Perth.

  But as the years progressed, and the pain of losing Robert receded, the dreams and the voices became clearer and more focused on this woman and her agony. Mixed with Margaret-Rose’s own despair as a young, destitute single mother, Ashlyn’s suffering was often too much to handle and Margaret Rose would sink into long bouts of depression. When she finally sent William away to live with her brother in Canada, she felt almost incapable of going on with her life.

  “Mum, you okay?” William interrupted her thoughts.

  “Yea, William,” she replied gently, returning to the present. She took hold of his arm firmly and whispered, “Stick wi’ me when we go in. Ahm going to need yer help, dear.”

  William was about to protest when the heavy wooden doors of the castle opened.

  THE DINING ROOM of Kinnard Castle was something in which any professor of history, particularly one specializing in the cultural origins of Europe, would find a delight of the highest magnitude. As William soaked in details of the room, he was glad his mother’s usually nonsensical ramblings had gotten them a seat for this dinner. The towering portraits that stared down on them each seemed to hold a captivating story behind their stern faces. He was eager to learn more about the lives of each of these characters.

  “Lairds and ladies. Welcome to Kinnaird Castle,” a young man announced. He was dressed in a traditional black barathea jacket with a dark bow tie and kilt. He stood at the end of the long, formally laid table covered in white linen. Jackie, sitting beside William radiant in her finery, touched his leg and smiled at him. William imagined he might b
e a Duke sitting in his castle, having captured the heart of a beautiful Duchess.

  “The Earl and Countess of Southesk welcome you to Kinnard’s August Dinner Tour organized by Alba Aismhor, Historic Scotland,” the man said to the dozen or so guests gathered. “As it happens, the Earl and Countess are abroad this month, so you’ll have to suffer through the evening with me, Charles, your humble servant.”

  Gentle laughter filled the room as two waiters appeared with bottles of wine and began offering the red or white to each of the twenty-four guests dressed as though they were dining with royalty. Soon afterwards an elegant scotch broth was served, with a piece of tender lamb shank in each bowl. The first course was just enough to whet their appetites for the feast ahead.

  Margaret Rose sitting across the table caught William’s eye. She tilted her head to the left, as if she was trying to get him to look at something at the end of the room. He noticed an archway leading up to a wooden staircase.

  “What is it, Mum?” he whispered.

  “Ah need the loo.”

  As he weighed his options, Jackie intervened. “I’ll take you,” she offered.

  “Both of you come, please,” Margaret Rose said, rising stiffly. “Ahm feeling a wee dizzy. I donnae why.”

  She stood up and left the table, walking slowly toward the staircase, with Jackie hurrying to help and William not far behind.

  UPSTAIRS, MARGARET ROSE led them into Kinnaird’s library. The tall shelves were filled with rare books, maps and original documents. The tapestries on the walls seemed familiar to her.

  “Where are we going Mum?” William asked with growing alarm. “The toilet’s not here.”

  Margaret Rose was searching one of the bookshelves in the middle of the room and was about to respond to William, when a man, dressed in a tight-fitting doublet, tartan waistcoat and kilt joined them.

  “Is everything quite alright?” he asked.

  “Mum’s not feeling well,” William replied as Margaret Rose moved closer to a section of the bookshelf with a small neatly handwritten card over one section that read: Peerage, Earls of Southesk. She reached for a volume, the thickest in the section: Sixth Earl of Southesk and handed it to William.

  “Should I call for the nurse?” the man asked, and then added in a concerned voice: “Sir, please be careful with those volumes. They are extremely fragile. Would you mind putting it back please?”

  Margaret Rose looked over at her daughter-in-law, dressed like some kind of bewitching French harlot. She tried to catch her eye.

  Time to play your part Jacqueline, Margaret Rose thought to herself, nodding at the middle-aged man in the kilt, hoping Jackie would get her subtle message. Jackie looked at her. Their eyes locked together as she nodded and smiled.

  Smart girl!

  “I think she just needs some air,” Jackie said, turning to the man and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Angus, ma’am. Angus McDonald.”

  “Well, Angus, would you mind escorting a lady to dinner?” Jackie purred

  He hesitated a few seconds until William slid the volume back into its place on the shelf.

  Jackie touched Angus’s shoulder and interlocked her arm through his, turning him towards the stairs leading back to the dining room. “So, will you?” she asked.

  “Indeed ma’am! I’d be honoured,” Angus replied as they walked away.

  WILLIAM WAITED UNTIL they had disappeared down the wide staircase. He reached again for the heavy leather-bound volume.

  “Open it. Quick!” Margaret Rose whispered to her son. He was after all, a history professor and a Stuart. He ought to be of some help.

  “It’s the diary of Sir James Carnegie, Sixth Earl of Southesk,” he read to her.

  “Aye. Look up 1745, August ah think,” she whispered.

  William turned the pages carefully. “3 June, 1745 . . . wait, 12 July . . . . Okay here, ‘Kinnaird, 6 August, 1745.’ Is that the ‘mystical’ date you dreamed about?”

  There was no time to fight with him. “Read it tae me!”

