Chapter 13
‘I concede,’ I say to Fraser, my arms folded over my chest in the ballroom, watching beneath the balcony as he finishes off the final phrase of his rehearsal.
‘And what may that be in reference to, my lady?’ His face is flushed with exertion. As his clear eyes widen, his bright irises catch every bit of sunlight that flows from the high windows.
‘When I first arrived here, you told me that I would find a space in my heart for the pipes and would soon be begging you to teach me to play. Now, the former is a work in progress. But the latter … I am so bored that I am in desperate need of a distraction. Do you perhaps have a little time today?’
My heart beats irregularly as I await his reply but soon it falls into a pretty little up-tempo rhythm when his freckled cheeks pull into a winning grin. ‘Hey, don’t be getting too excited. You have yet to convert me; this is purely to combat the boredom that is bordering on terminal at this point.’
Shaking his head with a smile, Fraser’s low voice echoes softly through the high ceilings. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
Clapping my hands together, I skip up the stairs to join him. Once face to face, I notice how his lips are slightly swollen and rosy from his morning of playing and I quickly divert my attention to the pipes, before my cheeks blush the same colour.
‘Where do I start?’ I smile excitedly, if a little bewildered at the array of pipes.
As I reach out to touch them, Fraser gently diverts my hands with his own. ‘Not these ones, and not here. I don’t think the king and queen would appreciate you skirling all through the house. It’s enough when it’s just me, and I actually know how to play. No, we’ll head out to the treeline by Loch Muick this afternoon and then it’s only the deer you’ll be disturbing.’
‘Perfect. I’ll see you there.’
By the time the afternoon rolls around, I am the most excited I have been for weeks. My day gets increasingly intriguing when I find Sophie, sitting alone on a bench behind the kitchen, smoking neurotically as though she has just witnessed a murder.
‘Sophie?’ I ask quietly and she snaps her head up to look at me, with a great fear in her eyes. ‘Are you okay?’
Noticing it’s me, she visibly relaxes and gives a hearty sigh. ‘Fancy a bine?’ She offers me the packet of cigarettes and I politely decline. Sophie runs a hand over her weary face and sighs again before speaking. ‘The Buchanan is going to be the death of me.’
‘What has she done this time?’
Sophie scoffs. ‘What hasn’t she done? The Ghillies Ball sends her doo-fecking-lally. She’s gone aff her heid this time I swear.’ Her accent thickens with each syllable she utters and she takes another drag to steady herself.
‘Do you fancy bunking off?’ I proposition her. ‘I’ll take all of the blame, of course.’
Sophie doesn’t even think about it for a second. Stamping out her cigarette, she gets to her feet and leaves her apron on the bench. Following beside me for a few moments, she finally asks, ‘Where are we going?’
‘Loch Muick. I’ve convinced Fraser Bell to teach me to play.’ The familiar light returns to her eyes as she gives me a mischievous glance.
‘You? Learning to play the bagpipes?’ She chuckles and glances at me with a disbelieving look.
‘What, like it’s hard?’ Wiggling my eyebrows playfully, I grin until Sophie shakes her head with another laugh.
‘For any particular reason?’
‘What else does one expect a woman to do to occupy herself whilst she’s locked in a Scottish castle?’
Sophie diverts her path to head towards a small collection of sheds I’ve never seen before. ‘Where are you going?’
‘You didn’t think we’d walk all the way to the loch did you? That’d take you all day.’ Pulling out two rusted bicycles from behind the shed, she hands me one and slings her leg over the other. ‘They’re a little old, but they do the trick.’
Wobbling up onto the seat, I push down on the pedal and a screech follows the strained motion. These bikes must be at least fifty years old, if not older, and yet Sophie flies off down the path, her braids freed and flowing behind her. Racing to catch her, I push through the burning in my legs and soon we’re both goose-pimpled and our mouths are dry from smiling too wide into the headwind.
By the time we come to the small collection of trees on the edge of the loch, we’re both laughing maniacally, and Fraser – already arrived and set up – watches on in a mix of awe and confusion. Sophie’s hair sticks up in every direction; her bobbles only cling to a few strands as the rest have escaped to kiss about her face. I can’t imagine that I look much better at this point either.
‘I was about to send out a search party, but thankfully I could hear you both giggling from a mile away so I knew Miss Chorley would have something to do with it.’ Fraser grins at the both of us, and right here, just a couple of miles from the confines of the castle, each one of us seems to have left some of our reservations behind. Here in these trees, I am just a girl, laughing with her friends. Though the wind is biting, I am warm to the core as both of their smiles seem to fulfil the part of my life that I never realised I was missing. Sophie and Fraser are my friends.
‘Shall we crack on?’ Fraser says after a little while of small talk, as he pulls out a different set of pipes from his own and hands them to me.
‘Aye,’ I reply with a strong nod as Sophie and Fraser share a proud smile.
‘Oh, I cannae wait for this.’ Sophie lays down her scarf on the woodland floor and makes herself comfortable.
