Chapter Thirty-Eight
Kirk
Less than half an hour later, we turn down a gravel two-track and I give Gretchen a reassuring smile.
"Almost there, lass. This is the driveway of Rory's castle, Dùndubhan.
Well, it's half Emery's castle too since he and his American wife both own it.
They no longer live here, though. The castle is now a tourist attraction most of the time. "
Archie leans forward, inserting himself between me and the lass again. "Are ye sure we'll be there soon?"
I ignore the laddie since I need to focus on driving. The gravel track is bumpy at times, though not enough to make the lass feel sick again. But I reckon I should check, at any rate. "Still all right, lass? Do ye need a sick bag?"
"No, I'm fine. But thank you for asking." Gretchen winces. "Jeez, that was so embarrassing. I've never gotten that car sick in my life until today. It was probably just anxiety or flat-out terror. Being chased by evil bastards is not a fun time in the old town."
The trees drape over the driveway like a canopy, and Gretchen cranes her neck as if she wants to peer through the branches.
The SUV bounces along, and she keeps her eyes on the scenery.
The landscape is lush and green, quintessentially Scottish, with rolling hills and scattered trees.
The evening light casts long shadows on the terrain, giving everything a mysterious quality.
"You mentioned this castle is now a tourist attraction, right?" the lass asks, probably trying to imagine the kind of castle that would welcome visitors. "Does it have gift shops and guided tours?"
"Aye, of course." I focus on navigating a particularly rough patch of gravel before I speak again. "They've got the whole setup---tours, a small café, even a display about the history of whisky production in the region. The Thane Buchanan Distillery has a special exhibit."
"So we're hiding from armed thugs at a place where tourists wander around taking selfies?" She can't hide the skepticism in her voice.
"Dinnae fash," I assure her. "The castle is closed to visitors on Sundays."
"That's a relief."
I pat her thigh. "Rab will be there to greet us."
The SUV crests a hill, and suddenly, the castle emerges from the trees---a magnificent stone structure rising from the landscape that evokes fairy tales and dragons. Dùndubhan Castle stands proud against the darkening sky, its ancient walls catching the last rays of sunlight.
"Holy...that's a castle," Gretchen says, her eyes wide and her voice filled with awe. "A real, honest-to-goodness castle."
"What were you expecting? A wee cottage?"
"No, I guess not..." She trails off, clearly mesmerized by the sight.
The massive stone structure features an imposing tower and a wall that has actual battlements.
A large central building with high windows dominates the middle, and I can make out what must be the visitor entrance---a wide stone archway with heavy wooden doors standing open.
"Dùndubhan was built in the fifteen hundreds," I explain, as if I'm some sort of sodding tour guide. "The castle has survived wars, rebellions, and more than a few Highland winters."
Archie leans forward, his head now between me and the lass. "Wait till you see the inside, Gretchen. The Great Hall will blow your mind."
Gretchen worries her lip, and her brow wrinkles. "Where is everyone? You said that Rab guy would be here, but I don't see him---or anyone."
"Closed to the public today, remember?" I tell her. "Rab made sure of it when I called ahead."
"Oh. Right. I forgot already."
I give her a sidelong glance. "After the day we've had, I dinnae blame ye for being forgetful."
The gravel crunches under our tires as we pull up to the massive entrance gates that, back in medieval times, would have kept interlopers from sneaking inside.
The massive stone walls loom above us, somehow both imposing and welcoming at the same time.
The castle feels solid, permanent, like the sort of place that has weathered centuries of Scottish storms and still stands defiant.
"Welcome to our sanctuary," I announce, killing the engine. "At least for now."
A tall, broad-shouldered man emerges from a small doorway set into the stone wall. He's dressed all in black, with a tactical vest that doesn't quite hide the outline of a gun holstered at his hip.
Gretchen slants forward, no doubt trying to take in her new surroundings. Then she suddenly points at a figure who's approaching us. "Hey Kirk, who is that guy?"
