help me or should I go to the university library in Edinburgh?”
“If you’re really interested, I’ll tell you all I know. After that we can drive up to the capital if you like and I’ll introduce you to Professor MacCleod. He’s the true expert on Scottish history. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
I couldn’t help smiling. “I’ve known him for over ten years. He was the lecturer on Gaelic antiquities when I attended the University of Edinburgh. Somehow we never got around to discussing my family tree.”
“That was before you inherited a Scottish antiquity. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you. We should call first and give him time to prepare.”
There was silence on both ends of the line. Then we both spoke at once.
“Christina—”
“Ian—”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You go first.”
Suddenly, I didn’t want to be the one to speak. “No, you.”
“All right,” he said agreeably. “The reason I called was to ask if you’d like to go fishing.”
I could feel my stomach heave. “I’m a terrible sailor,” I confessed. “I get seasick.”
His chuckle was pure magic. “You won’t this time. I meant fly-fishing. You know, on the riverbank, for trout and salmon.”
“I’ve never been.”
“I’ll show you. That is, if you’d like to learn.”
“Yes, I would.”
“Good. Sleep well. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at five a.m. Good-bye, Christina.”
I had never felt less like sleeping. My bed had been turned down and the fire banked. A bouquet of heather sat on the nightstand along with a mug of warm milk. It tasted of cinnamon. I drained the last drop, shrugged out of my clothes, and pulled on my nightgown. In less than five minutes I was asleep.
***
Five a.m. in the borders brings a soft blue dawn with the rays of a muted sun streaking the clouds pink and silver. I was wakened by a gentle hand shaking my shoulder and a cup of steaming coffee held under my nose. Kate was upholding her reputation for having the sight. There could be no other explanation for her knowing my plans. The phone had been silent all night after Ian’s call, and even if he’d told her why he was phoning, she had no way of knowing that I’d agreed. After biting into one of her buttery, raisin-filled scones, her omniscience no longer bothered me. As long as she continued to create these mouth-watering confections, she could practice all the black magic that she pleased.
Less than an hour later Ian strode ahead of me, impervious to the cold. I shivered in the early chill and huddled deeper into my thick, Icelandic sweater, watching the morning sun pick out the lights in his hair, silhouetting his head in a halo of silver. The fluid movement of his bunched athlete’s muscles under the navy sweater and worn jeans called to mind the piercing beauty of Shakespeare’s words: “all my fortunes at thy feet I’ll lay and follow thee, my lord, throughout the world.” I knew the story of the Pied Piper and the danger of becoming too fascinated by the unknown, but that morning I would have followed him anywhere.
He carried two fishing poles, two pairs of rubber boots, and a tackle box. I carried our lunch basket, the contents created by the redoubtable Kate, and a blanket. If I had stopped to consider it, I might have wondered why my housekeeper was so persistent in encouraging my relationship with our attractive neighbor. She was behaving like a desperate Victorian mother trying to marry off her spinster daughter.
I followed Ian out into a clearing of such sheer beauty that words escaped me. I had to sit down. Taking deep, restoring breaths, I looked out from my seat on the bank, over the crystalline falls, to the mouth of Saint Mary’s Loch. Never had I seen water so clear. The deep blue of the sky and the green of the trees was reflected like a mirror image from the glassy depths. At the bottom of the loch, stones, worn smooth from centuries of slow-moving currents, provided resting places for speckled trout and pink-skinned salmon. On the banks, purple heather and delicate blue gentians peeked out from sun-baked boulders. The air was scented with pine and sage and a strange, sharp odor that I’d never smelled before.
“Why aren’t they afraid of us?” I asked, making eye contact with a large, spotted trout.
Ian knelt down, resting easily beside me. “This is private property. The fish have no fear of people because they rarely see them.”
“I didn’t realize