 
The MacLosers

By

Paul Moxham

Copyright © 2012 Paul Moxham

Published at Smashwords

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An unemployed architect thinks his prayers have been answered when he inherits a Scottish village. But when he takes his dysfunctional family to the Highlands, he finds the place in shambles, the locals standoffish, and the cunning caretaker determined to steal the property out from under him.

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Please note that while story is set in Scotland, and the expressions that the characters use are of Scottish origin, the spelling is in American English since the majority of my readers are from the USA.

### Chapter 1

A Grand Opening celebration is underway at Mr. Eggface World, a medium sized theme park that caters for mostly young children. It's covered from top to bottom with images of Mr. Eggface, a cheap plastic toy that kids stick interchangeable facial features to

At a podium, a cheese ball CEO with perfect hair and teeth speaks. "I want to thank you all for coming out to the Grand Opening of Mr. Eggface World, the preeminent theme park in the southern west-most section of the Northeast. Much of the thanks goes to the award-winning developer and designer Roger Diobair." He pauses for everyone to clap, but silence descends as the crowd wonder who he is talking about.

A few moments later, Roger Diobair, a wiry, sandy haired man in his forties, hurries up to the platform. He's enthusiastic and proud, and dressed in his best suit. He yells out. "Hello, everybody! Thanks for coming out."

A few people clap, but most just stand there and stare. Roger continues, trying to look as enthusiastic as possible. "I'd like to thank my family."

He scans the crowd, searching and eventually finding Jess, sixteen and perpetually annoyed. She wears a 'Life is Lame' T-shirt, and pops bubbles rhythmically while texting.

She doesn't take any notice of him, so he turns to Alex, thirteen. He wears a 'I Love Cows' T-shirt, and whoops in glee as he rides a slow-moving cow through the crowd, who reel in disgust as the cow drops a load.

Roger turns away and finds Samantha, his wife, a natural beauty with long blonde hair in her thirties. He stares as he sees that she is making out with the CEO. He double takes and sweats bullets. "Er... Um..."

The crowd yells out. "We want Eggface! We want Eggface!"

Some guy making eight bucks an hour in an enormous egg suit, and who happens to have a perpetual smile, bounds onto the podium to cheers and applause. He roughly snatches the microphone. "Think we've heard enough from Losey MacLoser. Let's get this party started!"

Eggface bumps Roger right off the podium. With arms flailing, he falls and crashes through decorative scaffolding. A moment later, the enormous speakers crash down, setting off an impossible Rube Goldberg chain reaction. Within seconds, down comes the box office. Then, boom, there goes the rollercoaster.

Roger spins back around toward his family, watching as they are swallowed up in the billowing cloud of demolition dust.

"No!" yells out Roger. As he cries out, he awakes from his nightmare. He snaps upright in bed, screaming, a sleeping mask covering his eyes.

Next to him, Samantha sits up and shakes him. "Roger... Roger!"

Roger stops screaming and peels away the mask as Samantha stares at him. "Was it the dream again?"

Roger nods, still in a state of shock. "The theme park... damn thing collapsed. Right then and there. And on opening day!"

Samantha sleepily rubs his shoulder. "Rog. It was months before it was shut down. And it wasn't your fault. The suits rushed it, not you. Awful piece of corporate dreck anyway."

Roger sits up, agitated. "Corporate dreck sounds pretty good right about now. I mean... not sure how much longer I can..." He pauses as he sees that Samantha is now asleep, snoring softly.

Roger watches her wistfully for a few moments. Sighing, he slowly lays back down. However, a moment later, he jolts at a particularly loud snore-burst from Samantha... then back to softly, and he relaxes yet again, but then snore/jolt!

Morning finds Roger lying across the kitchen table with his red eyes open and a creepy blank stare. A pile of bills in various shades of red and a checkbook on the table before him.

Next to him sits Alex, who looks at him. "Dad?" Not getting a response, he leans in munching a toaster pastry. Strawberry filling drips onto Roger's shoulder. "Dad!"

Roger bolts upright. "I'm up!"

Jess texts furiously on her phone. Doesn't even look up as she talks to Roger. "You were sleeping with your eyes open? Ugh. That's so lame." She talks while she texts. "U should see what a tard my dad is. OMG. I just typed 'dud' by mistake instead of 'dad.' Awesome." She looks, up, sees Roger staring at her. "I texted Anita that you actually have an interview today, and she's all, 'is he walking on eggshells?' Get it? 'Cause, like..."

Roger stands up. "Interview... The interview!" He darts for the door. In the process, he bowls over Samantha, stepping into the room as he leaves.

She falls back against the refrigerator as Roger charges past, grabbing onto the handle to keep from going down. "Roger!"

Samantha reaches up, takes Roger's portfolio off the top of the fridge and hands it to him. She closes her eyes and puckers for a kiss... But she's left high and dry as Roger races out, the door slamming behind him.

Roger sees the cross-town bus down the street. He runs for it, knocking into a surly kid.

"Yo, watch where you're going!" yells out the kid.

"Sorry. I-I'm late." Roger hurries off, but bumps into another person, this time a woman, almost straight away. Groceries fall. "Sorry, sorry!" He helps her pick her things up, and then bolts across the street, causing a few cars to screech to a stop.

He runs for the bus. He's getting close to the vehicle, but trips and falls on the hood of a Porsche parked nearby. Its alarm blazes as the bus pulls away. "Wait!" yells out Roger.

Roger stands up as a bald guy rushes out of a nearby shoe store and grabs him by the collar. "Did you touch my Porsche?" The man lifts Roger into the air.

Roger tries to speak, but only a choked gargle comes out. Roger kicks him in the shin and runs... but he trips and falls on the Porsche again. The alarm sounds again! And now... thunder... pouring rain! A soaked Roger rushes off.

