Hot Scots, Castles, and Kilts

by Tammy Swoish

  Adan's wearing a kilt, and his knees look delicious. His wool knee socks are straight and perfect. How does he do that? Mine would be bunched around my ankles.

  The men are all buff and brooding like they've just lost their best friend, and it's become my task to make them smile.

  Mom told Adan I was a hopeless flirt. He just laughed and said, “As long as I get most of it.”

  Two things were weird about that conversation. For one, Mom doesn't usually like the guys I date. She says they're all losers. But she's okay with Adan. When Molly and I were at the booth alone, she told me that Mom thought Adan was good for me. I asked her why, and she just shrugged and said, “She sees the spark in your eye.”

  Great. So now I'm one of Mom's hopelessly romantic, sparkling-eyed heroines.

  Molly said she liked the way Adan and I were helping Fiona deal with her “misplaced anger.”

  The second weird thing was, Adan was really mellow about my flirting. American guys get all bent out of shape if their girl even looks at another guy. But Adan just watched me and smiled. He said it was a compliment to him that other guys thought I was attractive; it made him feel good about the attention I gave him. “Women flirt,” he said, shrugging. “But I know you'll be dancing with me later. That's what matters.” Then he hugged me . . . right in front of Mom.

  Ghost Sam

  I swear I saw my ghost Samuel standing at the corner eating a turkey leg.

  I turned away.

  Love

  I totally love the smell and taste of fresh bread. It tops my love for spending an entire day at the mall.

  Molly's booth is set up in front of a little baker's shop. The lady who runs it has to be about the same age as my grandma Ames, and like Grandma, Christina Muir is petite.

  I'd be big as a barn if I worked in her shop. I'd eat the bread all day, end up with an addiction, and have to attend some type of dough lovers' therapy group.

  About once an hour Christina brings us warm, fresh-from-the-oven bread. It's no use fighting the aroma or temptation, so I just eat it.

  Spending Money

  Fiona and Molly brought two large baskets of dried lavender, homemade beeswax candles, and skeins of dyed wool for trading at the market square.

  With Adan and Shane off for a couple of hours playing with swords, big stones, and other weapons, we would have time to do some damage before meeting them later at the dance.

  “I'm taking Sami,” Molly said. “Now I'll show ye a taste of real shopping.” She winked at me, then looked at Fiona.

  Fiona turned to my mom. “And we'll be coming home with more. I'm a wiser shopper than Mum.”

  Molly laughed. “A contest ye'll be losing, Fiona.”

  “Auch, Mum,” Fiona said. “The first booth ye see with baubles, ye'll stop and trade all your lavender.”

  “Aye, I do like the shinny things.” Molly took my arm. “Let's go, Sami.”

  As we walked away Fiona said, “What about the booth?”

  “Christina has closed,” Molly said. “The smell of her bread brought people down this way. We mid as well close too.”

  “Aye,” Fiona said. “We'll meet back here in an hour?”

  “Two,” Molly said. “Sami and I have some serious shopping to do.”

  Molly Is So Cool

  I wish my mom was as cool as Molly. I thought I was a serious shopper, but Molly made me look like an amateur. I guess it's easy to shop with a credit card or a pocketful of cash, but try going to a shopping mall with a basket of lavender, candles, and soap and see how much you get. Not a pair of American Eagle jeans, that's for sure.

  There were two aisles of booths, intersecting at the large market square. Each vendor on one of the main aisles had a booth made of a three-sided tent or tightly woven sticks. The open side faced the shopper.

  Molly shopped the way I did. We walked the market and examined all the goods before making any purchases. People were selling the coolest stuff. One lady was selling stained glass she had made herself. An old guy had ancient-looking wooden crates in which perched live hooded falcons. He was selling falcons . . . at the medieval mall.

  As we walked, people shouted out, barking their goods, trying to get passersby to stop. I'd just gotten to the point where I could understand Molly, Adan, Fiona, and Shane. But I was lost here. Molly said a lot of the vendors were speaking Gaelic.