* * *
‘I cannae listen to this any longer,’ Sophie groans an hour later. ‘Are you sure those things are in tune?’
‘You know it takes about six months of practice just to start being able to make the right sound out of these? That’s before you even start trying to play a tune.’ Fraser chuckles, then grimaces as I make another animalistic screech. ‘Although I’m not sure I can say you were blessed with much natural talent.’
I collapse to the ground, the pipes screeching with my motion. ‘I am bushed. I wasn’t told this would be a full-on workout. I thought it was a little blow, a little squeeze, move your fingers a little and there you have it: “Scotland the Brave”.’
‘Sounds strangely like losing my virginity.’ Sophie lies back against the earth with a smile. ‘Who fancies a swim?’ She props herself up on her elbows and side-eyes the loch.
Fraser and I share a look. ‘I’m not sure—’ he begins to protest, but is quickly cut off by Sophie stripping down to her underwear and splashing into the water with a shriek.
‘Come on, ya big jessies. It’s lovely.’ She splashes in our direction, and she looks so free. Her hair clings to her face and there she stands like the Lady of the Lake, glowing with exhilaration.
Looking around, just to make sure my parents aren’t lurking around the corner or the whole of London’s high society haven’t magically appeared in the middle of the Scottish countryside in the last hour, I remove my jumper timidly.
‘My lady?’ Fraser faces away from the both of us, finding the bark of a nearby hawthorn tree particularly interesting. ‘You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to. Sophie is a menace for peer pressure.’
Smiling at his worry, I strip down to my underwear and join Sophie with a splash. The coolness prickles through my body in an almost pleasurable attack. It awakens every inch of me in places I never knew had lain dormant, and for the first time in years, I feel alive.
‘C’mon Fraz!’ Sophie shouts. ‘Shitebag if ye dinnae!’ Still, he shakes his head, trying not to look at the both of us, half naked, just metres before him.
‘Come on you wee … wee … fanny?’ I try my best at a bit of Scots and silence falls through the countryside. Worried I have offended him, panic begins to rise, until both Fraser and Sophie burst out into the most melodious laughter I have ever heard, and not even the singing of the thrushes could sound any sweeter.
Convinced by my teasing, Fraser pulls off his shirt and shorts and races for the water. Splashing in beside us, the only sounds the three of us can make are that of unstoppable laughter, as Sophie splashes each of us in turn.
Swimming up beside me, the pale skin of Fraser’s torso glows above the surface of the water, dappled with little droplets as they glide over the red hair of his chest.
‘Fanny, aye?’ he asks with a smirk, and I feel my cheeks heat.
‘Aye,’ I reply with a shy grin.
‘And who taught you that?’
‘I may or may not have heard Mrs Buchanan calling Jimmy that last week for getting mud in the hallway.’
‘Of course you did.’ He looks off into the forest, his cheeks pinching in amusement.
‘They are in love, you know.’ I swim around Fraser, getting a good look at the circumference of his figure.
‘And you’ve reached that conclusion because she called him a fanny?’ He watches me closely. ‘Does that mean you’re in love with me?’
Unable to formulate a coherent reply, I splash a little water in his face and dive beneath the surface to hide and soothe my hot cheeks.
‘I wish to make a bet with the both of you right now,’ I call to Sophie who had swum out a little further, refusing to make eye contact with Fraser again.
‘A bet?’ Sophie splashes back towards us, intrigued.
‘I bet you both that by this time next year, Jimmy and the Buchanan will be a couple.’
‘And what do we get when you inevitably lose?’ Sophie raises an eyebrow.
‘The loser has to …’ I think for a moment ‘… streak through the maze.’
Sophie outstretches her dripping hand. ‘Deal.’ We shake with a splash and I turn to Fraser with that Machiavellian glint in my eye.
He hesitates for a moment, but then cautiously takes my hand in his and squeezes it softly. ‘I can’t wait to see you lose.’
Too overcome to address him directly, I call out, ‘I’ll race you both to that rock.’
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you – you’ll wake the beasties.’ Fraser grins mischievously.
‘Beasties?’ I look down into the dark water, the abyss below almost never-ending as my feet flap back and forth to keep me afloat.
‘Well, everyone’s heard of the Loch Ness monster of course, but Nessie is only scratching the surface. Haven’t you heard of the kelpies, or the Bean Nighe?’ Still smiling, the piper floats on his back, stealing a glance at me out of his periphery.
‘Let me guess, something is lurking below ready to swallow me whole?’
‘Oh no, far worse.’ Fraser swims close. ‘The kelpies may look like pretty little horses when they’re stood beside bodies of water but they’re far from it. They haunt the lochs and rivers, waiting for passers-by to mount their beautiful hides. Once they have riders on their backs, the kelpies refuse to release their prey, dragging them into the water where the unsuspecting victim becomes their latest meal.’
‘Okay, note to self, don’t go mounting any strange horses near bodies of water,’ I say, looking around the loch for any sign of such a creature. ‘I’d say that’s a pretty simple ask.’