A top-floor conference room with floor-to-ceiling windows offers a magnificent view of Manhattan.

Roger, his clothes partly dry, sits at the far end of an absurdly long table as smug, fit, twenty six year old, Ivy League exec Beau Snyder flips through portfolio picks. "Some interesting work here, Robert."

Roger speaks up. "Roger."

Beau frowns. "What's that?"

"Robert's fine. Is Mr. Devlin going to be joining us?"

Beau nods. "He's just picking up some breakfast. We both work out before coming in and eat here. Hope you don't mind."

Roger shakes his head. "No, I actually used to work out quite a bit in my younger days."

Beau looks up, slightly impressed. "You did? I made the senior track team and, in those two years, I took our team to the nationals and won there. How many championships did you win?"

"Ah, well, my school didn't enter the championships."

"What did you enter then?"

"Ah, well, we just competed against ourselves." Roger smiles and tries to flex some of his muscles, but they don't show through his clothing.

Before Beau can say anything, the door opens and in walks buff, coifed, smirky Lawrence Devlin, a Pow-R Protein Diet bag in hand. He reaches over and shakes Roger's hand. "Lawrence Devlin."

"Robert Diobair... Roger, I-I mean, you can call me Robert, although that's not my actual, um..." mutters Roger.

Lawrence shoots Beau a quizzical look. Beau shrugs. "So, can I take a look?"

Beau nods and passes the portfolio to his companion while he hands him the paper bag.

Lawrence flips through the portfolio, smiling at what he sees as Beau grabs styro to-go containers out of the bag.

"Good stuff, Rob," says Lawrence. "Do you go by Rob? Robbie?"

"Uh..." stutters Roger.

"Really like the Southgate Development," continues Lawrence, not taking any notice of Roger's reply. "And the Bronx Mall. Nicely integrated into the environment."

Roger smiles. "Thanks. It was hard work but..." He pauses abruptly as he catches sight of a hard-boiled egg in Beau's hand. Breakfast. Another one coming out of the bag as Beau hands it to Lawrence.

Roger's distracted by the egg. He can't look away. Beau and Lawrence chomp into the eggs in unison.

Lawrence glances up and sees Roger staring at him. "Everything alright, Robert?"

"Yeah, you look pale," breaks in Beau. He digs into the paper bag and pulls out one more egg. He extends it to Roger. "You do Pow-R Protein, Rob? Six eggs every meal, a six-pack's your deal."

Roger puts up his hands. "No eggs... Please."

Lawrence and Beau exchange a glance as Roger continues. "I'm sorry guys. I just... um, I'm a vegan or something. Can we get back to the, um, the portfolio there?"

Lawrence and Beau exchange skeptical glances. Lawrence flips through to the end. "Nothing in the last three years?"

"I thought you said you've only been out of the game about a year," says Beau.

Roger mutters to himself. "Eggs..."

Beau frowns. "Excuse me?"

Sweat creeps down Roger's brow as he continues to mutter. "Damn eggface..."

Lawrence frowns. "Eggface World? Was that you?"

"Oh my God, it was! You're that Roger Diobair," says Beau.

Roger snaps out of his trance as anger flashes on his face. "NOW you remember my name?"

Lawrence nods. "Jeez, man, what happened there? That place was a disaster."

Roger hurriedly shakes his head. "It wasn't my fault! I wanted to do something good, something unique, something that would stand the test of time. They wanted..."

"Branding!" breaks in Beau.

"Genius!" breaks in Lawrence.

Roger shakes his head. "What? No, see that was the problem. The branding took precedence over proper planning, and we..."

Lawrence bites into his egg. "You mean you."

Roger senses that the interview is getting away from him. "No. Well, yes, but it wasn't my choice..."

Beau stares at Roger. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, Rog, maybe we can meet again."

Lawrence nods. "Yes, maybe in fifty years or so." He lets himself go and the two of them laugh as they remember the disaster of Eggface World.

Roger can't get out of there fast enough. He hurriedly steps into a lift and tries to relax but it isn't any use.

A few moments later, he steps out of the building. A blast of wind hits his portfolio and sketches and resumes go flying. Roger doesn't even bother to try to catch them.

### Chapter 2

Back at home, Samantha sits at the desk in the home office as she stares at a blank computer screen. Beside the computer lay a stack of papers, her unfinished manuscript.

Samantha preps her fingers over the keyboard as she waits for inspiration, but none comes.

A door suddenly slams and footsteps can be heard. A moment later, a downtrodden Roger steps in and nods to the computer. "So how are things with the Handmaiden and the Olympian?"

Samantha shakes her head. "Not good. Barely wrote five sentences today, and they all sucked. How about you? What about your interview? Did you get the job?"

Roger smiles grimly. "Well, let's say that things didn't turn out the way I planned them to."

Samantha's face falls and Roger looks away. Silence. Roger wanders away and absently glances at an old photo - little Roger, eight, Clark Kent glasses, standing with his father, thirty three, and great uncle Jeff, sixty five, at a Scottish festival. The three look happy. Great uncle Jeff wears a kilt.

Samantha looks at Roger. "They were the good ole days, huh?"

Roger shakes his head. "Not for me. If I never go to another Scottish festival again, it will suit me."

Samantha reaches for Roger's hand. "Hey. Let's forget about job interviews and writer's block and mortgage payments for a few hours, okay? Keep things upbeat for tonight."

Roger stares. "Tonight? Why? What's tonight?"

Samantha stares right back. "Come on, you can't be serious."

"Uh, is it our wedding anniversary?" replies Roger.

Samantha shakes her head.

Roger tries again. "Ah, I got it. Jess's birthday." He smiles, but it disappears when Samantha shakes her head.

