The Magic Ring of Brodgar

“My God! It wasn’t a dream! How did I end up here? Who brought me back to my room?” Megan whispered in horror. Gregor? Warren? What happened to the man who tried to kill me? Could she have ever imagined that the trip to her ancestral home would turn out to be so dangerous?! After all, she hadn't even left the castle grounds.

Slowly getting out of bed, Megan went to the bathroom to clean herself up before meeting her relatives. Moreover, she was eager to see Gregor and find out what had happened after she lost consciousness.

* * *

Megan put on a formal black suit and low-heeled shoes, pulled her thick chestnut-brown hair into a bun, and finished off with a few light and subtle touches of makeup. She descended the wide staircase into the hall. Terrifying memories crowded in again, scenes of what she had experienced flashed through her mind like a movie. There she was, walking to the front door, mesmerized by the music, leaving the castle…

I wonder, what role the highlander with the bagpipes had to play in all this? From his vantage point on the hill, he must have had a clear view of what was happening on the riverbank. But he didn't come to help. Perhaps he was in league with the attacker?

Megan looked around. The castle was dead silent as if she were completely alone. Suddenly, the estate manager appeared, as if from nowhere.

“Oh, Gregor, I was looking for you,” she said anxiously.

“Good morning, Miss. What can I do for you? Are you comfortable in your room?”

“Yes, quite. I left the castle last night. I heard the bagpipes and wanted to find out who was playing…” she paused, waiting for a reaction to her words.

“The bagpipes?” Gregor asked, surprised. “I didn't hear anything like that.”

“You didn’t leave the castle at all yesterday evening?”

“No, Miss, I didn’t. After I left your room, I worked for several hours on the reports for our gathering today.”

“I see. Thank you,” the girl took a brief pause. “Where is the kitchen? I’d like to have breakfast before meeting my relatives.”

“The assembly hall is to the right of the stairs, and the kitchen is opposite it.”

“Thank you.”

“See you later, Miss.”

Megan was frantically pondering who had brought her to the bedroom after the night's incident, if not Gregor. Could he be the one in the black cloak? He hadn't heard the bagpipes nor responded to her scream. Could there be a conspiracy against her? Or was it truly a maniac who didn't care whom he killed?

Utmost caution is necessary; trusting anyone is now out of the question. Anybody could be the enemy. Yet, what reason would Gregor have to kill me? What would he gain from it? My relatives could be involved, considering their potential interest in the inheritance.

Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, ideas buzzing like a swarm of bees. The question of who had brought her into the castle at night haunted the girl. This person somehow knew which bedroom she was staying in. Lost in deep thought, she entered the kitchen. At the head of the table, was a man not much older than Megan, with hair the same color as hers, well-built and quite attractive. His face looked a bit tired. To his right sat a woman who appeared to be near Megan in age. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she was wearing practically no makeup, yet her face was open and pleasant enough. They sat in silence, drinking tea, and seemed quite contemplative.

These were Warren and his wife. Her grandfather had mentioned that the cousins were a couple of years older than her, but Megan couldn't recall their exact age. Seeing her, the man quickly put his cup down and stood up with a polite smile.

“Hello, I’m Warren, and this is my wife, Glenn. Malcolm spoke a lot about you, always in good terms,” he said.

“Good morning. It’s nice to meet you,” replied Megan, with a slightly strained smile.

“Please, have a seat,” offered Glenn, pushing warm croissants towards her and pouring a cup of hot tea. Megan felt that the woman seemed slightly embarrassed when their eyes met.

“Thank you. We didn’t have a chance to meet yesterday; did you come back late?” Megan asked, hoping that her relatives could shed some light on the evening's events.

“Yes, we got back well after midnight,” Warren responded. “There was a tragedy in Glenn's family, and we had to go to Inverness. My apologies we were unable to meet you.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Douglas and Gregor helped me.”

“Megan, Malcolm felt very lonely before he passed, and asked us to stay with him. I think it would be proper for Glenn and me to return to Castle Raven after today's meeting,” the cousin seemed to justify his presence in the castle.

“As you wish, but if you decide to stay a bit longer, I'd be glad. It would give us a chance to get to know each other better.” The thought of staying alone in this large, cold castle, aside from Gregor, terrified her.

“Alright,” Warren smiled more warmly this time, “we'll stay a few more days and help you get accustomed to the place.”

“Great, thank you,” said Megan. She thought to herself: First of all, it wasn’t Warren who brought me in last night. Most likely it was the Highlander with the bagpipes. But why would he do this, and how did he know which bedroom was mine? Time will sort things out. But it would be best to wrap up the business here as quickly as possible and head back to London.

Having finished their tea, they all went to the assembly hall together. Its stone walls were adorned with deer antlers and other hunting trophies. A massive mahogany table was placed in the center. Lancet windows along the long wall made the hall very bright, offering a beautiful view of the river and hills.

Mr. Douglas, Gregor, and two men unknown to Megan, were already seated at the table. The eldest of them stood up when she entered.

“Hello Megan. It’s my pleasure to welcome you to your historic homeland. My brother had been dreaming of your arrival for years, and now that day has finally come. I am Alaric McKenzie, your late grandfather’s brother.”