  I saw a girl my age in jeans and a T-shirt, exactly what I'd be wearing if Molly hadn't made us all our medieval peasant outfits. I felt proud. Even with tennis shoes that didn't fit the peasant theme, I looked like I belonged. I was living the history of the village and wasn't just an ordinary tourist.

  Small groups of people stood around gossiping and laughing. A cell phone rang; mine had been dead since I'd gotten off the plane. But I didn't miss it. There's more to life than texting.

  Holy cow. I was losing my mind . . . and loving it.

  My Future

  Molly and I walked near a purple and orange tent.

  “I've always liked lists and goals,” she said.

  “The facts,” I said.

  “Aye.”

  Unlike at the other booths, this tent's front flap was down, but a round sign scrolled out the word “Fortune” in fancy gold letters.

  Once, on the Internet, I'd clicked this fortune-telling site for a free trial. I'd had to answer a bunch of questions, and all I'd gotten in return was some lame form-letter response with my name plugged into key spots. I'd had no interest in the art of prediction since.

  “It's good to experience different kinds of things in life,” Molly said. “Dinnae ye think?”

  She had a point. “Yeah.”

  “Shall we put our lists and facts away for an hour, Sami, and try a different approach?”

  I nodded. “Sure, why not?”

  We walked toward the tent arm in arm. We moved slowly, as if we were headed into the principal's office. The flap flew open. A middle-aged man walked out—well, more like ran. His forehead was wrinkled with concern, or was it fear?

  We looked at each other, took a breath, and walked in.

  “Velkom.” The voice sounded like it belonged to a female Dracula. A woman stepped out from a dark corner. Her blue dress shimmered as she moved slowly, dragging the hem on the wool rug. “My name is Lucia.”

  She looked like a Gypsy woman I'd seen in an old black-and-white movie. She wore a gold turban on her head. A fake red gem was pinned in the center, holding the turban together. Black curls escaped from the sides and framed her face. Her dark eyes were painted with rich purple shadow. I envied her eye-liner; I never could put it on that straight. I wondered if it was tattooed.

  I felt Molly's hand tighten on my forearm and heard the cough of laughter she tried to hide.

  Lucia walked over to us, placing one hand on each of our shoulders. “Oh.” She pulled back like we'd shocked her. “You are kindred souls.”

  Molly coughed again. I bit my bottom lip.

  “You've come to have your futures told?” she said.

  She'd hit the nail on the head. I bit my lip harder. Molly hiccupped and nodded.

  “You've come just in time,” she said.

  “Have we, now?” Molly asked. She wiped the back of her hand across her right eye.

  Was she crying? Like laughing crying? I snapped my left pinky finger to control my own laughter.

  Lucia looked at Molly's basket. “You've goods to trade?”

  “Aye.” Molly held out the basket to her.

  “It's less than my usual fee,” Lucia said. “I'll take the entire basket.”

  What did she usually charge . . . two live chickens and five bundles of lavender?

  “We'd trade it all for a reading,” said Molly.

  Lucia looked deep into my eyes. I nodded my agreement. There was nothing else at the fair we wanted to buy. Besides, there were tons of lavender and dyed wool back at the cottage. Anyone would've done the same. When you're in a dark tent faced with a lady wearing a golden to
wel with a fake ruby on it, you'll pay to hear what she has to say.

  “Done.” Lucia pulled the flap of the tent into place. A few oil lamps cast an eerie, pale light throughout the interior.

  “Fortune-tellers work better in the dark,” Molly whispered.

  I looked at Lucia to make sure she hadn't heard.

  Molly leaned in close, whispering, “Do ye think she has a crystal ball?”

  Geez. I looked behind us to where Lucia was tying the flap shut. I bet Molly got in trouble all the time in school for talking in class, just like I do.

  We sat. My right leg bounced against Molly's left. I was so jumpy. Mom would be putting her hand firmly on my thigh right about now, but Molly's leg bounced faster than mine.

  Lucia sat across from us. She reached down, brought up a huge crystal ball, and placed it in the center of the table.