Roger shoves some dirty clothes off a chair and collapses into it. "I don't know. I just can't remember things anymore." He pauses. "Do you know that I have been looking for a job for over three months?" He sinks his head into his hands. "I just can't stand it. I don't know how long I can continue on." He pauses and looks up. "So what is that thing on tonight?"

Now Samantha is the one who is looking a bit apprehensive. "Ah, well, maybe now is not the best time."

"Just tell me."

"Okay. Dinner with Mom."

Roger sinks even further in his chair. It's the worst news he could possibly get.

That evening, the whole family, including Samantha's mom Marge, enjoy a nice meal. At least, it would have been nice if Roger had cooked the food properly. Then Marge wouldn't have been shuffling burnt veggies around on her plate. She's the spitting image of her daughter, if Samantha was a hundred pounds heavier, and coated in too much makeup and penciled in fake eyebrows.

She glances up from the veggies and stares daggers at Roger who is wearing a 'Kiss the Chef' apron. He is withering under the silent assault.

Samantha looks back and forth amongst the two of them. "Ahem. Kids, how're things at school?"

Jess shrugs her shoulders. "Lame-o-palooza. Total skankfest."

"I wish," mutters Alex. "Poonani deficitus maximus."

The children's conversation snaps Marge out of her silent assault and she looks across at her daughter. "It's like they're speaking Martian."

Samantha gingerly smiles as she translates the conversation. "Jess is feuding with some rival girls over... something. And Alex..."

"Will die a lonely virgin," says Jess.

Alex looks at her, angry. "Bite me, trollop!"

"Kids!" yells out Roger.

Silence descends as all eyes fall to a frazzled Roger. Seeing everyone looking at him, he puts his arms up in resignation. "Sorry. Sorry..." He chuckles nervously and pulls at his collar.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Roger practically explodes from the table. "I got it!"

He rushes down the hallway. A few moments later he flings the door open and stares at the young man who appears to be a messenger.

"You Roger Die-oo-bare?" asks the man.

Roger nods. "Close enough."

Messenger slaps the envelope against Roger's chest. "Consider yourself served."

"Served?" Roger quickly lowers his voice. "Wait, is this about the mortgage payment? 'Cause I can catch up on it. I just need a little time."

The messenger doesn't respond as he hurries down the path. Roger looks at the envelope and panics. Getting an idea, he glances around, trying to find a plash to stash it.

Samantha calls out. "Hon? What is it?"

Roger turns around and notices his wife standing right next to him. "Aagghhh!"

Startled, he drops the envelope. Samantha reaches for it but, power diving, he scoops it away. "Uh, wrong number. No worries."

Sensing deceit, Samantha extends a hand. Roger reluctantly hands it over. "Okay, look. I know we're behind on the mortgage. A lot behind. But they can't evict us, can they? I mean..."

Samantha looks at Roger. "Roger... I don't think this is from our mortgage company." She peels open the envelope and briefly glances at it. As she does so, several words jump out at her. They are death, inheritance and village. Samantha's smile widens. "Roger, you just inherited property!"

Roger is elated. "What? Yes!" He does a happy dance and flails around the room like an idiot. Samantha smiles and beams as she watches Roger being the happiest he has ever been in a long time. "This solves all our problems, honey!"

He pauses and then, with a smile, starts singing in not too great a voice. "We're in the money, we're in the money..."

Samantha joins him dancing and also starts singing. "Money, money, money, mo-ney... Money!"

Roger suddenly pauses and stops dancing. "Wait... who died?"

Samantha yells out as she continues dancing. "Your great uncle Jeffrey." She smiles. "Dead as a doornail!"

Roger smiles. "Perfect! I barely knew the guy. He lived in..."

And then it happens. The happiness, the enthusiasm, gone... He slumps to the ground with his head in his hands.

Samantha, the smile now gone, looks towards him. "Oh God, Roger. What?"

Roger doesn't even look up, that is how deflated he is. "Scotland. He lived in Scotland."

Later that evening, the whole family, minus Roger, sits on couches and chairs, staring as Samantha paces back and forth as she thumbs through paperwork.

Jess speaks first. "So, like, how much does Dad inherit?"

Samantha frowns. "Looks like a village."

Alex smiles. "Cool. We'll be like the Village People!"

Marge throws up her hands. "A village? In Scotland? What kinda moron inherits a village? Doesn't even make sense. But hey, when God closes a door, he opens a window, right? Gets limp-noodle over there outta your hair. I'll make up the guest rooms and you can..."

Samantha firmly shakes her head. "No. Mom. No. Roger's..." She glances toward the hallway where Roger pounds his head against the wall. "Roger's not going."

Marge looks questioningly at Samantha. "Why in blazes not?"

Samantha pauses, and then looks down at the floor. "Ah, he hates Scotland. I mean, really hates it. Hates everything about it. No way he'd go."

Marge fiercely shakes her head as she mutters to herself. "I'll see about that." She stands up and heads to the hallway.

She stands next to Roger and looks at him, but he doesn't take any notice of her. She kicks him in the shins. "Eh. Wake up there, zippy. Time to pony up for a plane ticket to the Emerald Isle."

Roger replies without looking at her. "That's Ireland."

Marge stares at him. "Does it look like I care? Point is, you gotta provide for your family, something you've proven time and again you're incapable of doing. So get off your caboose, get on a plane, and hustle over to Scotland and claim your property. Just remember to send a check back here. You can address it to Samantha Diobair, estranged wife, care of Marge..."

Roger quickly glances up. "No. NO! I'm not leaving my family and going to Scotland, Marge!"

