“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.”
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.