Over the Atlantic Ocean

---

The downside of our last-minute flights—besides the exorbitant price that Marcus paid for them—was that we were unable to sit together for the journey. Sandwiched in the middle section, in a middle seat, it was the longest and most miserable travel experience of my life.

The woman to my right smelled of dust bunnies and cheese, and the man to my left liked to spit when he talked. He really liked talking. He was a native Scot, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone as excited to get home.

“I tell ye, lass, eight weeks is far too long to be away from yer own bed and yer own coffee maker. America is fine in most respects, but none of ye know how to make a proper cup of coffee, and yer breakfasts are terrible. I doona want cereal in skim milk for breakfast. Or worse, a couple of soggy waffles from the hotel buffet. Give me meat and eggs or nothing at all.”

I wasn’t in an appeasing mood.

“I quite like cereal with skim milk.”

The man, who’d yet to introduce himself, threw up both hands to cover his heart, accidentally elbowing me in the side of my arm hard enough to make me wince.

“Ach, doona wound me so. I thought ye were a lass with better taste.”

“Nope. I’m afraid I have very bad taste indeed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I better try to get some sleep. I’ve got quite a long car drive once we land.”

It was the absolute wrong thing to say. It gave him the perfect opening to question me.

“Oh, is that so? Whereabouts are ye headed? I know Scotland like the back of my hand. I could tell ye some bonny places to stop along the way.”

I could hardly say anything to him about the inn, so I decided to stick to the closest thing to it.

“Conall Castle, actually. I’ve always wanted to see it.”

This man didn’t need to know that I’d visited before.

“Ach, aye, ’tis a lovely castle. There is actually not much to stop and see along yer way there, though the drive is quite beautiful. Where else in Scotland are ye planning to go?”

“The Isle of Eight Lairds.”

“Best be careful over there, lass. ’Tis cursed land. Only a few still reside there.”

I’d heard this much from the documentary I’d watched with Kate, but I was fairly certain the castle was still open to visitors, and there was a ferry that went out to the isle twice a day.

“I don’t believe in curses. Besides, wasn’t the original curse from the legend broken at some point? It must have been for the land to have been ruled by one laird at a time rather than eight for the last four hundred years.”

The stranger clucked his tongue disapprovingly at me.

“I know nothing of the legend, lass. I only know what I’ve heard all my life. My own grandfather wouldna step foot on the isle, and there are many in Scotland who feel just as he did. ’Tis mainly foolish tourists like yerself that do.”

“You do know that your insistence that this place is cursed has just increased my desire to go there tenfold?”

He shook his head.

“As I said lass…foolish tourists.”

---

Marcus was several rows in front of me, so by the time I deplaned, he was waiting for me just outside the gate. He looked rested and annoyingly fresh.

“Were you on an entirely different flight than I was? You look great.”

He winked and reached for my bag.

“Well, thanks. I’ll take it. Rough night, huh?”

“You could say that. I hope you’re willing to drive because I’m completely useless. I plan on being asleep five minutes after we pull away from the car rental.”

“That’s absolutely fine. It’s not as if you haven’t seen the landscape before. Do you need to stop in at the restroom before we head out?”

His question sounded much more like a suggestion, and by the look in his eye, I could tell that I was right.

“Do I have something on me?”

“No. I just thought…” He squirmed, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he wanted to. “I just thought you might want to splash some water on your face, freshen up a little bit. If the inn is there, I assume we will stop before we find a place to stay for the night.”

“If it’s really an inn, I assume we’ll stay there.”

He nodded. “Precisely. I know you. I doubt you want to show up looking so tired.”

From most people, such a statement would’ve pissed me off, but I was close enough to Marcus to not take offense to him very politely telling me I looked like crap. I was tired. Of course, I looked that way.

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll be right back.”

I took my time in front of the mirror as I applied a bit of makeup and brushed my hair.

It was always a bit of a strange experience for me to see myself in makeup. In truth, if I was really honest with myself, it was equally strange for me to see myself in real clothes. As a writer, most of my days were spent makeup free, and yoga pants were my work uniform of choice.

Satisfied that I wouldn’t frighten anyone, I returned to Marcus and we made our way towards baggage claim.

It took less time than either of us expected for our bags to arrive on the conveyor belt, and as he lugged them along behind us and we made our way out of the airport towards the rental car area, I noticed an old man waving at me from the corner of my eye.

Unthinkingly, I waved back. It was then that I noticed the sign he was holding. Both of our names were written on the small piece of cardboard.

Slapping Marcus’ arm a little harder than necessary, I gripped at his arm in my confusion.

“He couldn’t possibly mean us, could he?”

I watched Marcus’ face as he squinted to make out the names.

“Of course not. No one knew we were coming. It’s just…it’s just a coincidence.” He didn’t sound all that convinced. “Let’s go.”

Just as we turned to walk away from him, the old man called out to us.

“Oy, ye two. Get yerselves over here before I freeze to death.”

I stopped and turned toward the voice and pointed at the center of my chest in confusion.

“Do you mean us?”

The man nodded and waved us toward him with his free hand.

“Aye, o’course I do. Laurel is not that common of a name, is it? Get over here so I might introduce myself. Ye willna be needing a car.”

Baffled beyond comprehension, Marcus and I both looked at each other for a moment then obediently walked over to the stranger. Placing the sign between his knobby legs, he extended his right hand.

“I’m Jerry, Morna’s husband. She dinna wanna risk either of ye not making it to our home this time, so she sent me to fetch ye. Come on now. We best get on. She’s not a woman known for her patience.”

I took his hand and gripped at Marcus with my left hand to keep myself steady. It wasn’t possible that this man was the same one from the story I’d read, but his description matched that of the Jerry in Morna’s story exactly.

Realizing that I was shaking his hand for an awkwardly long time, I quickly pulled it away.

“Pick yer chin up, lass. This is only the first of many surprising things ye will learn this day.”

I had absolutely no doubt about that.