Chapter 12Phoebe
12
Phoebe
T he ancient stones of Edinburgh Castle are before me, their weathered surfaces steeped in centuries of Scottish history. My camera clicks rapidly as I try to capture every intricate detail, from the worn carvings to the moss-covered crevices. The sharp autumn air nips at my cheeks, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and distant chimney smoke.
“If only Mikhail could see this,” I murmur, missing him. His absence weighs on me, but I push aside the feeling . I’m determined to make the most of this trip, with or without him. It’s something I could never afford on my salary, and the few times I’ve visited before were on a budget and mostly to see my parents’ relations.
I approach the castle entrance, mind swirling with visions of fierce clan battles and regal ceremonies, and collide with something solid. My camera swings wildly on its strap, and I stumble backward.
“Oh. I’m so sorry,” says a melodic voice. I look up to see a tall, athletically built blonde woman steadying me with a firm grip. Her striking blue eyes crinkle with concern. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say, straightening my jacket. “Just got a bit lost in thought. The hazards of being a tourist, I suppose.”
The woman laughs, a warm, rich sound that instantly puts me at ease. “I know the feeling. I’m Anastasia, by the way, but please, call me Nastya.”
“Phoebe,” I say, shaking her outstretched hand. “Nice to meet you, Nastya.”
“Likewise. Are you here exploring on your own?”
I nod, ignoring the twinge of disappointment that Mikhail isn’t here to share this with me. “Yeah, just me and my camera. You?”
“Same,” she says. “There’s something freeing about solo travel, isn’t there? Though I must admit, I wouldn’t mind some company while exploring the castle. Care to join forces?”
Her offer catches me off-guard, but in a good way. There’s something about Nastya that feels familiar, almost comforting. Perhaps it’s the Russian accent, which reminds me of Mikhail. “That sounds great, actually. I’d love to.”
We enter the castle grounds, and she smiles with genuine excitement. “I’ve always been fascinated by Scottish history. The clans, the battles, the legends—it’s all so rich and dramatic.”
“Me too.” I’m pleasantly surprised by our shared interest. “My family has Scottish roots, and I grew up hearing stories about our ancestors. It’s part of why I wanted to come here so badly.”
We pause at a placard detailing the castle’s tumultuous past. Nastya reads it intently, her brow wrinkled in concentration. “It’s amazing to think of all the history these walls have seen. Centuries of triumph and tragedy, all etched into the very stone.”
I nod, running my hand along the cool, rough surface of a nearby wall. “It’s like you can almost feel the echoes of the past,” I say softly. “All those lives, all those stories...”
Nastya gives me a knowing smile. “You sound like a storyteller yourself, Phoebe. Do you write?”
“Oh, no.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m more of a hands-on creator. I teach Scottish cooking classes back home in Miami. It’s my way of connecting with my heritage and sharing it with others, and I’d like to open a Scottish cultural center someday.”
“That’s wonderful,” she says with clear interest. “I’d love to hear more about that. What’s your favorite Scottish dish to make?”
As we continue our tour of the castle, I open up to Nastya in a way I rarely do with strangers. There’s something about her warm demeanor and genuine curiosity that puts me at ease. We swap stories and observations, our laughter echoing off the ancient stones.
I gasp when we reach a high parapet. “Oh, look at this view.” The city of Edinburgh spreads out before us, a patchwork of old and new, all bathed in the golden light of late afternoon. I raise my camera, trying to capture the breathtaking panorama.
Nastya steps back, giving me space to work. “You’ve got quite an eye,” she says, watching me adjust my settings. “How long have you been into photography?”
“It’s just a hobby.” I lower the camera. “I’ve always loved capturing moments, you know? Trying to freeze a little bit of beauty or emotion in time.”
She nods thoughtfully. “I can see that passion in your work. It reminds me of...well, never mind.” A shadow passes over her face, so quickly I almost miss it.
“What is it?” I ask, curious about the sudden shift in her mood.
Nastya hesitates, then shakes her head with a small smile. “It’s nothing. Just...your enthusiasm reminds me of someone I used to know. She had that same fire in her eyes when she talked about her passions.”
There’s a story there, I can tell, but I don’t push. Instead, I gesture toward a nearby bench. “Want to sit for a bit? My feet could use a break, and I’d love to hear more about what brought you to Scotland.”
