12. Chapter 12
Across the loch, fishing boats cut white trails through still water, while gulls glided overhead, their cries carrying on the morning breeze.
The islands rose in the distance behind a row of houses painted in improbable blues and pinks.
The scene was so ridiculously perfect I reached for my phone and started taking photos.
When a dragonfly with iridescent wings landed on the railing, I captured it in close-up. I took it as a good omen.
Angus pulled up in his little blue Mini Cooper precisely at half-past eight.
Max and I squeezed into the back, navigating around the explosion of white fabric that threatened to swallow us whole—Caitlin had apparently packed every wedding dress in Scotland.
The narrow road wound northward toward the Fairy Glen.
Our tires hummed against the pavement until Caitlin’s squeal cut through our conversation.
Outside the window, a herd of shaggy Highland cattle grazed in the morning light, their massive horns gleaming.
Angus turned to Caitlin, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Think we need a picture?” asked Angus.
Caitlin bounced in her seat. “Definitely!”
“With or without the wedding attire?” Angus eyed the mountain of satin, tulle, and lace in his rearview mirror.
Caitlin shot him a look that sent me into fits of giggles. I hadn’t seen that look since high school, but it was clear they were going to need multiple wardrobe changes for this shoot.
While Caitlin transformed in the backseat, Max and I played lookout for passing cars.
Angus used the passenger door as a shield while he traded his flannel and jeans for formal Highland attire.
His Prince Charlie jacket settled on his shoulders as he strode toward the meadow.
I steadied Caitlin as she emerged from the car, her gown’s delicate fabric contrasting with chunky white Doc Martens.
Angus’s tartan sash rested on her shoulder.
A Highland cow stood unperturbed as the bride and groom flanked it for photos, her train billowing in the breeze. Behind our cameras, Max and I exchanged glances. “Pure magic,” I called out, snapping another shot.
We got back into the car and continued north. “Do you want to go straight there to beat the crowds, or do you want to stop at Kilt Rock?” asked Angus.
“Sounds like a new genre of music that you two should create!” I said.
Angus laughed. “Like the Red Hot Chili Pipers?”
“Exactly! That’s a great name for a band. You could do covers, but have bagpipes.”
“Yeah. They already exist. They played up at the New Hampshire Highland Games last year.”
My “oh” deflated in the air between us.
Max studied me. “Disappointed they already exist or excited you came up with an idea that works well?”
I tilted my head. “I guess a little of both. That’s what always seems to happen with my movie ideas.”
“Seems? Not seemed?” asked Max gently.
He didn’t sound snarky, but my chest tightened anyway. I wanted to explain, but the words caught somewhere between my throat and tongue. I shrugged, turning to look out my window. “Let’s get to the Fairy Glen, so they can get a good view of it before the crowds.”
So on we drove.
As we neared the Fairy Glen, everything looked even more vibrant and green than before. Everything was miniature—even the rolling hills, which looked designed rather than grown, like a film set someone had forgotten to strike.
“Perfect for my next film,” Max said quietly. Angus gave him a sharp look.
We parked the car and Angus tossed me a bottle of bug spray.
“Better apply this if you don’t want to be eaten alive.
The midges here are vicious. And remember,” his voice dropped to a near-whisper, “we don’t call them their proper name here.
It’s The Good Folk, The Others, or The Wee Ones. Never the F-word.”
I nodded, spraying the sweet-smelling repellent all over before handing it to Caitlin.
We wandered the site until Angus pointed toward a towering formation. “Castle Ewen. Prime photo spot.” Then he gestured vaguely toward a large concentric ring of stones. “And that’s… well, that’s the circle.”
“Is it off-limits?” I asked.
“Nope. Tourists come around and place those. There’s nothing mystical about it.”
“But in other places?”
Angus shifted his weight. “Local tradition says not to disturb any kind of fairy ring. Some people walk the perimeter of the circle, while others avoid stepping in at all. They believe it risks being… taken—the old stories about being spirited away.”
I nodded. “I've read about that.”
Angus eyed a small circle of mushrooms. “Now that. That’s a natural circle. Best to leave that be.”
I looked at the mushroom circle for a long time.
It reminded me of a cartoon I saw when I was young: tiny ballerinas dancing under mushroom umbrellas in the rain.
I could see how it would look like little Wee Folk dancing in a circle or having a gathering of sorts.
Wouldn’t want to piss them off, so I carefully stepped away.
We roamed the hills, stopping to arrange Caitlin and Angus for photos against the backdrop of Castle Ewen.
I’d expected ancient ruins, but when we scaled the formation, I discovered it was just volcanic rock.
From the top, the landscape unfurled below us, perfect little hills rolling to the horizon.
Back on solid ground, we followed the path to the small circle at the glen’s heart that Angus had spotted earlier. My feet itched to step inside, but I stayed put.
“We’ve got to get a picture of you two in front of this,” I said.
“But not in,” clarified Angus. Caitlin nodded.
We positioned them on the circle’s edge and then snapped away. Their tartans blew in the stiff breeze, which at least kept the midges off.
After we’d taken more than a hundred photos, we noticed the glen filling with day-trippers. A few of them had their phones trained not on the landscape but on Angus and Caitlin, as if they were part of the attraction.
A woman with a map clutched in her hand nudged her friend. “I swear they’re filming something here. Look at that man.”
“Aye, his face is right familiar,” said her companion in a thick Highland burr.
The first woman approached, phone extended. “Mind if we get a selfie?”
