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Comments: 33
HiHoKitty, Sapporo, Japan:
In the story, Mister Crook drive Claire on his motor-cycle a leisurely jaunt from Mrs. Baird’s house. I am not sure how distant is a ‘jaunt’, but I think Craigh na Dun must not be far away. Luck to you, Miss Emma. Luck!
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By the time I’d found a new hostel and sorted out my room, it was ‘half five’ according to the landlady, and I was starving. She tore a map of the city off the top of the pad on the check-in desk and directed me to a pub a couple of blocks away. This new hostel was going to cost me double what the last one had, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least it was a private room. I stepped inside long enough to dump my extra clothes onto the bed and then headed down the street to find food.
The rain seeped into my collar, so I yanked up my hood and thought about my blog post as I walked. In spite of my advice to HiHoKitty and the others, I was pretty certain there would be zero opportunities for speed dating in Inverness. The thought occurred to me that my friend Jazmin would have organized a speed-dating event with the rugby team. For the first time, I was suddenly grateful to be on my own.
It was early for dinner, so I managed to find a table in a dark corner. I’d noted with a brief, hungry burst of joy that there was a small ‘Wi-Fi available here’ sticker on the door, so by the time my sausages and chips arrived I was all set up with my browser open to the Tourism Scotland page. Next to it, my copy of OUTLANDER was propped against a bottle of something called ‘brown sauce’. I turned to look at the map page inside the cover.
I searched until the last sausage was just a greasy memory on my plate, but I could not find a set of standing stones near Inverness that remotely matched the description of Craigh na Dun.
My eyes burned a little from staring at the screen so long.
“D’yeh mind if I sit here?” said a voice beside me, and I looked up to see a good-looking young guy with a tall sleeve of beer in each hand.
This was the first time I’d lifted my head from the computer screen since the server had brought my food, and I noticed with some embarrassment that the place had pretty much filled up since then. I was the only person hogging a four-seat table to myself.
“No—no, go right ahead,” I said, flustered, and yet flattered at the same time that the offer to share a table had come with a beer. “I’ll just move my stuff over.”
“Nae need, nae need,” the guy said. “I’m meetin’ a mate here. We can both squeeze in and ye’ll niver notice us.”
Ah. So much for the free beer, then. Still, I smiled at him and wedged myself further into the corner of the bench seat. I slipped the book into my pack and slid it down onto the floor between my feet.
“Verra kind of yeh, Miss. Are ye a student over from America, then?” he asked, sitting on the bench beside me and placing the spare beer on the table across from us.
I closed the window to my blog page and shook my head. “Just a blogger,” I said, and then because he appeared to be waiting for more, I added, “here doing some research.”
He leaned back in his seat, nodding sagely. “Ach, yeah. I’m a big fan o’ blogs. I read ’em all—news, sport, you name it. Yeh must give me the location of yours so I can read all about it.”
At least he wasn’t laughing at me. And he was pretty cute. I decided to risk a question. “Do you know anything about the history of the area? I’m looking for a set of standing stones that should be not too far away.”
“Standing stones?” His face creased in thought. “Well—there’s the stones at Balnuaran of Clava, up past Culloden. They circle an ancient gravesite.”
I shook my head. “No, the ones I’m looking for should be on the side of a hill, in an area that was once wooded—I’m not sure if there are still trees there now.”
“A hill, yeh say …” He thought for a moment before taking a long swallow of beer. “Yeh know, my mate may be able to help yeh. He’s an expert in everything. Won’t be but a minute more.”
“Okay,” I said, and closed the screen of my laptop. My hopes of getting any work done were fading with each sip of beer he took. I finished my own cranberry juice and wondered if he could be my Jamie. A bit on the short side, but he seemed nice enough.
Clearly reading my thoughts, he stuck his hand out, his broad smile only slightly marred by a missing tooth in front.
“Name’s Craig,” he said. “And you are …?”
“Emma,” I said.
“Nice to meet yeh, Emma the American,” he said. “And now, since I have the bladder of a wee girl, I’ll be off to th’ bogs. Keep an eye on me mate’s pint, wouldja? Allus late, that lad.”