"You'll meet him soon enough, mo leannan."
"About time you showed up," Rab shouts. "I was beginning to think ye took the scenic route to Mars."
I jump out of the SUV and grasp my old friend's hand in a firm shake that swiftly changes to a brief, back-slapping hug. "Rab, ye bampot. Thanks for arranging this visit on short notice."
"Anything for family," he replies, then peers through the windshield at me. "Is this the lass you mentioned?"
Gretchen opens her door and steps out, straightening her clothes. Rab's eyes widen. He wasn't expecting someone quite so bonnie, I'd wager, and I cannae blame him. Gretchen must have that effect on most men.
"I'm Rab Grieve," he tells the lass, giving her a slight nod. "Ahm Kirk's cousin and head of security for Dùndubhan."
"I'm Gretchen Carver," she replies, extending her hand. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but given the circumstances..."
"Aye, this isn't the ideal situation for meeting new people." He smiles as he shakes her hand. "Dinnae worry, lass. You're safe here."
Archie bounds out of the SUV last, stretching his arms above his head. "Ah, Rab! Still standing guard like a brooding gargoyle, I see."
Rab gives Archie a look that would wither most men, but my tech-savvy mate just grins. "Always a pleasure to see you too, Archibald."
"It's just Archie," he corrects, hefting his backpack. "Nobody has called me Archibald since primary school, and even then it was only the headmaster---when I hacked the school's bell system."
I roll my eyes at their bickering and move to stand beside Gretchen, placing my hand at the small of her back.
Rab waves toward the massive entrance. "Let's get inside, Kirk. I've secured the perimeter, but I'd rather not stand out in the open longer than necessary."
I keep my hand at the small of Gretchen's back as we follow Rab through the imposing gates. The stone archway looms above us, and I notice that Gretchen shivers faintly.
"Are ye cold, gràidh?" I whisper to her.
"No, no, I'm fine." She straightens her posture, and her eyes widen as she examines the ancient stonework and the flickering torches mounted on the walls. That's a modern touch for the tourists, no doubt, but effective in creating the proper medieval atmosphere.
"This is the ground floor," Kirk informs me. "The first floor is upstairs, and the Great Hall lies on what an American like you would call the second floor."
"Will I get to see the Great Hall?"
"Not today. We have serious matters to discuss with Rab."
I lead our contingent through the ground-floor hall, then through the dining room and out the other side into the guest wing. Rab swings the sitting-room door open, gesturing for everyone to go inside. Once we're all seated, the discussion begins.
"I've cleared all non-essential staff," Rab explains, voice low. "Only my security team remains---handpicked lads I trust with my life."
Gretchen and I sit on a small couch, and I slide an arm around the lass. "Do ye have any sort of plan for how to handle Dougal and his men? We need to rescue Kenny."
Rab's expression grows fierce. "Dougal MacWraith is a dangerous man. I've been tracking his movements since you called. His operation has tentacles throughout the Highlands---smuggling, extortion, you name it."
"That's fascinating information," Gretchen says. "But I don't really give a damn about that right now. Tell us how we're going to save that poor boy and not get murdered in the process. Besides, we already know about most of that stuff."
"Aye, you're right," Rab agrees. "We need to hash out a plan."
Rab leads us all downstairs and through the ground floor, hurrying into the dining room and through the doorway that leads us into the guest wing.
We make our way into the sitting room and each choose where we want to sit.
I keep Gretchen beside me on a small couch.
Rab takes a larger chair that seems almost like a medieval throne, though I know it's no such thing.
The chair is an antique---from the nineteen thirties.
My patience has run out, and I cannae wait one second longer. "All, right Rab tell me the bloody fucking plan for saving Kenny. And dinnae tell me we need take our time and do it right. I might punch you in the jaw if ye say that."
Rab crosses his arms over his chest, his expression grim. "The plan, Kirk, is already in motion."