His words made the girl feel guilty, as they sounded like a reproach, but she kept her emotions in check and calmly replied that the pleasure was mutual.

“Hi, I’m Duncan,” said the other man, grinning broadly and gazing at her admiringly. “What a pity that we’re related by blood; otherwise, I’d have already started courting you.” The cousin not only shook her hand but also kissed her on both cheeks as if they were old friends who hadn’t seen one another in years.

Duncan was a bit taller than Warren. A good-looking figure, playful eyes – everything about him suggested that he was a very confident young man and had no shortage of women. When he smiled, his handsome face radiated incredible magnetism. If Warren gave the impression of a very serious and modest person, Duncan was the complete opposite: cheerful, lively, uninhibited, he immediately became the center of attention. It seemed that energy was bursting out of him like a fountain.

Megan was pleasantly surprised to find all her relatives – dressed in traditional style. Each wore a woolen kilt in clan colors, still an integral part of the Scottish national costume. The men's skirts with large pleats at the back; a tartan plaid thrown over the left shoulder, secured with a brooch. A white shirt, handkerchief tie, black waistcoat, and black jacket – all perfectly fit the members of the McKenzie family. High woolen socks up to the knees, and over the belt hung a sporran – a leather pouch on a chain that fastened around the waist. It featured three small, rabbit tail-like attachments.

Carefully observing all this magnificence, the girl thought that the male members of the McKenzie family were very distinguished by their tall stature and good physiques. Aloud, she remarked, “I’ve seen many Scots in national dress in England, including Grandfather, but never paid attention to the details. It's truly very beautiful and extraordinarily elegant, especially when men know how to handle all the accompanying accessories, which, I think, many people these days neglect. All three of you look gorgeous – like Scottish national fashion models.”

“You are absolutely correct. A properly assembled costume is our history, which started here in these mountains, and we are proud of our traditions. In the big towns, few people nowadays wear kilts; they mostly prefer trousers. But the northern Scots will never abandon their customs.”

Having delivered his speech on national attire, Alaric took his place at the head of the table. His grandsons, Duncan and Warren, sat beside him. Megan noted how much Alaric and her grandfather resembled each other. A robust, gray-haired man, shorter than his grandsons, with a serious expression on his face. The eyes, nose, authoritative chin, were all so reminiscent of Malcolm… It felt as if they were of the same age. This resemblance poignantly touched her soul. The whole family was here, but he was not…

She couldn't remember who was actually older, Alaric or Malcolm. Presumably, it was Grandfather since he had inherited Castle Mal, the ancestral home of the clan.

“Mr. Douglas, you may begin,” Warren said.

“All the members of the McKenzie family are gathered here today for the reading of the will of the late Malcolm McKenzie,” Mr. Douglas began. “Allow me to state his will: ‘I hereby bequeath Castle Mal and the Mal Scotch Production whisky distillery, as well as all the funds remaining in my bank accounts, to my only granddaughter, Megan McKenzie.’ Miss McKenzie, there is one more amendment you should be aware of. In the event of your death, if there are no legitimate children-heirs, your mother cannot inherit what your grandfather left you. The entire estate will pass to Alaric and his grandsons, as was the deceased's wish,” concluded Mr. Douglas.

Following these words, Megan was frantically thinking. It must be one of them trying to kill me, now it all makes sense. If I'm gone, they are the lawful heirs. This means another attempt on my life is imminent. Oh, what a nightmare! What should I do? There's no point in offering the family to buy the estate now. Why would they spend the money if they can get it all for free?

After several seconds of complete silence, Alaric asked her a question, “Megan, how are you going to manage the distillery and the castle? Are you going to stay in Scotland, or would you like to manage things from London?”

“This is precisely why I came here – to see the distillery first-hand and get acquainted with its management specifics. Based on this, I will make my decision. Perhaps you have some thoughts on this matter?”

“We can offer our assistance if you find it challenging. I believe Warren wouldn't mind looking after the castle, and along with Gregor, managing the production. Duncan is involved with our other factory with its woolen products. Warren is more available time-wise. As for the terms of your cooperation, I believe you are capable of negotiating them if you're interested in such an arrangement.”

“Thank you, Alaric. I will certainly consider your offer,” trying to speak very calmly and without unnecessary emotions, Megan continued, “but… there’s something I’d like to discuss. Last night, near the castle, I was attacked by a man with a knife. He tried to kill me. I don't want to accuse anyone of what happened, but just in case, I'm informing you that due to the inheritance order that has been revealed to me, I will definitely, right after the meeting, call my lawyer in London and ask him to prepare a document. If something happens to me, a thorough investigation will be conducted based on the information about a possible direct interest in inheritance matters.”

The meeting room fell into complete silence, surprised looks turned into offended ones. Duncan was the first to recover and find a voice to speak.

“Megan, what are you saying! You just arrived here, you’re meeting us for the first time, you’ve got no idea what kind of people we are, and you start threatening us? I can’t speak for my grandfather and brother, but personally, I’m offended to the core,” his cheerfulness and friendliness were abruptly replaced by a kind of aggression. His cousin's statement seriously angered him.