Caitlin’s smile froze as they pressed the phone into her hands. They flanked Angus, arms snaking around his waist, fingers splayed against his tartan. One pointed at him with her mouth in an exaggerated O.
Angus’s shoulders inched toward his ears. His smile tightened, eyes darting between the women and the exit path. The moment Caitlin’s thumb tapped the screen, he stepped back, fingers drumming against his thigh.
“I think it’s time for our next stop on the tour.” His voice caught on his last word.
“Already?” Caitlin’s brow furrowed.
“It’s getting crowded.” Angus’s gaze found mine. “Hard to get pictures of just the two of us, right Abby?”
I nodded. “Yeah, we’d probably have to start photoshopping people out.”
“Let’s head on to Kilt Rock, folks.” Angus started for the car, with Caitlin right behind him.
Someone else had spotted Max and was trying to get a selfie.
“Since when is an indie film director famous?” I couldn’t help but ask him.
“Since I cast Cameron Sinclair and Cat Turner in my film. And since I finally got tapped to make a film with an actual budget. Also, they seem to be confused and think Angus is in my film. I mean, he can be in it if he wants. Those women seemed to love seeing him in a kilt.”
“They really did. Him specifically.”
Max seemed to ponder that as we neared the car. “Yeah, and I think it bothered him. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would be annoyed by a simple mistake.”
“Weird.”
We hopped into the car and Angus took off.
Caitlin turned on the radio. “Let’s use my playlist of Celtic music. Seems more appropriate than Top of the Pops for the scenery.”
“Great idea,” I said.
The car filled with the sound of pipes and fiddles as Caitlin connected her phone to the stereo.
Between verses of ancient ballads about the sea, we fell quiet, pointing wordlessly whenever sheep dotted the hillsides or shaggy Highland cows appeared along the roadside.
The car eventually rolled to a stop in what seemed like the middle of nowhere.
“From here, we walk. Everyone got their mud shoes and waterproofs?” asked Angus.
“Yep,” I said, climbing out in my purple rain boots. Caitlin had changed out of the white Docs and into black wellies.
We walked past a croft and a quaint stone cottage before reaching a gate. Angus reached for the weathered latch.
I looked around nervously. “Are we allowed to hike here? This seems like private property.”
“Right to roam.” Angus swung the gate wide. “Leave it as you found it.”
“Also it’s his cousin’s property, and he’s played here since he was a lad,” said Caitlin with a smirk.
I laughed.
“You got me,” said Angus.
We trudged across the field, our boots sinking into soft ground with each step. The sound came to us first—a rhythmic crashing that grew louder as we approached the edge. Then the vista opened before us—Kilt Rock, rising majestically from the churning sea below.
It was a huge cliff, similar to the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, but with jagged rocks jutting out over the sea like the folds of a kilt.
Salt air filled my lungs, and the mist crept up from waves crashing on the shore below.
The fog hung perfectly still, muting the normally vibrant colors surrounding us.
Max pulled out his camera and began recording. I caught myself wondering if any of the footage would make its way into his movie.
“Just one more shot,” I called to Caitlin. “The perfect postcard moment.”
Caitlin adjusted the tartan sash draped over her wedding gown and nestled against Angus’s side.
“Kiss him,” I directed. Caitlin pushed up on her toes to kiss him gently. Her lips curved into a soft smile. “Your turn, Angus.” He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than was necessary for the photo.
“Now face the sea with your backs to me—and please stay on solid ground. Hold hands and leap upward. I’ll shoot from below to create the illusion. Perfect for the e-invites. We’ll call it Taking the Plunge.”
“Pure dead brilliant, Abby,” Angus said with a hint of admiration.
They positioned themselves, clasped hands, and jumped. I shot a burst of photos.
“One more time?” I asked, reframing the scene.
They leapt into the air again. Another shutter burst.
“Once more?”
They exchanged a glance, their excitement waning.
I got down on the ground and adjusted my camera angle. “One last time, because you’re only in wedding attire at Kilt Rock in the Isle of Skye once, right?”
Angus looked unconvinced. “We’ll be coming back.”
I suppressed an eye roll. “You get my point, Angus!”
They jumped one final time, and I took a long string of photos, capturing every single moment. It was perfect. Pure, uncomplicated joy—the kind that’s hard to fake and impossible to direct.
I set down my camera and nodded at them. “Great job.”
Caitlin picked up the skirt of her dress. “Ready when you are.”
We drove back to Portree, and Angus dropped Max and I at our rental. “Dinner?”
“I’ve got some prep work to do for a 6 a.m. call time tomorrow morning, so I’m out,” said Max. “Abby, feel free to join them. I’m going to be tied up the rest of the night.”
“Well, it’s a lot of extra driving for you, Angus. Besides, I need to get to work on these photos,” I said.
“No worries either way,” said Caitlin.
“We’ll just stop at the chippy down the hill from us,” I said. “We’ll be fine.”
We sat at a picnic table with a breathtaking view of the water below. We split an order of Cullen Skink and a few oysters. The tide was coming in, and the salty air made the oysters that much better.
Max poured a dram of Talisker into a paper cup he’d picked up at the water station.
“It’s like surround-sound, but for taste,” I mused, as I downed another oyster, following it with a sip of whisky.
“It’s amazing here, in general. I’m so happy I get to do three films here. I’ve never had more than a few months in a single location.”
I hesitated, staring down at my plate. “I know, tell me about it.”
“It could be nice to stay in one spot for a few years. To feel some permanence. A home,” he continued.
Five years too late.
I drew in a steadying breath. “Better get you back—those call sheets won’t prepare themselves.”