  Molly coughed again, hiding her laughter. I bit my lip. My stomach hurt. I was going to crack any second, and not just my left pinky.

  I smelled the fog machine working before the clouds started to creep up from under the table.

  My bottom lip was numb from biting so hard. My stomach was cramping from trying not to laugh.

  Lucia waved her hands dramatically over the ball and closed her eyes. “Come and speak to me, spirits of those who've passed before us. Show me these ladies' futures.”

  Molly looked at me and winked. Along with my numb lip and cramped stomach, my cheeks were losing sensation because I couldn't stop smiling.

  Lucia opened her eyes, fixed her stare on the crystal ball, and said, “You've gone through trials and disappointments.” She shook her head. “Life will begin to treat you fairly.”

  She looked up at Molly. “You think you were born in the wrong time.” Then she turned to me. “You see the spirits of the dead.”

  Both our legs stopped moving at the same time. Maybe Lucia wasn't a fake.

  She continued. “You.” She looked at Molly. “Noble blood runs through your veins. Had you lived in another time, you'd feel the power and privilege that provides. But now, 'tis a burden as you fight to keep the old ways alive.” Lucia nodded. “Before a year has passed, you will feel the power of being a noblewoman, single-handedly taking care of what belongs to you.”

  I heard Molly sigh but didn't take my eyes off Lucia as she turned to me. “You are young and don't understand your gift. Few have an open mind about the spirit world. You keep yours closed because you prefer facts. The dead scare you. Don't be afraid. You can help their spirits find peace. That's why they come to you.”

  “I don't want them coming to me,” I whispered.

  Lucia shook her head. “It's not your choice. They've selected you.”

  “No,” I whispered. That was not cool.

  Lucia smiled at me. “You fool yourself by hiding behind facts and logic. This land, Scotland, runs through your veins. You'll not have the power to fight the pull of its dead. They will speak, and you will listen.”

  “She only has the gift here in Scotland?” asked Molly.

  “Yes,” said Lucia. “It's her ancestors calling.”

  Then she closed her eyes again, moving her hands rhythmically over the crystal ball. Neither Molly nor I was laughing now.

  Lucia opened her eyes and focused on Molly again. “You're in love,” she said.

  Molly stared at her. “I'm a widow.”

  Lucia smiled. “It's not disloyalty to your first husband to marry another.”

  “Aye,” Molly said.

  “Close the gap between the two families,” said Lucia. “Your love will do it.”

  “But—”

  Lucia stood. “That is all.” The fog stopped. “There is no more to be said.” She walked around the table, untied the tent flap, and opened it.

  We didn't move.

  “That is all,” Lucia said, more loudly.

  Molly nudged me, and we stood and walked out. While we'd been in the tent, it'd gotten dark. Neither of us said a word. We walked slowly all the way back to Molly's booth and sat down. Fiona and Mom were still gone.

  “That was weird,” I said, finally finding my voice.

  “Aye,” Molly said.

  “What did she mean by you being in love?”

  Molly shook her head. “ 'Tis a long story.”

  “I'll trade you my ghostly tale for your love story,” I said.

  Molly smiled. “You do like to bargain. Aye, I'll tell ye, Sami. But ye canna say a word to Fiona.”

  Molly Loves

  Laird McClintogg

  No wonder she doesn't want Fiona to know.

  Talking Ghosts and Love

  I don't know how I'm going to get my groove on tonight at the dance. My mind is in overdrive with the whole ghostly-ancestors-talking-to-me stuff and Molly's love for Laird McClintogg.

  What do my ghostly ancestors have to say to me? I'm not even really Scottish.

  Mom and Fiona Win

  Molly had just finished telling me the story of her and Laird McClintogg when Mom and Fiona got back to the booth.

  They put us to shame. The two romantics were loaded down with purchases. They had samples of everything from jewelry to small pieces of chain mail.

  “What'd you get?” Mom asked.

  Molly said, “Oh, we had a lot to chew on.”

  “I bought small chain-mail bracelets for each of us,” said Fiona, handing me one, then putting an identical one on her right wrist. “For the dance tonight.”