Marge shakes her head. "Well, sticking around these parts ain't doin' you any good. Lemme let you in on a secret, pinhead. When the Sheriff comes knock, knock, knocking on that door to kick you outta your place, it's gonna be my doorstep this family'll land on. But if you can't provide for them, don't count on me for welfare. You can sleep down at the shelter, all I care."

"Thanks. You're a peach."

Marge continues. "Just shooting it straight, Egg-brain. So what's it gonna be? You gonna sack up and hightail it across the pond, actually provide for your family, or are you gonna wait for total disgrace to come calling?"

Roger stands up tall and looks Marge in the eyes, challenge accepted. "I'm going to Scotland."

Marge smiles. "Sweet. Send us a postcard. And a check."

Roger grins. "And I'm taking my family with me."

Marge's jaw drops. "That's not what I meant!" She stands still as Roger puffs out his chest and heads into the living room.

Looking around at his family, he sees that they all look confused and have no idea of what's happening. He smiles and starts speaking. "Sam, kids... let's be honest. There's not a lot being Scottish gets you. Plaid skirts and pale skin, that's about it."

Marge appears behind him and mutters in his ear. "Great salesmanship, dim-bulb."

Roger continues. "But Monster-in-Law Marge makes a good point."

Marge frowns. "I do?"

Roger nods. "You do." He looks at the family once more. "See, we've been given an opportunity here." He reaches over and takes the papers from Samantha's hands. He scans them as he continues talking. "A chance to get out from under. These papers... they weren't an eviction notice. But make no mistake, it's coming."

Jess sucks on her gum as she speaks. "So, like, what's the dilio, Dadster? We taking it or what? And, you know, what kinda timeframe are we talking? Missing school or losing summer break? Cuz I got my peeps stateside and..."

Alex interrupts her. "Sounds righteous, Dad."

Jess looks angrily at Alex. "Shut up, I was talking!"

Alex doesn't take any notice of her. "You're always talking."

Roger turns to the papers once more and studies one carefully. "We have to get over there to claim it right away, otherwise a line of succession kicks in."

Samantha yells out. "We could flip it!"

Roger points to his wife and smiles. "Exactly! Go check the place out, maybe give it a little spit-polish to up its resale value and unload it."

Marge slowly shakes her head. "Samantha dear, think this over. I've got a perfectly good guest room and Miss Delvecchio's got a perfectly good son who happens to be an orthodontist..."

Samantha looks at her in disbelief. "Mom! I told you a hundred times. I am NOT going out with him." She looks towards Roger. "You sure about this?"

Roger pauses, thinks, then smiles confidently as he walks over and holds Samantha's hand. "Never been more sure about anything in my life, except perhaps the day I proposed, and the day that squirrel stole my asparagus and nobody believed me. I'll contact a real estate guy over there first thing in the morning, make sure we can get it inspected and listed as soon as we take ownership. Okay?"

Samantha looks over at the children to see what they think. And, as they nod, she smiles back at Roger. "You got yourself a deal."

Roger leans forward and kisses his wife, giving her a big smooch. He then pulls back and glances around at the happy family. He raises his hands in the air victoriously. "The Diobairs are off to Scotland!"

### Chapter 3

As the Virgin Airlines plane heads across the Atlantic, Alex, in the middle seat next to Jess, leans over her as he tries to see the sea. Across the aisle, Roger is in the middle seat next to Samantha, who's reading.

Roger looks at Samantha. "It's a new start, Sam. It will give us a breath of fresh air."

Samantha turns a page in her book as he continues. "I love architecture, but I think I just need a break, doing something else to rejuvenate myself."

"I wouldn't call fixing up a village a holiday," says Samantha, glancing up at him.

"Well..." Roger looks over at the children. "Anytime we go somewhere together, I call it a holiday. Now, I just need to get some shut eye before we arrive."

He leans back in his seat as far as he can and shuts his eyes. Suddenly, bad turbulence hits the plane and the aircraft shakes violently.

"I knew this was a bad idea," says Samantha, clutching her seat tightly.

Roger doesn't answer, he has his head between his knees.

The plane dips again. More screams from passengers, then... the plane smoothes out. Everyone calms down.

"Oh my God, I'm alive... why?" mutters Jess.

Samantha looks at Roger. "That was terrifying."

"That was awesome! I filled it!" calls out Alex. He holds up his airsick bag.

Roger unbuckles his seatbelt. "Be right back."

"But the seatbelt light is still..." breaks in Samantha.

"It's okay," interrupts Roger. He gets up. But the plane suddenly dips again and Roger hits the ceiling, falls to the floor. The plane tilts for a second. A food cart rams Roger in the back.

The plane smoothes out. As Roger moans, groans, a suitcase falls out of the overhead, and knocks him out for the count.

Alex looks at Jess. "The Vikings used to believe that luck was a trait you were born with, like height."

So... Dad's, like, a midget," replies Jess.

Alex sadly nods.

A woozy Roger slumps on an airport luggage car. Alex chomps on a candy bar and Jessica sits next to him, texting away.

"Awesome, I can still text over here," says Jess.

"No, you can't," breaks in Roger. "It costs too much."

"I have the Infinity Plan with no roaming, remember? And it's only a 55 cent per text surcharge overseas."

Roger looks at Samantha who is studying the itinerary. "How much time do we have?"

"Our connecting flight leaves in fifteen minutes, but the gate is on the other side of the airport."

"Damn! Let's take this cart."

Just then, a little old lady walks up with her bent over husband and a big airport security guy. "Out of the cart," calls out security guy.

"But we're late for our flight," protests Roger.

"I weep for you. Truly. Out!" replies the security guy.

"We can ride together."

"Where are you going?" asks the security guy.

"Shore-ham," says Roger.

The security guy laughs. "Y'mean Shoreham? Forget it. You wouldn't make it anyway. Out." He looms over Roger who gets out.