  William adjusted his glasses and read to her in a quiet voice:

  “Kinnard will soon be mine. Arrangements now in progress are going well. Tonight I returned from my glorious dayes in Flanders with the officers in my regiment and we were welcomed by George, who arranged a feast of mutton and ale.

  Sister Katharine travelled from Aberdeen to play for me on a new cello from maestro Duncan of Upperkirkgate that George was able to secure through his merchant associates.

  But that she, a woman and mine own sister too, would play an instrument clearly in the domain of men, was scandalous.

  The song Katharine played seemed to intoxicate my men. It was the most seditious song I ever heard and played on such a lewd instrument too! Katharine said it was a composition that she composed. She sang as though possessed by spirits that talked directly of the Jacobite traitors and their young Pretender king.

  I scolded her forthwith afterward ~ for my men were transfixed of a spirit that frightened me. I confiscated her score and hid it in my keep. I warned her never to perform it again, lest it embolden the traitors amongst us who would destroy the Union. I also forbade her from ever playing that instrument again and to find something more suitable for a lady, such as a cittern.”

  Margaret Rose stood transfixed staring at William. He was holding a time capsule that had just opened a world that she had never completely understood - until now.

  It wasn’t ‘Ashlyn’ but ‘Katharine’. And just like in the dream, Katharine’s brother was her tormentor.

  “We need tae fin’ the keep, William,” she said as she took the leather volume from him, glancing over the pages that made everything so much clearer. “And ah think a know whaur to look.”

  IT HAD BEEN quite a while since Jackie had been this coquettish with another man. Over thirty years, she thought to herself, adjusting the thin strap holding the lacy edge of her tight sleeveless blouse.

  Men were such simple creatures, driven by the primitive urges of their brain chemistry, Jackie mused as she smiled at Angus. She had persuaded him to sit in the seat across from her at the dining room table.

  “My husband just texted me,” she said looking down. “He’s taking his mother back to her room.”

  “Oh. I do hope she’s all right, Mrs. Stuart,” Angus replied with concern.

  “It’s Jacqueline,” she said, pursing her lips slightly and looking up at him innocently through her lashes. Just like riding a bike she thought as she turned her charm offensive up a few notches. “Angus, tell me more about yourself . . .”

  IN HER DREAMS, Margaret Rose suffered alongside “Ashlyn” who she now knew was Katharine Carnegie. Katharine searched everywhere for the musical score deliberately hidden by her paranoid brother, Sir James Carnegie, ‘The Captain’. The fuzzy outlines of years of misty dreams were snapping into focus, sharpened considerably by a few paragraphs of hand-written text.

  Margaret Rose searched for the stairwell that she thought must be somewhere near the library. She felt certain this would lead to the alcove she had seen so vividly in her dreams.

  “Mum, we’ll never find the keep. It could be anywhere,” William protested.

  Then she noticed long shadows in the corner, near the end of the wall of shelves.

  “Follaow me,” she said marching towards the dark shadow.

  William followed behind slowly. The shadow in the corner was actually the opening of a tiny arched staircase that led down four steps to a small alcove. Above the alcove door was a round stone plate inscribed with a crest - a pair of wings overlaid with four jagged arrows and two crowns, one above and one below what looked like a barbershop pole.

  Above the crest in large letters were the words:

  DRED • GOD

  Margaret Rose gasped when she saw it. “This is it! I keep seein’ that in mah dreams!”

  William studied it. “It the Carnegie Clan crest and their motto.
I’ve been reading about the history of this place. This castle is ground zero in Carnegie history.”

  Margaret Rose peered inside the dark alcove. “See if ye can fin’ a light Will.”

  William felt around and found a switch just inside the alcove entrance. He flicked it on and two incandescent lights in metal caged enclosures lit up, throwing a soft glow throughout the tiny space.

  Margaret Rose entered first, and studied the shelves that were literally carved into the thick granite walls. On one side, the shelves were at least three feet deep, holding wooden, plastic and cardboard containers of all shapes and sizes, each neatly labelled.

  “We need tae fine Katharine’s music,” Margaret Rose urged her son.

  William scanned the boxes in sheer amazement. His mother realized this must be like finding the Holy Grail for him. A student of history, standing in front of a treasure of original documents, manuscripts and journals that had been rarely seen and most likely forgotten by just about everyone else, this was a rare treat indeed.

  He looked at the labels carefully and read them quietly to her. “Look at this, 1647, Journale et papiers: Marquis di Montrose,” he whispered in excitement.

  “Nae son, ye a hunder years early!”

  He walked slowly calling out the years to her. “Okay, 1692 ~ Charter of Sale, Master of Carnegie, 1702, oh and look at this, 1713, James Carnegie, Fifth Earl of Southesk and Lady Margaret Stewart, Marriage Contract,” he read to her, his voice reverberating in the small stone alcove.

  “Keep goin’ son,” she urged him.

  JACKIE WAS HAVING fun and Angus was an interesting study.

  His receding hairline was tinged with the grey onset of middle-age. After many years of menial jobs and a protracted divorce, he had gone back to school and graduated from the University of St Andrews in Fife with a degree in Mediaeval Studies. He was uncertain of his job prospects, but for now he was enjoying a summer placement with Historic Scotland, the government agency.