Well be there in ten minutes, he replied.
Warren, would you be able to take me to the family crypt afterwards? Id like to pay my final respects to Grandfather, but I dont dare go there alone. Its a bit creepy. She felt very awkward asking for anything after the unpleasant situation the day before, which she herself had created. But there was no choice; she had to establish a rapport between them.
Yes, of course, as soon as we return, well go there.
Thanks a lot.
Megan, if there's anything I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask. I'm always ready to help.
The girl nodded in appreciation and said, Tell me, are there any other inhabited castles around here besides Castle Raven and Castle Mal?
In the nearest thirty miles, definitely not. However, there are some abandoned ones that hold historical value for tourists. There are many such places throughout Scotland.
Don't you find it boring living here all the time?
Not at all. Were used to a measured way of life. I don't know anyone who could get bored with a such beautiful place. We don't stay locked up at home for weeks. We work, have fun, hunt. There are a lot of deer, wild boars, and hares in the local forests. It's a true pleasure. We, Highlanders, really love our local, traditional festivals, and they happen quite often. I hope you get to attend such an event. The next one is in four days. It's called the Witch's Night, or Fern Night. According to Celtic beliefs, it's the only night of the year when you can see the fern flower bloom. It lasts only a moment. It's very difficult to pick the flower, especially since evil forces do everything to prevent it, sometimes even driving people to madness.
I've never heard in my life that ferns could bloom, Megan exclaimed in surprise, looking at Warren with wide eyes, trying not to miss a word of his story.
The fern flower is mythical, supposedly revealing the secrets of the magical world to its owner. It also grants clairvoyance and power over evil spirits. Evil forces try in every way to distract the hunter, for example, by calling out to him with the voice of a loved one. And if one turns around at the call, it could cost them their life. It means looking into the eyes of death.
Thats terrifying! Do locals really believe in this to this day?
Of course, Megan. You can't imagine how many people head off into the bracken before midnight. Each one of them hopes that they will be the luc ky one. Some even go into the forest!
Do you know at least one person who has actually had such luck?
Not yet, laughed Warren. But my grandfather knows many legends related to it. He believes in the fern flower bloom, as do many of his age. They say that in the past, most northern Highlanders had abilities for clairvoyance, witchcraft, and so on. Our land is special, and so are the people here. Well, I'm skeptical about it, but my wife, Glenn, believes everything my grandfather and his peers tell her. If you're interested, he continued with a smile, she can tell you a lot more. I, for one, love this festival like the others, simply because the whole north celebrates. Our people have fun, dance and play the bagpipes. Ale, cider, whisky, flow like rivers. Various Northern Scottish dishes are available to choose from. Lots of local game. Meat that's cured, grilled on coals, pan-fried, stewed, and anything else you could want. Almost all the townspeople and neighboring villagers come here. After all, the forest is nearby, and most ferns grow near us too. Tents, wooden tables, and benches are set up on the hill.
Warren! It sounds wonderful! I cant wait for this festival!
We Highlanders just need an excuse to have fun! Well, Megan, here we are.
Thank you. Your story was absolutely fascinating. If you and Glenn have got time this evening, I would love to hear more legends related to the traditions of Northern Scotland.
Of course! Tonight, after dinner, we'll happily share with you all we know about our north over a glass of whisky by the fireplace.
Great, Im already looking forward to it, Megan spoke joyously, pleased with Warren's openness and the fact that he harbored no resentment toward her for the previous day's events.
When Megan got out of the car, she found herself in front of a long two-story building made of large stone blocks. This style, she noted, was a common feature of most historical buildings in Scotland. The distillery was situated on a hill. From there, magnificent landscapes opened up. Megan thought it would be impossible to get used to such beauty. Surely, these views could never become dull.
How long has this distillery been here? she asked her cousin.
From the 15th century. It was built by our ancestor William McKenzie, in 1486. Naturally, a lot has changed and improved inside since then. But externally, it remains as it was centuries ago.
At the entrance to the building, a large oak barrel lay on its side, with "Mal Scotch Production" painted on it in white; the clan coat of arms was underneath.
