THE LAST LAIRD

Chapter 1 - A Bit Peely Wally

I don't think I had ever felt quite this cold. Temperature-wise yes, but I had never felt it deep in my bones, burning the tips of my ears and making my fingers and toes numb. I'm sure I had, I'd been born and bred in Scotland after all, but there was something bleak about the little village of Donnchadh. I hoped the accommodation at the dig was warm and cosy. I imagined a b&b with a big open fireplace in the sitting room and a radiator in every bedroom, lots of knitted throws and fleecy duvets. And soup. And tea. And maybe some whisky. I realised my choice of clothing had a lot to do with it, but it had been a while since I'd been back to the Highlands. I'd visited my family in Edinburgh on a number of occasions, but usually in the summer, which was still cool compared to California, but I'd forgotten what Scottish winters were like, so my jeans, t-shirt and jacket gave me little protection, and the thin ankle socks under my trainers did nothing to keep my feet from freezing.

"Here ye are miss," the driver stopped the car and hopped out to help me with my luggage. All the gear should either be here, or be arriving in the next few days. Professor Lewis had offered to leave his own tools behind for me, but I liked my own things, and I suspected he was hoping I would decline. I climbed out and stretched. It was only four o'clock in the afternoon but it was already getting dark, the roiling storm clouds not helping in that regard. I looked around in surprise.

"Hang on there," I called to the driver. "This is the dig site, I wanted to go to the accommodations."

"That's 'em there, behind ye," he nodded to a point over my shoulder as he continued unloading my suitcases.

I turned around but saw nothing but the ancient ruins of Creag-Dorch Castle, a tin shed set up for holding tools, and a rather large caravan almost as old as the castle itself.

I scanned the vicinity but could see no buildings, just a stretch of dirt used for parking, and I turned to him in confusion.

"I can't very well stay in the castle." Was he daft? It had no floors, or roof and no doubt there was a chemical toilet in the shed or trailer but that was it.

Suddenly the door to the caravan flew open.

"Ye're here then! Cam, bring the lass's things inside, I've got the heat on, and she looks like she needs a bit of a defrost. You alright love, ye're lookin' a bit peely wally?"

If I looked as ill as I felt right now, she was probably right. THIS was my new home? This decrepit heap of junk? I should have realised when the job said that board was included that it wasn't going to be much, but even I could not have imagined....THIS!

The woman leapt down the two wooden steps that led up to the door, and in two long legged strides she was standing right in front of me, holding out a hand. I took it automatically and she shook it.

"Christ, your hands are like ice! Lets get you inside and settled then."

She bent and picked up my briefcase in one hand and backpack in the other. I was too shocked to protest, but held tight to my oversized handbag as I followed her. She stepped aside for Cam to step out after depositing my suitcase.

"You go in," she said. "I've just got to sort Cam out." She followed the driver, and I finally got a good look at her. She was very tall, and what my Mam would have called a Skinny Malinky, and my American friends might call a beanpole. She wore a very colourful hand-knitted poncho over a sweater and thick sweat pants tucked into boots. Her hair was short and bright pink, clashing horribly with the red and yellow in the poncho. But her smile was enormous and friendly, and I couldn't help but smile in return. "I'm Maggie, by the way, Maggie Thomson." She said. "You can call me that, or Mags, me brothers call me Maggot, but never call me that, or Margaret, or I'll gie ye a skelp around the lugs!" She guffawed at her threat and began chatting with the driver, leaving me to walk inside.