We settle onto the worn wooden seat, and her posture relaxes slightly. “It’s a bit of a long story. I grew up in Russia, but I’ve always been drawn to other cultures and histories. Scotland, with its fierce pride and rich traditions, has always fascinated me.” She looks sad for a moment again. “The woman I mentioned, Ivanna…” She sighs. “We used to talk about all the places we’d travel when she got better.” Her eyelids close for a moment, and a spasm of pain crosses her features before they open again. “The illness was stronger than our plans.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m sure she would have enjoyed being here with you.”
Her smile is slightly forced, but she nods. “Scotland wasn’t on our list, but she would have loved this. We would have loved experiencing it together.”
“I can relate to that.” I nod, thinking of Mikhail, and how I’m traveling alone now. Changing the subject slightly, since I don’t want to end up depressed, and I doubt she does either, I say, “There’s something about this place that just pulls you in, isn’t there?”
“Exactly. It’s like… Oh, how do I explain it?” She pauses, searching for the right words. “It’s like the land itself has a soul. You can feel it in the mist on the moors, and in the ancient stones of places like this.”
Her poetic description is pure perfection. “That’s beautiful, Nastya. You should be the writer, not me.”
She laughs, a light blush coloring her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m more of an observer than a creator, but I do love a good story.”
“Speaking of good stories,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially, “Have you heard any of the local legends yet? I’ve been dying to learn more about the ghostly tales associated with the castle…”
As we continue to trade ghost stories and historical anecdotes, I relax more in Nastya’s company. Her steady warmth reminds me a bit of Mikhail, but she’s interesting and witty in her own right.
The thought of him sends a pain through my chest. I miss him fiercely, wishing he could be here to share in this experience, but maybe I won’t be alone for a while. It seems like I’ve made a new friend. During a lull in our conversation, I say, “I’m really glad we literally ran into each other earlier. This has been so much more fun than exploring on my own would have been.”
Nastya’s smile is warm and genuine. “I feel the same way. It’s not often you meet someone you click with so quickly. Shall we continue our adventure? I heard there’s a fascinating exhibit on the Scottish crown jewels we shouldn’t miss.”
Agreed, we stand to make our way to the next part of the castle with a renewed sense of excitement. The day stretches out before us, full of history and mystery waiting to be discovered. Mikhail’s absence still tugs at my heart, but I’m grateful for this unexpected companionship.
“Lead the way, Nastya,” I say with a grin. “I can’t wait to see what other secrets this castle has in store for us.”
A few days later, the morning sun streams through the window of our cozy bed-and-breakfast. Nastya and I had almost the same itinerary, and when we haven’t, one or both of us has made changes to stay and travel together, since we’ve hit it off so well.
I stretch languidly, savoring the softness of the tartan quilt against my skin. The scent of freshly baked scones wafts up from the kitchen below, mingling with the crisp, clean air of the Scottish countryside.
A gentle knock at the door pulls me from my reverie. “Phoebe? Are you awake?” asks Nastya.
I smile, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Come in. I’m up.”
The door creaks open, and she enters, already dressed in hiking boots and a cozy sweater. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a neat braid. “Ready for another day of adventure?”
“Absolutely,” I say, reaching for my own sweater. “What’s on the agenda today?”
She perches on the edge of my bed. “I thought we might explore the Highlands. There’s a beautiful loch not far from here, and the hiking trails are supposed to be spectacular.”
I lace up my boots, still pleasantly surprised at how quickly we’ve bonded over the past few days. It’s as if we’ve known each other for years rather than just a short time. Her warmth and genuine interest in Scottish culture have made her the perfect traveling companion.
We make our way downstairs, where Mrs. MacGregor, our kindly landlady, has laid out a hearty breakfast. The table groans from all the food—scones, eggs, bacon, and a steaming pot of tea.
“Eat up, lassies,” she says, her wrinkled face creasing into a smile. “You’ll need your strength for the hills.”
We tuck into our meal, and Nastya says, “Tell me more about this Mikhail of yours. You’ve been rather tight-lipped about him so far.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks. “Oh, there’s not much to tell, really. We haven’t been together that long.”
She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying my evasion. “Come now. I’ve seen the way your face lights up when you mention his name. There must be something special about him.”