Gregor, who had come with them but had remained silent the whole way, swung the door open, gesturing for them to enter. The girl immediately noticed a distinctive smell malt, as it seemed to her.
Megan didn't consider herself an expert in this field. She had never been fond of strong alcoholic beverages, preferring ale or cider instead. She had only drunk whisky once in her life, a few years back, and now barely remembered how it smelled. Inside, there was a reception desk and a small sofa. A pleasant-looking blonde woman around fifty, dressed in a smart business suit, immediately approached the visitors.
Good afternoon, Miss McKenzie. My name is Kirsty, Im the head technologist at the distillery. Warren, Gregor, its good to see you. If youre ready, we can proceed further. I will take you to the production technology and show you the distillery.
Thank you, Kirsty; lead the way, Megan said.
In the room where the first stage of production took place, there was a huge vessel.
This is the mash tun, where barley is added. Then, water is poured into it and left for 45 days. This is called the malting stage. During this time, the starch turns into sugar. The barley grains, after this process, need to be thoroughly dried with hot smoke from peat. We do that here, the woman pointed towards an open door to another large room. The peat subsequently gives the barley a unique aroma, which becomes an integral part of the future whisky.
Moving ahead into the next room, Kirsty showed a massive purpose-built machine designed to grind malt into flour. Next to it was another huge mash vat.
In this vat, she continued, we mix the grain with hot water, and keep it for about twelve hours. Then, in the cooled wort, we add yeast for the fermentation process to occur. After that, the contents of the vat are transferred into these copper stills. In there, the heat increases to 86 degrees Celsius. The alcohol rises up through the tubes then cools back down into a liquid state. This process is called distillation. It usually happens twice so that the content reaches 70 degrees. Then, we pour the obtained liquid into oak barrels and send them to the warehouse. The minimum period the liquid must age to be called whisky is three years. During this time, the spirit evaporates from sixty to forty degrees. The longer the whisky stays in the barrel, the richer its color and taste become. Whisky is the water of life, as they say in the north of Scotland.
The small procession moved on, listening to Kirsty.
And in this room, we proceed to bottling and packaging. As you can see, there is nothing complicated; just barley, water, yeast, and time.
Are the grain and barrels local? Megan inquired.
Warren took the liberty in answering this question.
The best Scottish grain grows here in the north. We have peaty heather fields which are unique to us, giving barley a special flavor. And we order oak barrels from Andalusia, Spain that come with sherry. The best barrels for whisky are those from sherry.
Thank you! You explained everything in great detail.
They also visited the warehouses where barrels filled with whisky are stored. Megan tasted one of the aged single malt varieties, twenty years in maturation, noting that the flavor was very rich and the alcohol was barely noticeable. Now I understand what good Scottish whisky means! she said with a smile.
For another two hours, they remained at the distillery. Gregor and Kirsty educated the new owner on employee work details, explained how many people were involved in the production, and much more.
6. Legends of the North
After going up to her room, Megan sat on the bed and reflected. Too many events had occurred during the three days she had been here. It felt like a whole week had passed since her arrival. Meeting new people who had now become her family; the harsh and majestic beauty of the nature and the castle she was living in; an attempt on her life; visiting her own whiskey distillery She had experienced so many different impressions and emotions, more than she had ever experienced in London with its fast-paced, event-filled life over a year.
Megan didn't immediately notice the strange rustling at the window. Turning around, she saw a black raven. It sat on the outside windowsill, staring intently at her. The thought that this bird was constantly watching her made her uneasy. Trying to calm herself, she thought that there were probably many such birds in this area.
After resting for a bit, she went down to the hall and waited for her cousin. Soon he appeared and said, Well, Megan, are you ready?
Yes, lets go.
Upon entering the chapel, which was about hundred yards from the castle, Megan admired the ancient structure.
It's beautiful, she remarked, examining the old building closely.
Yes, and this chapel remembers all the marriages, baptisms, and funerals of the McKenzie clan. It was built at the same time as the old castle.
Inside, to the left of the altar, there was a massive wrought iron door leading to the family crypt. Warren opened it with a key, and Megan shivered at the realization that the burials were so close to the castle. She feared anything associated with death.
The young people moved down the grim, quiet corridor, passing other doors, but these were not locked. After passing several, they stopped at the penultimate one.
