The Magic Ring of Brodgar
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“Honey, what should we do then? How can I live like this? My soul is torn between two fires: you, my daughter, and him, the love of my life!” the desperate woman sat down in the chair and began to cry bitterly.
Megan’s heart was breaking for her mother. I’m so selfish, she chided herself.
“Go to America, get married, be happy. I will stay here and run the restaurant. I’m old and mature enough already,” she said, making the only decision she felt was right.
“But how will you manage alone? You still need to complete your studies. Have you got any idea how difficult this will be?” said Arline anxiously, worried about her precious daughter.
“I don't think it will be too hard because I love this job. Besides, I'm not alone. We have a good manager; he will help me.”
“I will be happy if you succeed. I believe in you; you are a great girl. You take after your grandfather in character, just as stubborn, goal-oriented, and independent. Once you've made up your mind, no one can persuade you otherwise. I'm proud of you, my dear,” Arline wiped her tears and hugged her brave daughter tightly.
“Thanks, Mom. I love you. Go in peace and be happy.”
“Promise me that if you need any advice, no matter what it is, no matter what time of day or night, you’ll call me, and I’ll always be ready to help you.”
“Of course!”
“I love you, baby!”
“And I love you, Mom!”
Five months after that conversation, Arline got married and moved to California. Over time, Megan realized that her ideas about independent living didn't quite match reality. Due to her perfectionism, she demanded the utmost attention to detail in everything she did. Sleepless nights were spent with textbooks, and days at work. Vacation remained a distant dream, and there was absolutely no time left for a personal life. But she bravely carried on, telling no one just how hard it really was for her.
When Malcolm McKenzie learned during one of his visits that his granddaughter had been living alone and managing the restaurant by herself for a year, he was beside himself with rage. He yelled, unable to contain his anger.
“Your mother was a frivolous girl twenty years ago, and she hasn’t matured one bit since. To imagine, abandoning her child, her only daughter, for a man. How dare she, the shameless woman?! Look at you, all skin and bones! Dark circles under your eyes! You’re still just a child, but everything has fallen on your frail shoulders! When I die, she won’t see a penny of the inheritance. Never will I permit the fortune of our clan to be squandered in another country, and for our family name to be scattered in the wind and forgotten as if it had never existed. You are my pride and joy, Megan. Proud that you stayed and didn’t trade Great Britain for another continent.”
This conversation had taken place five years prior, and Malcolm has since been visiting his granddaughter in London every year.
Eight months ago, on his last visit, he said, “My health is not what it used to be, Megan. In all likelihood, this is probably my last visit. Now it’s your turn to come and visit your old man.”
“I was planning to do so this year, but you see, mom had surgery, and I needed to be with her in California. Next summer I will come to visit you for a few weeks. The summer there, as I’ve heard is the only time of year when you don’t freeze to death and drown in the rain,” Megan laughed. “But I promise; this time I will definitely come; nothing will make me change my mind.”
“Drown in the rain? What nonsense! No doubt your good-for-nothing mother planted such ideas in your head. Of course, it’s cooler in the north than in the center of the country, but it’s not nearly as awful as you say! Your visit will give me great pleasure. I will arrange a celebration to mark this day.”
3. Bagpipes
And now she was here. He would have been so glad to see her. What cause for celebration her arrival might have been. But, as it turned out, she arrived the day after his funeral. He had passed in the evening, and the very next day his body was buried in the McKenzie family crypt, such were the burial customs in this place. Feelings of guilt had tormented her ever since she learned of his death.
“Grandpa, I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please. I didn’t make it in time,” she whispered. Wiping away the tears streaming down her cheeks, the girl thought that she couldn’t permit herself to break down right now, she needed a clear head to make important decisions. Tomorrow would be a difficult day and she had to be ready. She would have to meet her grandfather’s brother Alaric and his grandchildren, Warren and Duncan. As she recalled from Malcolm’s stories, by the twentieth century, their family had two castles in possession: Castle Mal and Castle Raven. Castle Mal was the ancestral home built by the McKenzies, and Castle Raven was inherited from the neighboring Drummond clan in 1898, when the last member disappeared without leaving any heirs. Grandfather Malcolm and Great-Uncle Alaric were the two heirs of David McKenzie, who bequeathed to Alaric, Castle Raven and the wool factory, while Malcolm inherited Castle Mal and the Scotch whisky distillery. At present, Alaric and Duncan are residing at Castle Raven, while Warren and his wife are temporarily staying at Castle Mal with Megan, who, from tomorrow, will become the official owner of the ancestral home, after the lawyer reads the will. The best solution that came to Megan’s mind was to offer the relatives to buy the distillery and the castle from her, if they so wished. She had no intention of selling the estate to strangers; she didn’t want Malcolm turning over in his grave, knowing that the clan’s home had been sold to someone outside the family circle.
Having changed her clothes and finished unpacking, Megan looked at the clock on the fireplace mantel. What a long day it had been; the memories of arriving at the airport that morning felt as if they were a week old. The clock showed 22:25. The room was getting cooler, and turning on the heater, she draped a shawl over her shoulders. She was about to go and remove her make-up when she heard an unusual sound. It took her a while to figure out where it was coming from. She listened carefully. This intriguing continuous melody was mesmerizing, capturing her attention and evoking a vague sense of unease.
“Bagpipes,” she said softly.
Her heart suddenly pounded loudly, while her soul clenched sweetly yet painfully. The girl couldn't understand why the sounds of a Scottish musical instrument stirred her so deeply. It was as if something magical, something supernatural, was beckoning her. She opened the window and saw that someone was playing the bagpipes not far from the castle. After listening for a short while, Megan left her room, drawn to stand outside and savor the melody. Leaving the house, she struggled to make out the shapes of objects until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was cool outside; the temperature had dropped and the wind from the sea sent chills down her spine.
Within a few minutes, she could clearly see the river at the base of the castle grounds, and hear the North Sea's rumble to her right. The sound of the bagpipes came from that direction. There was no one around, but she wasn't afraid. It was strange; she never made such reckless decisions, always cautious of the dark, but this time, she was magnetically drawn towards the source of the magical music. She walked as if enchanted. The area was private property and unlikely accessible to just anyone. With such thoughts, she calmed herself, rationalizing her impetuous act. She knew the entrance to the castle was nearby, and if fear overtook her, she could quickly return.