"Okay, family... Run!" Roger bolts away. The family follow.

They race through the terminal. Two janitors with buckets get in the way of the family. The janitors go flying.

"So sorry... chaps," calls back Roger, as he continues running. They turn a number of corners and come into view of the Shoreham Gate. They just have to jump over three rows of seats. They leap over the first, the second and then... Roger knocks over a stand-up ashtray. The entire family slips and falls on sand as an agent closes the gate.

Roger slumps to the ground. "No!"

The entire family sits on uncomfortable seats as they watch the aircraft, which they were due to take, fly into the sky.

Jess looks at Roger. "Okay, we saw England. Can we go home now?"

Roger shakes his head. "They must have another flight." He makes his way up to the counter where a mild-mannered agent barely looks at him. It is clear that the agent knows Roger.

"You can ask me another twenty times, sir, but the answer will still be the same. There is not another available flight to Shoreham until Wednesday."

"But that's two days from now! What are we going to do until then?"

"I'm not your mum."

"This wouldn't happen in America."

The agent blows his top. "America is the cause of all evil in this world!"

Roger shakes his head. "It is not."

"Climate change, war... Britney Spears."

"Ooh. Got a point there, mate."

The agent looks at Roger. "Step away from the counter, American. You are in England now. The motherland!" He pauses and then resumes, now singing. "Long live our noble Queen, God save the Queen! Send her victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us, God Save the Queen!"

As the agent sings, he is joined by other singing airport workers and singing security guards who escort the family out to the arrivals ramp where they toss them on the sidewalk.

Alex and Jessica get up, slowly. "Your methods of persuasion are incredible, Dad."

"These Brits are lame sandwiches," says Jess.

"How are we going to get our luggage?" asks Samantha.

"The British are very efficient. I'm sure it made it onto the flight to Shoreham. So we just have to get there."

"And how do we do that?" asks Alex.

The family stand outside a Rent-A-Wreck as a wreck of a tiny purple mini-cooper pulls up outside the office. Roger looks at it. "I said mid-sized."

The salesperson nods. "That is mid-sized. And it's the last car we have. Now, remember, drive on the left."

Roger decides to take it and, after stopping for some food, the family head for Shoreham. They are packed into the car like sardines as they share a bag of fish n' chips.

"Don't hog the fish and chips, tool." Jess pulls the bag of food away from her brother.

Samantha, knees in her armpits, pulls out a map. "Do you know where we are going?"

Roger nods. "It's easy. Just one road straight up. I map-quested and Google-earthed it."

"We don't want to get lost out here."

"We won't get lost. Everything is fine. And the print-outs are..." Roger frowns.

Samantha breaks in. "They're not in the luggage are they?"

Roger slowly nods. "Yes."

And so, without directions, Roger continues driving. But he doesn't seem to be getting anywhere, as they pass the same news stand three times. Each time Samantha points this fact out to Roger. He then drives in circles around a roundabout, not sure what to do.

Next, he stops at a petrol station and asks for directions. Workers point in opposite directions. Roger thanks them, gets back in the car.

They then head down a dirt road but, ten minutes later, after the road starts to turn into bush, Roger breaks to a stop.

"Admit it," says Samantha. "You're lost."

Roger shakes his head. "Just have to get the lay of the land."

"We need a GPS. And we need Dad in the back seat... or the trunk," breaks in Alex.

"We need to go back to New York," says Jess.

"No, just give me a few more minutes." Roger continues going down the road and around a bend.

Suddenly, Samantha yells out as she sees a hooligan driver in a jeep hurtling towards them. "Roger!"

Roger realizes he's on the wrong side of the road. He turns the wheel hard. The jeep swerves. Screeching tires and... Roger gets the car on the correct side of the road.

In the back, fish and chips lie all over Alex and Jessica - they're not happy campers. And then... boom! The car lurches, skids into a gully. It's got a flat.

Jess and Alex stand on the side of the road throwing rocks into the woods. Samantha stands with Roger, who's playing with his iPhone as he searches for a signal. He finally gets one and quickly scans the internet.

"Looks like there's an auto shop close," says Roger.

"How close is close?" asks Samantha.

"Um... well, that depends on where we are exactly."

While Roger continues to search, Alex tosses another rock. Suddenly, there is a guttural moo heard from the woods. Alex lights up. "Bovine! Did you hear that? Here, Bessie! Friend! Friend..."

A long-haired wild Shetland cow appears and charges Alex and Jessica.

"What kind of bovine is that?" yells Alex as the two of them run towards their parents.

Roger is too busy talking on his iPhone to notice all this. "...yes, yes... just two kilometers on Windshire Road. Yes, yes... hurry. Yes, I am American. How did you know? Oh, right, right..."

He hangs up and sees the cow facing down Alex. A panicked Roger runs at the cow and yells out. "Shoo! Shoo, cow, shoo!"

The cow turns on Roger, chases him into the woods and into a tree. He falls. The cow comes by, looks at Roger.

"Um... Git along, little dogie?" says Roger, looking up at the animal.

The cow loses interest and grazes between Roger's legs just as the others come running up.

### Chapter 4

Twenty minutes later, a short grease monkey in overalls examines the tire. He speaks fast and mumbles.

Roger looks on. "Excuse me?"

The fellow points to the tire, gesticulates wildly. He then mumbles fast again.

"I understand him, Roger," says Samantha. "He wants to fix the tire."

The fellow holds out his open palm.

"Oh, I understand that." Roger gives him some money. The fellow moves his hand up and down. Roger gives him some more. The fellow smiles and whistles. A truck backs up to hook up the car as the family climb into the truck.

The truck rumbles off towards a small auto shop that is tucked into the back of beyond. You can't get more deserted than this.