‘You may think so, but you couldn’t help yourself with DeeDee and look where that got you.’ Fraser winks and my cheeks flush again.
‘Yeah, yeah, well, lessons have been learnt.’
‘At least the look of the Bean Nighe is hardly going to coax you closer. She is a small, gnarled washerwoman who lurks at streams and lochs washing blood from the clothes of those who are about to die. Fated to spend eternity working, she was once a woman who died in childbirth and is now a terrifying omen of death.’
‘Lovely and cheery.’
‘Isn’t it just.’
‘Don’t you have any nice creatures in your mythology? Like some sweet little fairies, or something from the fairy tales, and I don’t mean the Grimm versions.’
Fraser ponders for a moment. ‘There is the Ghillie Dhu. He’s often thought of as a lonely forest faerie.’
‘Okay, I like the sound of that. He’s not wanting to eat me? Or tell me I’m going to die?’
‘Nope. He’s the guardian of the forest. Though he may look wild, he has a kinship with nature, protecting wildlife and nature and any inhabitants from harm. Supposedly he has a soft spot for children and lost travellers, so if you ever lose your way in the forest, know that the Ghillie Dhu will be protecting you.’ Trying to picture the creature in my mind – benevolent, wild, protector – the only image that manifests is Fraser, striding through the clearing behind me after I lost my grip on DeeDee. I try to shake the image, but my imagined version of the events when Fraser carried me from the maze to my bed, clad in his own jumper, plays over and over in my mind instead. Fraser Bell, the piper, the protector, the thing of myth. It would be a privilege to tell his story over and over.
Lying on the bank, drying off in the breeze, the three of us haven’t said a word for some time. Listening to the way the water slowly laps against the shore, I am almost ready to fall asleep.
‘What is the date today?’ I ask into the air. I have lost all track of the days, as though time has slipped through my fingers and flushed away into the lakes and rivers.
‘The 27th?’ Sophie asks, though seemingly unsure.
‘The 28th,’ Fraser corrects her, and I leap to my feet. ‘What is it? Are you okay?’ Fraser follows suit and the two of us stare at one another, half naked and goose-fleshed.
‘It’s tomorrow,’ I say, filled with horror.
‘What is?’ Sophie too gets to her feet in a panic.
‘I had completely forgotten. How had I forgotten?!’ Pacing the bank, I collect my clothes and drag them on erratically.
‘Alice.’ Fraser catches my elbow, slowing me to a halt.
‘The conference,’ I breathe. ‘I had forgotten about the conference.’ My friends both look at me gone out; Fraser still clutches my arm softly. ‘I’m supposed to be getting engaged tomorrow. And I’m five hundred miles away.’
Fraser releases me and his hand falls to his side as he takes a step back.
‘Engaged?’ Sophie asks, brows furrowed. ‘To that Atticus guy?’
I nod, desperately trying to pull my jeans up my damp legs.
‘The one you haven’t heard from in over a month?’ Fraser’s voice is rough, foreign from his usual soft depths.
His words cut me. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘What’s not fair, Alice, is that the guy hasn’t shown you a single bit of care the whole time you’ve been away, and now you’re going to rush off to marry him at a conference. Surely you must know he doesn’t love you.’
Fraser takes the knife and plunges it ever deeper.
‘You don’t know a single thing about me.’
‘And you don’t know a single thing about love.’ His words gouge at my chest, and an icy breeze seems to pass through the spaces between my ribs.
Sophie watches on, open-mouthed as I pick up one of the bicycles and begin to pedal back down the footpath. ‘Alice! Alice, wait!’ she calls to me, but I don’t look back.
By the time Balmoral is back in my sights, the sky is beginning to blemish in bruises of purple and gold, like a peach left too long in the sun. The sweetness is sucked dry from the scene, and all that is reflected over and over in the ivy-framed windows are Fraser’s words. They fill every space in my mind until my head throbs with the weight of it all.
The castle is silent aside from the clinking of cutlery and muted tones of polite chatter coming from the king’s dining room, and I sneak through to my bedroom entirely unobserved. Peeling off my loch-dampened clothes, I stand, naked and alone, repulsed at the feeling of my own skin. Rifling through my drawers for something to wear, something me, and not these itchy jumpers, tartan skirts, and whatever regal facade I’ve been attempting to wear these last weeks, my fingers slide against something sharp, which slices through the tip of my ring finger. Dragging in a hissing breath, I suck the injured appendage, until the metallic taste of blood glides over my tongue in a bitter attack.
Upon searching out the guilty party, my eyes land on a thick sheet of paper, tucked into one of my socks. Drawing it out, the Beaumont & Sons –headed slip only adds insult to injury.
Wait for me. A . Scratched in Atticus’s perfect handwriting are the words that have cut me. The note he’d handed to me the day I left, the last words I had from him, renew my melancholy all over again.
I am tired of waiting. I am not Cinderella, waiting for the prince to fondle her perfect feet. I am not Snow White, nor Sleeping Beauty, awaiting the kiss of a man to wake me. I am not going to wait to be saved. I refuse to wait at all.