The Magic Ring of Brodgar. Кейтлин Эмилия Новак

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      9. The Fern Festival

      The inhabitants of Castle Mal and Castle Raven were preparing for the festival. For three days, Megan could not find peace. Every evening, from ten o'clock to three in the morning, she looked out the window every fifteen minutes, searching for Derek, but he never appeared. She asked Glenn and Warren about a neighbor named Derek, but they responded negatively – there were no neighbors by that name in their vicinity. During these three days, she covered many miles on foot, exploring the surroundings of both castles in hopes of encountering him somewhere. Now she could only hope for his presence at the festival, where she could ask him the questions that had been tormenting her lately.

      Finally, the day of the fern festival arrived. Malcolm McKenzie's granddaughter, dressed in a kilt and cape, carefully examined every detail of her appearance in the mirror when Glenn knocked on the door.

      “Megan, are you ready? Warren is waiting for us downstairs.”

      “Yes, we can go. Glenn, did I fasten everything correctly?”

      “Everything is fine, you look magnificent. If only your grandfather could see you now! Let's go, it’s time!”

      The celebrations took place very close by. All over the field, there were preparations for bonfires. Bonfires had a dual significance in folk customs. They were associated with the sun and believed to have purifying properties. According to ancient beliefs, the flame protected a person from evil, witchcraft, and impure forces. It was precisely on this night that the boundaries between the world of humans and the supernatural realms blurred, allowing evil spirits to guard the magical fern flower.

      Numerous tents stretched along the field, offering a variety of foods, while beer, ale, and whisky were sold in every third stall, attracting the longest queues. The aroma of hot stewed lamb and venison wafted from some tents and different types of sausages and frankfurters were grilled on coals right on the spot. Children's eyes widened at the sight of various sweets, cotton candy, and balloons. Opposite the tents, rows of wooden tables with benches were set up. Bagpipers played around other musicians and dancers in national costumes performed captivating folk dances. Voices buzzed and laughter rang out from all directions. The crowd mostly moved around the field; only a few sat at tables, everyone was eager to socialize. People walked towards each other, encountering familiar faces at every step, stopping to exchange a few words. Several tourists mingled with the locals, drinking ale and taking photos of everything that seemed interesting and engaging.

      “It's such a nice atmosphere,” Megan remarked.

      “I like it too! Warren, look, there's Alaric! Let's go say hello,” Glenn suggested.

      The head of the McKenzie clan stood with a pint of ale among a group of adult males, engaging in a lively and cheerful discussion.

      “Ah, here come the youngsters!” Alaric joyfully said, giving Warren a friendly slap on the shoulder.

      “Friends, let me introduce you to Megan, Malcolm's granddaughter. She arrived here a few days ago.”

      Megan greeted them. The new acquaintances were curious indeed; they asked her about life in London and her impressions of Scotland. She responded, but eagerly awaited the chance to leave the adult company. After twenty minutes, she took advantage of a brief pause to ask Alaric, “Have you seen Duncan? Is he at the festival?”

      “Yes, we came together, but he opted for some younger companions; he’s here somewhere. I suggest you look for a group of young ladies, Duncan will surely be at the center,” he laughed.

      “Oh, that Duncan!” chuckled one of the older men. Everyone began to jovially discuss Duncan's love-persuits.

      “I'll go look for him. Thank you for the advice,” Megan smiled.

      In a moment, she blended into the crowd, trying to quickly disappear from the elders' view, before they have a chance to stop her. In reality, she wasn't really looking for her cousin but needed an excuse. She aimlessly wandered past the tents, peering into the faces of passersby, in hopes of seeing Derek. Roaming the fair, she didn’t notice how quickly time flew by. The sun had set, and she had neither encountered Derek nor any of her relatives. Some drunk men tried to strike up conversations with her, as the festival was in full swing. People grouped together around tables overloaded with food and drinks. Ritual fires were lit all around the fairground, illuminating the surroundings with their bright light.

      Megan felt tired after several hours of walking. She was looking for a place to sit, but now all the seats were taken. Ordering a pint of ale at one of the tents, she asked what time it was.

      “It’s only 10:15. The fern hasn’t bloomed yet,” said the man with a smile, handing her the drink.

      Moving among the celebrators, it was possible to catch snippets of conversation. Many spoke of the mystical plant. Some sincerely believed in its blooming, others mocked the believers, especially those who planned to search for it at midnight. However, Megan didn’t pay much attention, as she was occupied with searching for Derek and had no intention of wandering the dark forest at night, in the hope of finding a mythical flower, which may or may not exist. Her gaze quickly scanned the faces around the tables.

      As she moved away from the crowd, the hum of voices grew fainter. She walked down towards the river. Behind her, the folk festivities and the reflections of burning fires remained. She sat on one of the large stones at the water’s edge and thoughtfully looked ahead. There, on the hill, stood Castle Raven, and to the left, in the valley, was Castle Mal. They created such a beautiful and harmonious picture.

      Megan turned abruptly when she felt someone sit beside her. And there he was, the one she had been waiting for. Calmly and silently, he gazed at the river.

      “Derek!” I’ve been looking for you.” Her heart began pounding with joy.

      “Really?” he asked, shifting his gaze from the river to her.

      “You were in my room, not only the night I was attacked, but the other night too. You kissed me. I realized it wasn't a dream. Why did you secretly sneak into the castle in the middle of the night? You say you’re protecting me, but you appear in my bedroom and ignore my questions. Who the hell are you? And what do you want from me?” Megan asked assertively, eager for answers.

      “So many questions, Miss McKenzie. Where shall I start?” he asked with a slight smile on his face.

      "Why did you come to my room?”

      “To bring you back after you fainted,” Derek stubbornly pretended as if he hadn’t understood which night she was referring to.

      “You know perfectly well I'm talking about your other visit. You were in my bedroom, whispering my name, kissing me!”

      “Ah, that night… You enchanted me with your beauty. I couldn't resist; I had a strong desire to kiss you.”

      “So, you really believe this barbaric tactic, of sneaking into the castle while I'm asleep, kissing me, and then jumping out of the window from the second floor, is a good approach? Lucky you didn't break your neck,” she smirked for the first time, seeing his broad and genuine smile.

      “I thought it was rather romantic, not barbaric,” he teased her.

      Megan was astonished by the unfolding of events, while he found it genuinely amusing. On one hand, she was angry that he ignored her questions or made light of them. Yet, at the same time, she felt joy that he was here. He had found her.

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