“If I’d known then what I know now”, she pondered, “would I choose this path again?”  

 

Hindsight always thought itself more wise but the truth was, despite the challenges of a degree spent dancing with what southern folks considered folklore NOT history, she could not have asked for a team of more compassionate and passionate colleagues. 

 

The Department of Folklore and Otherworld Studies might be small, but it was a mighty force at UHI. Friends, who understood the challenges of researching slantwise truths.  Or more accurately, publishing and teaching those slantwise truths in a way that honoured them but still let you keep the taxman’s funding for your projects. 

 

The letter was on clan letterhead, with the castle logo outlined in black at the top - an evocative ink rendering that managed to convey both solidity and somehow, something not quite there.  A hint of silver mist floating among the inky black of the castle’s turrets.

 

‘Dear Dr. NicLeòid … ‘

 

It still gave her gleeful shivers to read; not hubris but a satisfaction earned. 

 

“Pay attention, hen.” 

 

She heard the gentle admonishment in her Gran’s voice, long gone now, bringing her focus back to the letter on the desk.  She quickly scanned the invitation and screamed, darting a guilty glance behind her, though there was no one in the cottage to hear. “Yes. Yes. YES.”  Fist pump time. The castle estate had chosen her proposal for the research project.  

 

“Deep breaths, Maggie, lass. Pay attention to the small print. Make sure they’re actually agreeing to what you proposed in full before you go signing any papers now, you hear.”  

 

“Yes Gran.” She turned her laptop on and began to take notes.

 

~

 

“If you drive up the A87 you can’t really miss us,” the estate manager, Owen, laughed.  “The signs might be just a bit rusty but we’re one of the few castles left standing so folks know where we are.  Same spot we’ve been for the last thousand years. Don’t get taken in by yon Eilean Donan on the way past, the real castles are still a wee bit further north.”  

 

He roared in amusement at his own joke.  

 

“Mind now, don’t you go telling them what I said.  We don’t want to start up any new blood feuds.  It’s been nice and quiet for the last several hundred years.”

 

Maggie chuckled.  “All right. I’ll keep your secret safe but you'll owe me a dram or two for the service.”

 

“Right enough.  Seems like a small price to pay. We’ll make good on it cause we can’t afford the gunpowder you’d need to blow yon place up again.  And even if we could afford it, we’d have the kingsmen down on us for terrorism right enough, so Scotch for the duration of your stay it shall be.” 

His laughter was still ringing in Maggie’s ears when she hung up.  

 

~ 

 

She pulled up in the parking lot and, after hopping down from the rental, stretched.  It was a long trip from Inbhir Nis , even with self-driving ‘rovers.  She thought of how appalled her ancestors likely were that their kin had never learned to drive stick-shift and smirked.  

 

The gravel scrunched underfoot and as she turned, she met the gaze of a burly man clad in worn jeans, wellies and a stunning coat. This sheepskin would still be functional with its warmth and resistance to water, but that was where all resemblance to anything utilitarian vanished.  It was a breathtaking work of art.

 

 “I can see you’ve got a liking for ma coat,” he chortled.  You’ll no be takin’ it off me now.  Not without at least arm wrestling for it, ya ken.”  He closed the distance and gave her a strong, brisk handshake.

“Aye,” Maggie said.  “And you’d have to be Owen, with that laugh … ?”

 

“Estate manager, at your service ma’am.  It’s grand to set eyes on you in the flesh after chatting so much over the last few weeks.  It’s always good to get the planning stages out of the way and get to work.  Come on in and I’ll introduce you to the keeper, Knox.  He’ll get you settled in your quarters.” 

 

~ 

 

Owen stuck his head through a door and bellowed:  “Knox, I’ve brought you a visitor.”

He stepped back and gave some quieter parting words to Maggie.  “Don’t take Knox personally.  He doesn’t much like people and to be honest, those of the female persuasion least of all.  The Tòiseach’s had to send him on civility training.  Not sure it took and they’ve gone out of business haven’t they just. I think the lad did them in, beyond despair.  So we’ve put him in charge of rooms and security.  Once you’re settled in, you won’t cross paths much.”

 

“Who are Knox’s people?, Maggie asked, curious to see if they might have crossed paths before.”

 

He paused, “He’s a Sinclair from down Edinburgh way.  I’m not sure exactly where he was born, but there’s a family connection of some sort, on the mother’s side I think.  Irrespective of those, know we’ve got him on a short leash so you shouldn’t have any direct problems. You just let me know if you do, and the Tòiseach will take care of it for you right quick.”   

 

He set off down the hall shouting back:  

 

“And if you’ve still got a liking for the coat when the project wraps, we’ll see our way to offering you one of your very own - a custom creation as these are estate coats.  But that’s a story for another night, would take too long to tell it now and you’ll be needing your rest after the drive.”

 

Maggie hesitated but Owen had already disappeared.  She shrugged.  “Into the lair of the ill-named keeper,” she shrugged.  “Who had cursed him with that name and why?  Well, you’re not likely to find out from him standing here are you. And if he won’t tell you, you’ll just have to earn the story from someone in the village.“ 

 

She stepped through the door, stopped short, and imagined rolling her eyes at Owen when she next laid them on him. Not really a lad, now, was Knox.  He was beyond ancient.  Sunken, beaten, sullen, sour.  Weathered. 

 

“Okay.  Well, I won’t have trouble with adjectives when I’m telling his part of the story clearly,” she muttered under her breath.  

 

It was pretty clear Knox was not going to acknowledge her.  He banged on a buzzer on his desk and glared at her.  “Two can play”, Maggie thought, glared right back and thumped herself into the chair opposite.  

 

Five minutes passed and the staring match was still going strong when a young lad popped his head in:  “Professor? Owen said to come and rescue you. Umm, I mean take you to your quarters.  They’re just this way ma’am."

 

She glared at Knox for another minute before giving a dismissive shrug.  She turned and followed the lad out.  She’d be happy for a good night’s sleep, Knox be damned.

 

~ 

 

Day One Maggie wrote at the top of the first page in red ink - and then underlined it. 

 

She was in the study where the estate books were kept.  They’d set up a second desk for her as Owen and William, the Tòiseach, would still need to be able to use the study for running the business.  She had suggested that she could take the financial records with her and use the library as her research and writing base but William had countered ‘Where better to understand the financial records of a 1,000 year old clan enterprise than sitting with the current Tòiseach where family business continues to be taken care of?”  

 

And that was that.