  Interesting jewelry choice.

  Highland Dancing

  “It's the sword dance,” Adan whispered in my ear. He'd changed out of his knight gear and into what he called his evening wear, a more formal outfit consisting mainly of black leather pants.

  I watched the girl, no more than twelve, place two swords on the raised platform. She wore a white shirt, a black vest, a plaid skirt, and knee-high socks.

  “She'll cross them,” Adan said, “and dance.”

  “Why the swords?” I asked.

  Adan's hand sat on my waist, holding me to his side. “It's a dance of dexterity and speed. Historically it was soldiers who danced it. It was a way to train the men in the skill and stamina they'd need for battle.”

  My jaw dropped as the music began and the dancer leaped into action. It was the most athletic dance I'd ever seen. She jumped and kicked the whole time, staying on the balls of her feet.

  When she finished, I was exhausted. “Wow” was all I could manage.

  “Aye,” Adan said. “It's a powerful dance once done before important battles or as a victory dance. The victor's sword would lie on top of the opponent's. Some legends say that the decapitated head of the loser would be lying next to the swords.”

  “Okay, gross,” I said.

  Then he leaned over and kissed me on the lips, right in the middle of the packed market.

  Aye.

  Day 30

  Power Tools

  Yesterday Fiona and I finished cleaning the third cottage. Today our moms were with us. Mom and Fiona painted the loft, and I worked with Molly.

  She let me use the table saw. That rocked.

  “You should just tell Fiona you're dating the laird,” I said.

  “Aye,” she said. “That's what Robert says. I dinnae know how she'll take it, though.”

  “Does Adan know?” I asked.

  “Aye.”

  “How often do you see the laird?”

  “Robert,” she said, smiling. “I dinnae call him the laird.” She placed a piece of trim along the base of the wall. “We see each other once or twice a week. His wife died three years before Fiona's father.”

  “There's only one way to find out how Fiona will take it,” I said.

  Molly nodded. “Aye.”

  Meeting the Laird

  Adan's taking me to his home today. I get to meet his dad, Laird Robert McClintogg. I can't stop cracking my pinky.

  Molly told me to relax. Mom laughed. And Fiona just glared at me all morning and mumbled a l
ot about the devil laird.

  By the time Adan picked me up, at six o'clock, I was so nervous I was having bladder issues.

  I must've looked pretty bad, because in his car he leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Fiona probably told you some things, but he's not a bad man, Sami,” he said. “He'll like you.”

  I didn't tell Adan that I'd yet to have a boyfriend whose parents really liked me. It wasn't that I was hard to get along with or anything; it was just that I felt awkward around some adults, especially when I wanted them to like me.

  By the time we pulled up in front of his home, my palms were sweating and my pinky knuckles were begging for mercy. It didn't help that his manor was larger than the White House, complete with turrets and guard towers.

  Adan got out, walked around the car, and opened my door. I climbed out. “He'll throw me in the dungeon,” I mumbled.

  Adan laughed. “Auch, nay . . . maybe put ye on the rack, but not in the dungeon.”

  I growled, to gain my courage. This was no joking matter, and I was in no mood for his Scottish humor.

  “Take a breath, Sami.” He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “ 'Tis not another girl I've ever brought home. My father will see you're special. Just be yourself, lass.”

  Okay. I'd be my usual hyperventilating self. Did he say he'd never brought a girl home?

  There must be some air around here. Too bad I couldn't get any of it. My head dropped. Geez, I really was going down.

  Adan grabbed my waist and moved to my right. “Bend over and breathe,” he said.

  One . . . two . . . three. Focusing on the numbers calmed me. In a couple more seconds I'd have my confidence back. Four . . . five . . . six.

  “What on earth are ye doin' to that bonnie lass, son?”

  The voice boomed, and I blacked out.

  The Most Embarrassing

  Moment of My Entire Life

  I awoke lying on a leather couch in a huge darkpaneled room. Shelves lined with books were everywhere. Mom sat on a stool beside me.