“Chip and pin, got it. Here’s cash.” I slipped out the last of my cash from my wallet as I numbly watched the waiter leave.
I stood from the table and grabbed my purse just as my eye caught Rowland’s uneaten food.
A tattie scone sat on the edge of his plate, untouched. I swiped it and made my way to the door, burying my sorrows in golden texture of the potato.
The cool air permeated my sweater and made me shiver slightly as I made my way back to the hotel. As I walked, my mind spun. How had I been so easily fooled? I mean, shouldn’t I have caught on somehow? Either Rowland was an excellent liar… okay, maybe actor was a better term, or I was dumb as a brick when it came to men.
This whole dating experiment thing had done nothing but disappoint me time and time again. Every expectation, every fantasy had been destroyed. And I wasn’t talking a simple reality check; I was talking like the freaking sinking of the Titanic kind of devastation.
If these guys, the ‘ideals’ I’ve been ‘dating’ were the pinnacle of all girlish fantasies, then guys really sucked. They needed to up their game seriously. I mean, of all the guys I’d dated, none of them had impressed me.
Except Rowland.
And he was a dirty rotten liar.
And a cheat.
Kissing equals cheating.
And part of me fumed at Roxi for pushing me. But even as I thought it, I knew the decision was still mine.
Which just made it suck more.
Sometimes being an adult really was damn hard.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I STOOD IN front of the steps of my hotel and sighed, scanning the large stone building. I really didn’t want to go inside, but I didn’t want to just walk aimlessly either. The truth was, I had to finish the write-up on Rowland The Despicable, and the sooner I got it done, the sooner I could forget all about the horrific mess.
Putting on my big girl attitude, I stomped up the stairs, took the elevator and went inside my room, half expecting to see Kirby camped out. Thankfully, he wasn’t. I’d write the post, then go and get my room changed and do something fun, something that would make me forget about the stupid men that killed my dreams.
As I sat at my desk, my phone went off.
Roxi: How was breakfast, or did it turn into a brunch in bed. ;)
Me: I hate men.
Roxi: Uh… I take it things went bad?
Me: He’s engaged… gave me a headshot, bill and product placement for the blog write-up.
Roxi : WTH calling you.
Sure enough my phone lit up, and Roxi’s face showed on the screen. “Hi.”
“Okay, so what the hell happened? He’s engaged?”
I sighed and signed into my computer. “Yeah. He said that he thought I knew this was all pretend. His fiancée supposedly knew about the whole ordeal.”
“So… the kiss and the flirting…
“Was all fake.”
“Shit. What a bastard. When I spoke with him he was so enthusiastic about it, especially after I sent your picture… I just assumed…”
“Yeah, I understand… it still sucks though. But…” I took a deep breath and scanned the document he gave me about his company. “From a business perspective, as much as I want to write a post that will crucify him, his company has a lot of potential. Our readers would be interested in several of his products and I can see this being mutually beneficial. I hate that I’m saying this… but I’m going to be a good girl and write nice.”
“No, no you’re not. Screw him! Okay… so maybe don’t do that, but you know what I mean. Forget it. He’s dead to me; his products are dead to Rox.com. I want no part—”
“Yes, you do. This is business.” I took a deep breath. “This is not personal.”
“Who are you?”
“Your partner, who is able to emotionally detach from the awful to make good decisions.” I smiled tightly as I started to absentmindedly scan the portion of the post I had already written about Rowland.
“You’re not a robot, Mere. What he did? That was wrong. It hurt. It’s okay for it to hurt.” Roxi spoke softly, pulling my attention back.
“I know.”
“Do you? Mere… these guys… I’ll admit they haven’t been the best—”
I snorted.
“I know… but just because there’s a bunch of frogs doesn’t mean that there’s no prince.”
“Girls never get over fairytales.”
“Girls never should. Don’t give up… don’t let this Rowland guy steal your sparkle. Because some day, some guy is going to be the real deal, you just haven’t met him yet.”
“You know, you should record this and listen to it yourself.”
“That’s why I have you… to tell me when I need to hear it.”
“Fine. I gotta go. I want to write this up and get it done so I don’t have to think about it anymore.”
“Okay. Are you sure you’re all right? I know this guy really fooled you—”
“I’m fine,” I answered quickly, wanting to be just… done.
“’Ok. Call me if you need me.”
“Will do.” I hung up and stared at the blinking curser on the screen.
“Let’s see just how good of a liar I can be…” I whispered and started to type.
An hour later, I scanned over the document and started on the HTML when my door clicked. Screw it. I didn’t even care anymore.
“Hi, Kirby,” I mumbled and turned my attention back to the screen.
“What’s the deal?” he asked. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him waltz into the room like he owned it.
“With?” I asked, still staring at my screen.
“I get this cryptic phone call from Roxi and—”
“Roxi has a very big mouth, and I’m buying her duck tape for Christmas.”
He paused. “Be that as it may…”
“I’m fine.” I turned to him, offered a tight smile, and then studied my screen.
“Yer a rotten liar.”
“Then Rowland is going to hate this write-up,” I said back.
