For another two hours, they remained at the distillery. Gregor and Kirsty educated the new owner on employee work details, explained how many people were involved in the production, and much more.

After going up to her room, Megan sat on the bed and reflected. Too many events had occurred during the three days she had been here. It felt like a whole week had passed since her arrival. Meeting new people who had now become her family; the harsh and majestic beauty of the nature and the castle she was living in; an attempt on her life; visiting her own whiskey distillery… She had experienced so many different impressions and emotions, more than she had ever experienced in London with its fast-paced, event-filled life over a year.

Megan didn't immediately notice the strange rustling at the window. Turning around, she saw a black raven. It sat on the outside windowsill, staring intently at her. The thought that this bird was constantly watching her made her uneasy. Trying to calm herself, she thought that there were probably many such birds in this area.

After resting for a bit, she went down to the hall and waited for her cousin. Soon he appeared and said, “Well, Megan, are you ready?”

“Yes, let’s go.”

Upon entering the chapel, which was about hundred yards from the castle, Megan admired the ancient structure.

“It's beautiful,” she remarked, examining the old building closely.

“Yes, and this chapel remembers all the marriages, baptisms, and funerals of the McKenzie clan. It was built at the same time as the old castle.”

Inside, to the left of the altar, there was a massive wrought iron door leading to the family crypt. Warren opened it with a key, and Megan shivered at the realization that the burials were so close to the castle. She feared anything associated with death.

The young people moved down the grim, quiet corridor, passing other doors, but these were not locked. After passing several, they stopped at the penultimate one.

Warren swung it open for his cousin, “Go ahead.”

Megan was frightened, feeling as if dozens of eyes were watching her from all sides. She saw a recent burial to the right of the entrance. Unlike the others, it was not covered in dust. Fresh flowers stood in vases at the gravestone. The stone bore the name, birth date, and death date in large letters. It was her grandfather's resting place.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Only now did she fully comprehend that he was no longer among the living. He would never come to her in London again. He would never call her to Castle Mal. She was already here. She had come, but it seemed Malcolm had to die for his beloved granddaughter to finally be in his homeland. These thoughts made her feel even worse. She whispered to herself, Here I am. You waited. But I can't hug you now, or tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me, how much I miss you! Forgive me! Forgive my late arrival. You will forever remain in my heart and memory. I love you, Grandpa! I promise to do everything in my power to ensure that everything in our estate goes as you would have wished. I've already grown to love your beloved north and your home with all my heart.

After standing by the grave for another ten minutes, she wiped her tears and said, “Thank you, Warren, for coming here with me. We can return to the castle now.”

“As you wish.”

Her cousin patted her shoulder sympathetically, and they headed back to the house through the chapel.

“Where is the key to the crypt kept? I would like to come here again to bring flowers to Grandpa.”

“In Malcolm's former office. In the drawer of his desk, you'll find the keys to all the doors in the castle.”

“Thanks. I'll go to my room. What time shall we meet for dinner?”

“At seven. Is that time convenient for you?”

“Yes, perfect.”

Megan spent the next few hours reviewing the documents previously given to her by Gregor. She also called her assistant Sam to check on the restaurant's affairs. He assured her that everything was fine and there was nothing to worry about. Megan breathed a sigh of relief, it's good to have someone reliable to count on.

When she came down for dinner, Glenn was already busily helping the cook set the table.

“Hi, Megan! Warren said you had a tough day today.”

“Yes, it wasn't the easiest. I'm so sorry I didn't make it here earlier while Grandpa was still alive. Things would have been entirely different.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself. It's all God's will. It must have been predestined for you to come to us when you did. Finella has prepared stewed lamb with mashed potatoes for dinner tonight. I hope you'll like it. This dish is very popular in the north. Sorry, we didn't ask in advance what kind of meat you prefer.”

“I'm not picky about food. I'll be very happy to try the local cuisine. Glenn, I've been meaning to ask, who takes care of the castle and its surroundings?”

“Finella is responsible for preparing lunches and dinners, and she also keeps the dining room clean. Everyone cleans their own room. About once a month, a cleaning company comes to mop the floors, clean the walls and carpets; basically, do a deep clean of the whole house. When needed, we call the gardener, who has been trimming our lawns and bushes for many years. Malcolm used to take care of everything. Now it's our responsibility.”

Over dinner, they discussed production matters, and Warren explained his management duties. Megan replied that his responsibilities would now increase and so would his earnings accordingly.

Towards the end of the meal, Glenn turned to the cousin of her husband, “Warren mentioned you're interested in the traditions and legends of our area. We'd be delighted to share everything we know about it with you.”

“And I'll be delighted to hear it!”

“Then we can move to the living room, and over a glass of whisky, begin our stories, which you've been anticipating like little girls. Oh, ladies, how you love fairy tales!” Warren said with a playful smile.

Megan took a seat on the sofa. The couple settled into armchairs by the fireplace, where logs softly crackled, adding warmth to the large room.

“There are no ghosts in the castle, right?” Megan asked cautiously.

Warren laughed and replied, “I've never encountered any, and Malcolm never mentioned any to me. So, I can assure you, there have been no ghosts here for at least the last seventy years. And you, I see, are quite the scaredy-cat. Afraid of everything.”

“Well, not everything, just inexplicable things: the darkness, and the dead.”

“You should be afraid of the living, not the dead! Inexplicable things are always explainable, depending on how you look at it. The dead, they’re sleeping peacefully and not making any trouble. Why do you have this fear? Did something happen in the past?”

“No, thank God! And hopefully, it never will. Perhaps, as a child, my friends and I told each other too many horror stories, and I was impressionable. Or, for example, that one movie about Freddy Krueger was enough. Left me scarred for life,” Megan said, laughing.

“So, maybe we shouldn't talk about legends today? They're all related to something, as you say, inexplicable.”

“No, no, Warren, it's different! This is about the history and traditions of your land. I really want to learn about them to understand what the local people believe in and how they live.”

Glenn spoke enthusiastically, “Scots, like many people closely connected with nature, are superstitious. They place great importance on omens, legends, and myths. We celebrate the start and end of the harvest, as well as honoring various saints. Many of the festivals and traditions in northern Scotland are inherited from the Celts. The nearest local one, as Warren already told you, is in four days. On Fern Night, witches' powers are enhanced so, – the most potent magic is performed, and it's the only night it can be undone. It's the most magical and mystical festival we have. And the next one after that is on the first of August. People wear masquerade costumes for it.”