The family talks together while the mini-cooper is put on a lift in the shop. After a while, the mechanic, an old fellow named Ian, walks over.

"How long will it take?" asks Roger.

Ian shrugs his shoulders. "Hard to tell. Maybe a day, maybe a month."

Roger's jaw drops. "A month? It's just a flat tire."

"Aye, but Jake's pretty thorough. One thing led to another, and now the engine has to be replaced."

"The engine's fine," yells out Roger, frustrated.

"Are you a mechanic?" queries Ian.

"No."

"What do you do?"

"Right now, I'm between jobs, but I... I own a village."

Ian frowns, but then, seeing that Roger is serious, says, "Well, when my village breaks down, you can tell me how to fix it. Okay?"

"What?... Look, we need our car. Now."

"Not going to happen. Not till Jake's done replacing the electrical system."

"The rental car company will have to give us a replacement. Is there a Rent-A-Wreck around here?"

"Sure is," replies Ian. He walks over to a chest of drawers and pulls out a Rent-A-Wreck hat that he puts on. "How can I help you?"

Roger is surprised, but he recovers a moment later. "I need a car to replace the clunker you gave me."

"Don't have any to rent, but you can buy that." Ian points to the pick-up truck that has two sheep in the back.

Roger shakes his head. "I can't afford to buy a truck."

"Shop tells me it'll be a month."

Roger glances over at Samantha who nods her head. Resigned, he looks back at Ian. "Alright, how much is it?"

"Eight hundred. U.S."

"What!" spurts Roger. "I don't have that kind of money!"

Ian points to Roger's iPhone and iPod. "I'll take those."

"My iPhone? Not a chance."

"Just do it, Roger," breaks in Samantha. "We need to get going."

Roger slowly hands over his iPhone and iPod. Ian smiles, tosses Roger the keys to the Pick-up.

"Can you tell me how many hours we are from Shoreham?" says Roger. "We need to get there soon."

"Oh, that's just three kilometers up the road. You can walk there."

"Great! We'll walk... Can you cancel the purchase of the truck?"

"Sorry, mate. British Barter Association rule 46-C subsection 12." He pats Roger on the back. "Keep the sheep." He walks away.

Roger turns to his family. "We got sheep!"

After picking up their luggage, the family heads to Diobair Hollow. With the truck spewing fumes into the air, it rolls into the town square of the village an hour or so later.

Everyone climbs out and looks around as light drizzle starts to fall. The square boasts broken cobblestones and a fountain that is mossy with disuse. There are dingy buildings on all sides, including a general store, a pub and a church. Other than the church, everything looks rundown, dirty and decrepit.

A banner announces the upcoming 'Highland Games' and a few old cars sit parked around the square, along with horses and carriages.

Before they can express what they are thinking, a middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face and wearing a friendly grin, appears.

He extends his hand. "You must be the Diobairs. Name's Hanford. Auto mech'nic, librarian, and not'ry public. Welcome to Diobair Hollow. Now if you'll follow me, the castle is just over that hill."

Hanford turns and starts walking across the square, gesturing for the family to follow. As they do, he continues speaking. "Lot of friendly folks around here, and as their laird, you'll be responsible for the upkeep of their land and well-bein'."

Jess pauses briefly from holding her phone into the air in search of a signal to shoot Hanford a dubious stare. "Lame! We're responsible for them? Shouldn't they be, like, our servants?"

Alex spots a blue-eyed, flame-haired beauty, walking down the street. She gives a small smile and waves. He quickly looks at Hanford. "Do you know who she is?"

Hanford looks towards the girl as she disappears inside a building. His eyes twinkle as he looks at Alex. "I can see you have an eye for the lasses, my boy. That youngling is Sara. I think she's about your age. Her parents have a farm out yonder."

Alex nods as he mutters to himself. "This place is amazing..."

Hanford glances towards an ancient local who toddles spryly along with a hefty walking stick. Speaking with the thickest brogue in Scotland, he opens his mouth. "Opmwllogi woker havoipordol."

Hanford nods. "You're right, Highland Games are lookin' a might daunting this year, they are. But wot else is new, eh?" He glances at Roger. "This is Kincade, the oldest man in the village."

Roger waves his hand and Kincade nods cheerfully to the family before he continues walking.

Hanford leads the group down the street toward a winding road leading up into the hills. "I'll take ye up to the castle."

Meanwhile, somewhere in the Scottish countryside, a police car chases a black van down a dirt road.

Inside the van are two young men. In the passenger seat is Ewan, an overweight fellow in his late twenties. Amiable but dim, he looks back at the coppers.

In the drivers seat is Duff, eighteen with rugged good looks. He jerks the steering wheel to avoid a pothole. "This would nae have happened if you hadn't stopped to play that bloody video game!"

"I never played Guitar Hero before," replies Ewan. "It looked exciting."

Tires screech as the van lurches into a crazy turn as Duff tries to lose the police. "Wot are ya, like a hundred? Everybody in the kingdom's played Guitar Hero, they have!" Duff jerks the wheel again, causing the tires to screech and for Ewan to be thrown in the opposite direction.

"That's right, I am older'n you, Duff, and I don't appreciate the lecture," replies Ewan as he steadies himself in his seat.

"Yeah, well ya act more like a child 'an I do," answers Duff. "And how about the dog? You told me you checked, and there was no dog."

Ewan shakes his head. "I did! There wasn't!"

Duff grimly smiles. "Right, then this bugger's a figment of my imagination!" He glances down at a Jack Russell terrier that's clamped firmly on his left leg and snarling.

"Hey!" Ewan yells out and Duff glances up.

Duff swerves the wheel to the right, just missing a somewhat dilapidated sign that reads: _elcome to Diobair Ho_low.