“You mean yer millionaire guy?”
“Yup.”
“I take it… you didn’t take a shine to him like you thought?” He strode to the bed and lied down, crossing his ankles and putting his hands behind his head, a stupid grin on his face.
“The only thing shining is his fiancée’s diamond ring.”
“Say what?” He sat up and I turned to face him fully.
“He was engaged.”
“I gather that… but I tho—”
“Didn’t we all.” I waved my hands sarcastically and spun back to my computer.
“But you’re lying about your write-up… meaning you’re making him sound good?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Can you just go away? I want to get this done, so I can leave this horrible place that has killed my final fantasy about men. I want to go home, have a very, very large bottle of wine, take a hot bubble bath and dream about… I don’t know… something that can’t be killed by some stupid, obnoxious, selfish and lying man who—”
Kirby’s warm hand covered my mouth and he spun me to face him. “You talk too much. If you have to type, then type. Don’t talk.” His gaze seared through me and stilled my restlessness. Silently, I nodded and he slowly removed his hand. Taking a deep breath, I finished the HTML, knowing Kirby was just behind me sitting on the bed. But his presence didn’t frustrate me like I would have anticipated; rather it was peaceful… because I wasn’t alone.
Which sounded all sorts of pathetic, but I chose to ignore that.
“Done.” I scheduled the post and emailed Roxi a document for backup purposes.
“Alright. Let’s go.” Kirby rose from the bed, grabbed my discarded jacket, and tossed it to me.
“Go?” I blinked.
“Yeah… go. You can’t just mope around here.” He glanced around the room then to me.
“Where are we going?” I asked cautio
usly, narrowing my eyes. I wasn’t going to just trust him.
“Have you been to the castle yet?” He asked, and as he said it I could see the victory in his eyes. He knew he had me. Damn the man.
“No. Fine. Let’s go. But I want a tattie scone,” I grumbled.
He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Maybe. If you’re good.” He opened the door for me, and we walked silently down the hall, to the elevator and outside.
“I don’t know how to act when you’re nice to me. It’s kinda freaking me out.” I studied him as he got into his car.
“I still dinna like you. But I promised Roxi I wouldn’t let you drown yourself in your sad, lonely, and pathetic tears.”
“Oddly enough, that makes me feel better.” I nodded once.
He rolled his eyes and pulled onto the road. “So you haven’t seen the castle. Why?”
“I haven’t had time.”
“It’s usually the first place people go when visiting.”
“Well, I went to Holyroodhouse.”
“Impressive, eh?” He grinned.
“Yeah, to say the least.”
“Well the castle is less fancy, but just as monumental. You won’t be disappointed. It’s a good thing it’s early yet. It’s not a short tour.”
“So you’ll be stuck with me all day? Wow… that must have been some favor you owed Roxi.”
“You have no idea.”
“This might be fun after all. There is a certain joy I find in torturing you.” I punched him on the arm playfully.
“Just remember that while I said I’d not leave you to your own devices, I never once mentioned being nice.” He reached over and rubbed the top of my head with his palm, destroying the even texture of my hair.
“Why?” I whined and tried to smooth it back.
“Because I can.”
“You know, I thought that maybe you were being nice… but now I get it. You’re here so you can torture me.”
“Ah, she finally gets it!” He gave me a short applause then pulled into a tight parking spot on a steep hill.
I closed my eyes and waited, sure we were about to hit the small car in front of us.
“Easy lass. Don’t get yer panties in a twist.” The car stopped and he turned off the engine.
“Where’s the castle?” I asked as he got out of the car, the door slamming, punctuating the end of my words. “Never mind.” I rolled my eyes and reached down to grab my purse.
My door opened. “Right up that way.” He nodded up the steep hill.
“Oh. Thanks.” I got out and studied my surroundings. Large stone buildings lined the streets, and all along the bricked road were tourist trap stores that sold everything from bagpipes to Scottish wool scarves. “Wow.”
“That’s what they all say.” He said and started up the street.
“Not what I meant,” I called after him.
He ignored me.
I jogged a few steps to catch up and then doubled my walking pace to keep up with his stride.
“In a hurry, sheesh, slow down.” I tugged on his arm.
“It’s not my fault you’ve got short stubby legs. Make them work harder. Won’t hurt you.” He grinned.
“Yeah well, not all of us have legs as long as you, jolly green giant.”
“Up here is the Edinburgh Castle court yard. And since it’s Thursday, Wes will be doing his Braveheart act.” He nodded to the other end of the street.
“Wes? Braveheart?” I repeated, scanning the street.
“Yup.”
“Are you going to give me any more detail?” I asked, slightly sarcastic.
“Nope.”
“A plus on the tour guiding so far.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Funny, I don’t remember asking.” I shoved his shoulder slightly.
He stopped mid-step and turned to me. “It was in yer eyes.” He tapped my nose condescendingly and walked on.
“The only thing in my eyes is—”
“Look! There’s Wes.” Kirby cut off my words as he pointed to a man just outside the castle’s massive courtyard. My eyes widened as I watched the fifty-year-old man start to recite the famous lines from the movie.
“Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you'll live -- at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!”
He punctuated his words with a raised sword. His face was painted half blue and black on the diagonal, his hair was long and wavy, and his costume was completed with a kilt and fur accents.
“Best part of my visit,” I whispered, hoping he’d start over.
“Sad.” Kirby shook his head. “But I do admit he’s gotten better over the years.” Kirby walked on toward the castle. I waited, watching as Wes bent down and gave a little boy a high five, then growled and lifted his sword at another man across the street. “Alba gu bra!” he shouted.
“Scotland Forever!” The man across the street shouted back, lifting his fist in the air.
“Merry!” Kirby called and I turned making my way toward him. The castle gates grew larger as we walked closer. We kept walking, and with each step, I realized that the castle wasn’t that close… it was just that big. Stone gates reminded me of every medieval movie I’d ever seen.
“Whoa,” I breathed.
“Finally caught up did ye?” Kirby remarked, but I didn’t even cast him a glance, rather my attention was fixed on the statues guarding the entrance to the castle. “Who are they?”
“Sir William Wallace and King Robert the Bruce,” Kirby answered, his brogue adding thick accent to the names.
“Is that what the inscriptions says?” I nodded toward the large Latin words carved in the stone.
“Hardly. ’Tis a promise, old and yet still vastly true.” His tone was reverent and I glanced to him, puzzled by the slight smirk on his face.
“And it says…?”
“Ach, it says, What you do to us, we will do to you.” He nodded once, grinned and strode toward the line to purchase entrance to the castle.
“For some reason…” I shook my head. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” Honestly, I couldn’t think of a better way to sum up all of the history, the fight, the loyalty of the Scottish people… And I had only been around them for less than a week.
Kirby held out my ticket silently, and before I could ask about paying him back, he was taking long strides toward the actual entrance.
“Don’t wait for me!”
“Wasn’t going to!”
“Jerk,” I mumbled under my breath. I jogged to catch up, passing under a huge gate that was tucked inside of the stone wall, just like in all the movies where the hero hits the lever and the gate crashes closed. I counted three more gates past the first one.
“Just in case.” Kirby shrugged.
“Of what? The zombie apocalypse?” I studied the sharpened points of each gate as it hung above me.
Kirby’s laugh echoed in the cavernous stone entryway. We followed a stone road down a slight hill and into what looked like a courtyard, where cannons lined the small stone wall, with little windows for them to fire through.
“No way.” The cold, galvanized metal felt freezing to my fingers, but I couldn’t stop touching it.
“That’s not the one you should be impressed with.” Kirby spoke softly just behind me, startling me slightly.
“Oh?” I turned, following his gaze and gasping as I saw what had to be the largest cannon in the world.
“That’s Mon’s Meg.” He started toward the massive cannon, appearing almost small as he placed his hand on it.
“How old?” I asked as I stared.
“It was built in 1449, and takes a 400 pound cannon ball.” He turned slightly and motioned to a veritable mountain of cannon balls. Each one was massive.
“They’re about
twenty inches in diameter and take at least two men to lift.”
“That would do some damage.” I whistled lowly.
“Indeed.” He grinned wickedly.
I shook my head and glanced around. A large wall stood before us, slightly blocking the view of Edinburgh. The castle towered over the city, built on a large monolith and insanely tall. It was like being on a skyscraper, with no ceiling.
“Over there is the Scottish War Memorial. Every soldier since 1914 is listed in its archives.”
“That’s pretty awesome.” I studied the large building within the castle walls, stately and proud.
“But the oldest part of the castle is just up here. St. Margaret’s Chapel.” He walked up a slight hill, and waited for me in front of a small doorway. I read the inscription and blinked. “Nine hundred seventy-three?”
Kirby nodded, his grin growing, as he seemed to study my disbelieving expression.
“I’ve never seen anything so old.” I brushed past him, having to almost duck into the dimly lit room. It was much smaller than I expected, but the stained glass windows fit in perfectly with the reverence you felt hanging in the air.
“People were much smaller back then.” Kirby hunched beside me, his hands in his pockets, looking like an adult in a kid’s playhouse.
“Apparently.”
As we left the chapel, I studied the view that was no longer obstructed by the castle’s cannon wall. It was crazy to see the lights of traffic, buses, cars, even airplanes in the sky and realize that this castle had been there to watch the entire change for over a thousand years.
“It’s a wee bit humbling, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It is.”
“We’ll I’ve not humbled you nearly enough, so I think I’ll take you to the dungeon next.”
“They have the dungeon open?” My curiosity burned as I started to speculate what we’d see there.
“Of course.” He shook his head at me as if I was crazy to even ask, and held out his hand.
And being the idiot I was, I took it.
Warmth seeped through me, radiating from my hand, to my arm and spreading throughout my body.
“Dinna be scared,” he goaded as we walked down one staircase, then another till we were immersed underground, the scent of old earth and older dust assaulting my senses. Just like a haunted house at Halloween, they had bodies — albeit tastefully — hung in chains, a small window letting in a minuscule hint of light.
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