I sigh, unable to keep the smile from my face when thinking of him. “He’s...powerful. Passionate. When he looks at me, it’s like I’m the only person in the world.” I pause, searching for the right words. “But there’s a gentleness to him too, especially when we’re alone. He makes me feel safe, and he’s so tender with his rescue dog. You can tell a lot about people by how they treat animals.”
Nastya nods, her expression thoughtful. “He sounds wonderful. What does he do for work?”
I hesitate, suddenly aware of how little I actually know about Mikhail’s business dealings. “He’s in imports and exports, I think. To be honest, we don’t talk much about his work.”
If she notices my vague response, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she changes the subject, launching into an animated description of the hike we’re about to undertake. We finish our breakfast and gather our supplies, and I push aside the nagging questions about Mikhail’s business. This trip is about connecting with my Scottish heritage, not worrying about what’s happening back in Miami.
The Highland air is crisp and invigorating when we set out on our hike. The path winds through fields of purple heather, the delicate flowers swaying gently in the breeze. In the distance, mist-shrouded mountains are like smudges against the sky, their peaks disappearing into low-hanging clouds.
“It’s breathtaking,” I say, pausing to take in the view. “I’ve dreamed of seeing this landscape for so long, but nothing could have prepared me for how beautiful it is in person.” Despite a few family visits to Scotland over the years, I’ve never been to the Highlands before.
Nastya’s eyes are also wide with wonder. “I know what you mean. There’s something almost magical about this place, isn’t there?”
We continue our hike, stopping occasionally to admire particularly stunning vistas or interesting flora. Nastya proves to be surprisingly knowledgeable about local plants and wildlife, pointing out rare species and explaining their significance in Scottish folklore. I’m impressed until I see she’s cheating by using her phone to look up facts and tidbits. It’s still educational though.
When rounding a bend in the trail, a shimmering expanse of water comes into view. The loch stretches out before us, its surface like a mirror reflecting the cloudy sky above. We find a rocky outcropping overlooking the water and settle down for a picnic lunch.
Between bites of her sandwich, she says, “Tell me more about your Scottish cooking classes. How did you get started with that?”
I smile and start to tell her about seeing the flyer, always eager to talk about my passion. As I finish my story, my new friend smiles. “That sounds incredible. You must be an amazing teacher.”
I blush at the compliment. “I don’t know about that, but I do love sharing my passion with others. It’s not just about the food. It’s also about connecting with history and tradition. Every dish has a story behind it.”
She nods thoughtfully. “I can see why Mikhail is so taken with you. Your passion is compelling.”
The mention of Mikhail makes my chest constrict. I miss him, and Masha, so fiercely, wishing he could be here to share in this experience. “I just wish he could have made it on this trip.” I sigh. “He’s supposed to join me when he can.”
Nastya gives me a sympathetic look. “I’m sure he wishes he could be here already, but hey, at least you’ve got me for company, right?”
I laugh, grateful for her attempt to cheer me up. “Absolutely. I don’t know what I would have done without you these past few days.”
While we pack up our picnic and continue our hike, I end up telling her more about my relationship with Mikhail. She listens attentively, offering thoughtful comments and asking perceptive questions.
“He sounds like quite a man,” she says while we make our way back down the trail. “But, Phoebe, forgive me for asking, do you ever worry about the things he doesn’t tell you? About his work, I mean?”
I pause, considering her question. “Sometimes. There are moments when I feel like there’s this whole other side to him that I don’t know, but then I look into his eyes, and I see how much he cares for me, and those doubts just fade away.”
Nastya nods, her expression unreadable. “Love can be a powerful thing,” she says softly. “Just be careful, okay? Sometimes the things we don’t know can hurt us.”
Her words are foreboding, but before I can dwell on them, we round a bend and come face to face with a majestic stag. The animal regards us with calm dignity for a long moment before bounding away into the underbrush.
“Did you see that?” I laugh, my heart racing with excitement. “It was beautiful.”
Nastya laughs too, her earlier seriousness forgotten. “Absolutely magnificent. What a perfect end to our hike.”
We make our way back to the bed-and-breakfast, and I feel content. Despite Mikhail’s absence, this trip has been everything I hoped for and more. Much of that is due to the unexpected friendship I’ve found with Nastya.