The Inheritance Read Free Page A

pretended to be offended, but I was hoping there actually was a decent ghost at this place.  What’s a castle without a few ghosts?
    “No, there truly is.  I’ll fill you in on the history when you actually see the place.  It’s more impressive that way,” he promised.
    “I see you have a flair for the dramatic yourself.”
    “Of course I do, lassie.  I am Scots!” he said with an exaggerated Scottish burr.
    The rest of the drive passed in pleasant banter.   I was eager to see something of the countryside, and I was amazed at how quickly the landscape changed once we drove past the outskirts of Edinburgh.  We passed towns and some farms on the side of the road, but there was so much space.  Sometimes all I could see for miles were grassy valleys dotted with fluffy white sheep, distant mountains and open sky.  The terrain around us became more rugged as we drove further into the Highlands.  I could see the craggy, forbidding faces of the mountains and fields of purple heather blanketing the ground.  The landscape was vast and wild, and I could almost imagine long-haired, kilted men wearing swords and galloping toward us out of the mist of the early morning. Or was I actually imagining Mel Gibson in Braveheart ? 
    Danny turned off the main road at Aviemore and then drove past the town and headed further toward the coast.  He took a local road until he swung the car into the wooded drive of the B&B.  It was a three-storey eighteenth century house built of gray stone with a sign proclaiming it to be the finest Highland accommodations.  I looked up at the chimney pots wondering if there would be a fireplace in my room.  I’d always longed for a fireplace.
    A friendly middle-aged couple came out to greet us and introduced themselves as Linda and Bob McDonald.  Linda ushered me into the foyer, while Bob took care of my luggage.  They’d put me into the front bedroom on the second floor with a lovely view of the mountains, per Daniel’s request.  It faced west, and the sun sinking behind the mountains was a sight not to be missed. 
    The B&B was charming as promised.  I felt as if I walked into an 18 th century museum home.  To the right of the foyer was the parlor, decorated in shades of red.  There were maroon velvet sofas gilded with gold, and heavy red velvet drapes with gold braid at the windows.  The fireplace was lit despite the warmth of the June afternoon and there were pictures of hunting scenes on the walls.
    Directly across the hall was the dining room.  This room was much lighter.  The walls were covered in pale blue wallpaper, and most of the room was occupied by a long table made of dark wood with stately chairs placed around it.  There was also a fireplace on the opposite side of the windows, which were curtained in dark blue velvet.  A portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie, as the caption proclaimed, hung above the fireplace and I took a moment to study the youthful, almost feminine face looking back at me with those hooded, dark eyes.  The kitchen occupied the back of the first floor and wasn’t part of the tour.  The second and third floors were the guest rooms and I was shown to my room by Linda. 
    As promised, it had a magnificent view of the valley and mountains rising in the distance.  The room was dominated by the large four-poster bed, and the walls were covered in white and blue patterned wallpaper.  There was a small writing desk with some stationery directly in front of the window, to take advantage of the inspirational view as you were writing your correspondence, and a wooden wardrobe.  The only concession to modern times was a small end table that held an electric kettle, a small basket of tea and cocoa packets, and a package of shortbread.  I looked at the fat content and gasped in horror — no shortbread for me.  A small bathroom completed my living quarters.  I loved it.
    “I ’m sure you’d like to rest after your journey.  Dinner is at seven.  We’ll