"Keep your eyes on the road!" yells Ewan.

Duff nods as the police pull up alongside and beep their horn. One of them leans out of the window and yells. "Pull over now!"

Ewan looks at the men and sees that they mean business. But, before he can speak, the police car drives over a pothole and swerves out of control. The vehicle skids, flies through an ancient fence, and into a river.

In the black van, Ewan and Duff crane their necks to see both cops floundering around in the river 50 feet below.

Duff grimly smiles. "We'd best find a place to hole up 'til things cool down."

Back at Diobair Hollow, bluster and rain buffer the family as they follow Hanford up the last hill near the outskirts of the village.

They finally reach the top and come into view of Diobair Castle. This structure is a monstrous, ancient crumble of a fortress. Gargoyles. Ramparts. Even a moat. All in ruins. Collapsed stone walls, caving-in roofs, everything overgrown.

Jess is mortified. "Oh. My. God."

Alex is awestruck as he stares at a field full of wild highland cows. "It's... it's them! The Highland cows!" He races into the field and tries to hug the hairy beasts. Unlike regular cows, these have long hair.

Samantha frowns and glances over at Roger. "Maybe we should stay in a hotel while we do the work."

Jess nods firmly. "That's what I'm talking about. Hit the spa, chill poolside, actually get some much-needed cell service."

Hanford chuckles. "Sorry, ma'ams, but there isn't a hotel in the entire county. Cell phone tower neither. Not exactly a hub of tourism."

He pauses as he hears something. He glances around and, a moment later, everyone can hear the roar of a motor as a black sedan appears over the crest of the hill. It starts to drive past and then, with a screech, comes to a sudden halt.

Angus Cregg, a middle-aged man, short and wiskery, steps out and stares at Roger. He gazes up and down before chuckling.

"What are ya doing here, ya swine-groper?" asks Hanford, looking at Angus.

Angus chuckles again. "Just checkin' out the newest in the long line of MacLosers, I am."

Hanford glances at the family. "Mr. Cregg is the mayor and Laird of Creggwick. Rival town just up the high street. Full of lowlifes and rapscallions, the best of 'em," he says, sneering.

Angus laughs. "Better'n the sheep-shearin' scoundrels fillin' this God-foresaken acre!"

Hanford steps forward and before long he and Angus are in one another's face, furious.

"Ach!" sneers Hanford.

"Ach!" sneers Angus.

Seeing that the situation isn't getting anywhere, Roger speaks up. "Um, guys?"

Angus looks at Roger. "Do yerself a favor, lad, and hightail outta this place fast as yer run-down sheep-drawn carriage can take ye."

Hanford stares at Angus. "Beat it, you! Git to gittin'!" He smiles as Angus snarls, turns, and heads back to the sedan. He turns back to the family all smiles. "Shall we go inside?"

The family nod and Hanford leads them into the inner courtyard of the castle where weeds have pushed up through stone. He then makes his way into the great hall.

This place has a soaring ceiling, gigantic fireplace, and is filled with several centuries worth of antiques and furnishings. Once beautiful, now it's just a dusty mess. There are even several leaks that have buckets and towels underneath them.

Alex puts his hand on the back of an overstuffed chair, but jumps as a mouse scurries out from the upholstery.

Samantha gently touches a drape. Dust explodes outwards. She collapses in a coughing fit as Jess scatters out of the way to avoid the cloud. "Ugh... toxic!"

Nearby, in the dining room, rusty suits of armor stand guard over a long dining table. A giant wrought iron chandelier hangs off-kilter. And, quite literally measuring the drapes, is Quentin Gordon. An athletic and fit fifty year old with a Scottish burr and jogging clothes.

Hanford leads the Diobairs into the room and Quentin spins around, shocked to see them. "Wot's this then?

"Oi, Quentin, this here's the Diobair family. From the States," speaks up Hanford.

Quentin recovers quickly as he puts on the charm. "Quite pleased to meet you. Quentin Gordon. Served as caretaker to your great uncle for many a year. Tragedy it was, his passing. Hanford, a word?"

Quentin pulls Hanford aside and quietly explodes. "What are they doing here? I told ye not to post the letter until two days before the deadline."

Hanford puts his hands up. "Sorry, Quentin. Must've had something on me mind when ye gave me the letter. I handed it to the barrister after I left you. I..."

Crash! Debris rains down around Roger as he leans against a busted beam. Quentin's scowl fades, a thought rushing through his head. A plan... He hurries to help Roger clean up, a big smile appearing on his face. "Laird Diobair, please. Allow me."

Looking a bit surprised, Roger lets him. "Thank you, Quentin."

Quentin fetches a dustpan and broom from a closet and sweeps up the rubble. "A lot of work to be done with this place. More than it's worth, I'd say. Structural, plumbing, electrical. Quite a mess. Some might say, a ruin."

Roger shakes his head. "A ruin? Come on, that's an exagge..." He pauses talking as another section of wall collapses. So much so that now you can actually see the outside.

Quentin smiles as he looks at Roger, pleased at how things are going, but then, to his surprise, Roger also smiles. "Ruin, huh? Wonder what Monty would think of that?"

Quentin frowns. "I'm sorry, sir? Monty?"

Roger explains. "Monty McGarnigle, from Caledonia Real Estate in Edinburgh. I talked to him before we came out. In fact, he's coming to see the place... sometime. Not sure when. A little hard to understand his accent..."

"But his arrival is imminent, you're saying?" asks Quentin.

Roger nods. "Exactly. Gonna give us an appraisal, help us figure an appropriate listing."