Warren swung it open for his cousin, Go ahead.
Megan was frightened, feeling as if dozens of eyes were watching her from all sides. She saw a recent burial to the right of the entrance. Unlike the others, it was not covered in dust. Fresh flowers stood in vases at the gravestone. The stone bore the name, birth date, and death date in large letters. It was her grandfather's resting place.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Only now did she fully comprehend that he was no longer among the living. He would never come to her in London again. He would never call her to Castle Mal. She was already here. She had come, but it seemed Malcolm had to die for his beloved granddaughter to finally be in his homeland. These thoughts made her feel even worse. She whispered to herself, Here I am. You waited. But I can't hug you now, or tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me, how much I miss you! Forgive me! Forgive my late arrival. You will forever remain in my heart and memory. I love you, Grandpa! I promise to do everything in my power to ensure that everything in our estate goes as you would have wished. I've already grown to love your beloved north and your home with all my heart.
After standing by the grave for another ten minutes, she wiped her tears and said, Thank you, Warren, for coming here with me. We can return to the castle now.
As you wish.
Her cousin patted her shoulder sympathetically, and they headed back to the house through the chapel.
Where is the key to the crypt kept? I would like to come here again to bring flowers to Grandpa.
In Malcolm's former office. In the drawer of his desk, you'll find the keys to all the doors in the castle.
Thanks. I'll go to my room. What time shall we meet for dinner?
At seven. Is that time convenient for you?
Yes, perfect.
Megan spent the next few hours reviewing the documents previously given to her by Gregor. She also called her assistant Sam to check on the restaurant's affairs. He assured her that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about. Megan breathed a sigh of relief, it's good to have someone reliable to count on.
* * *
When she came down for dinner, Glenn was already busily helping the cook set the table.
Hi, Megan! Warren said you had a tough day today.
Yes, it wasn't the easiest. I'm so sorry I didn't make it here earlier while Grandpa was still alive. Things would have been entirely different.
Don't be so hard on yourself. It's all God's will. It must have been predestined for you to come to us when you did. Finella has prepared stewed lamb with mashed potatoes for dinner tonight. I hope you'll like it. This dish is very popular in the north. Sorry, we didn't ask in advance what kind of meat you prefer.
I'm not picky about food. I'll be very happy to try the local cuisine. Glenn, I've been meaning to ask, who takes care of the castle and its surroundings?
Finella is responsible for preparing lunches and dinners, and she also keeps the dining room clean. Everyone cleans their own room. About once a month, a cleaning company comes to mop the floors, clean the walls and carpets; basically, do a deep clean of the whole house. When needed, we call the gardener, who has been trimming our lawns and bushes for many years. Malcolm used to take care of everything. Now it's our responsibility.
Over dinner, they discussed production matters, and Warren explained his management duties. Megan replied that his responsibilities would now increase and so would his earnings accordingly.
Towards the end of the meal, Glenn turned to the cousin of her husband, Warren mentioned you're interested in the traditions and legends of our area. We'd be delighted to share everything we know about it with you.
And I'll be delighted to hear it!
Then we can move to the living room, and over a glass of whisky, begin our stories, which you've been anticipating like little girls. Oh, ladies, how you love fairy tales! Warren said with a playful smile.
Megan took a seat on the sofa. The couple settled into armchairs by the fireplace, where logs softly crackled, adding warmth to the large room.
There are no ghosts in the castle, right? Megan asked cautiously.
Warren laughed and replied, I've never encountered any, and Malcolm never mentioned any to me. So, I can assure you, there have been no ghosts here for at least the last seventy years. And you, I see, are quite the scaredy-cat. Afraid of everything.
Well, not everything, just inexplicable things: the darkness, and the dead.
You should be afraid of the living, not the dead! Inexplicable things are always explainable, depending on how you look at it. The dead, theyre sleeping peacefully and not making any trouble. Why do you have this fear? Did something happen in the past?
No, thank God! And hopefully, it never will. Perhaps, as a child, my friends and I told each other too many horror stories, and I was impressionable. Or, for example, that one movie about Freddy Krueger was enough. Left me scarred for life, Megan said, laughing.