Quentin slowly nods, thinking. Then, he looks at Roger. "You might want to check the facilities a little closer while it's still daylight, sir. I have a thing to attend to, but I'll return post-haste." He gazes at Hanford. "If you'd show the family to their quarters..."

Hanford nods and Quentin leaves them. He looks at the family. "Follow me." He makes his way upstairs and walks down the hallway. The others follow as he motions to room after room as they pass each one. "The old laird's quarters, those. Guess they'd be yours now. And for the young lass and laddie..."

Alex yells out. "I'm a laddie!"

Jess shakes her head in disgust. "You're a lame-o. And I can't believe I'm trapped in a place where I can't even text. It's like the dark ages or something! Probably gonna get the plague!"

Alex looks at Hanford. "What do you know about cattle, my good man?"

### Chapter 5

Later that afternoon, the rain has stopped, but the wind still howls over the highlands. Roger, up on a 20' aluminum ladder, checks the tarp-covered roof. It has seen better days and is banged up and in need of work.

Roger works his way down the wobbly ladder, nearly slipping and falling, but survives long enough to make it to the ground.

Catching his breath, he turns and gets the shock of his life when he sees a rough and tumble Scotsman in his forties with a bushy red beard and a glass eye staring at him. He is clutching a clipboard in his hands.

"Agh!" yells Roger.

"Right back at ya," replies the Scotsman. "Seamus McGregor, I am. Ready ta do it then?

"Do what?" questions Roger, not really sure who the man is.

Suddenly, Quentin pops over Seamus's shoulder. "The appraisal, sir."

Roger realizes what is going on. "Appraisal? Wait... you're from Caledonia Realty?"

Seamus gazes at Roger, a blank look on his face. Silence. And then, after a nudge to the ribs from Quentin, he suddenly speaks. "Yes! Caledonia. Exactly where I'm from."

Roger is still puzzled. "Guy I talked to was named Monty Mc-something or other..."

"Ay, that's me boss, 'tis," answers Seamus.

"Ran into Seamus on the road outside of town," says Quentin, "heard he was set to inspect your prop'ty. Thought I'd show him the way."

"I think we're going to need a little more time..." breaks in Roger.

"Best to go ahead and get the appraisal, now innit?" says Quentin. "Know where ya stand, make an informed decision?"

Roger nods. "Oh, okay, yeah. That makes sense. Well then, let's do it." He motions toward the village in the distance.

Roger, Seamus, and Quentin walk through town as Seamus scribbles notes on his clipboard. They enter the town square and pause.

Seamus glances around. "Lot of structures in disrepair here, sir." He walks to the fountain and looks in. No water. Just moss, mud and debris. "Safety hazard, this."

Roger frowns. "What? Because the water's not running? Wouldn't it be more of a hazard if it was? You know, drowning?"

Seamus slowly nods. "That makes sense..."

Quentin interrupts his train of thought. "Unlikely, Master Diobair. Can't remember the last time a Scotsman went under. It's all the rain, I suppose, makes us wise to the ways of water. Ah, but a little lassie comes to play with her wee dolly, steps up on the edge here and topples over... Well, that'd be a dark day indeed, now wouldn't it?"

Seamus nods, scratches something onto his report and turns his attention to the Plaid & Plough, the local pub. It is dingy, with a swinging wooden sign over the door - a farmer wrapped in a plaid, pushing a plough.

"Ah, and this buildin' here..." says Seamus.

"Is fully up to code, it is," replies Quentin.

Seamus cocks an eyebrow toward Quentin, who shoots him a glare. "Aye, so it is. Precisely wot I was goon ta say about it. Lot of worries on this land but this establishment, isn't one of 'em. In fact, might we step inside, partake of the nectar..."

"Or perhaps we should continue on with the inspection," says Quentin.

Disappointed, Seamus mutters with himself. "Bugger." He moves off and heads out of the town square.

A few minutes later, he pauses atop a quaint, old bridge that leads across a winding creek.

Seamus looks at Roger. "You've got a lot of prop'ty, Master Diobair. Quite a bit. Lot to revel in, but a lot of work to be sure."

A few feet away, Quentin kicks at dry rot with his boot. Tries to get it to peel away, but it just splinters. He stomps hard, so much so that Roger and Seamus turn and look at him.

"What was that?" asks Roger.

"Wot was what, sir?" queries Quentin.

Roger shakes his head, turns back, and surveys the town with Seamus. "So, would you say that on the whole, the property is in at least functional order?"

Quentin stomps again as Seamus speaks. "I'd say..."

Crash! Roger and Seamus spin to see Quentin dangling from the edge, a giant chunk of wood having given way beneath his stomping.

Roger scrambles over to pull him up. "Are you okay, Quentin?"

Quentin nods. "Aye, but I nearly met me maker just now. This bridge being in such miserable shape as it is. Shame that burden lies upon you now."

Seamus scribbles something on his clipboard.

The group moves off, and soon they find themselves in the main hall of Diobair Castle. Walking through, Seamus measures things, squats and squints at problem areas. He even kicks at floorboards.

Roger follows, nervous, with Quentin just a step or two behind him. "So what's the verdict, Seamus?"

Seamus throws up a hand, silencing Roger. More kicking, checking, eyeballing. More scribbling on the notepad. "All told, includin' the grounds and such, I'd say what ya've got here's a toot'al salvage job. Ta put a prop'ty like this on the market's goon to require a full overhaul even to get it up ta code. Not legal ta post it without it bein' up ta code."

Quentin nods. "Quite true, sir. The laws here, they're awfully stiff."

Roger deflates.

"Fact o' bus'ness, I'm obligated by the governin' body to report a prop'ty in such a condition," continues Seamus. "Unless ya can bring it up ta code in thirty days, the goov'ment'll take it over and you'll be out everything."

Roger backs into a wall and stares up at the ceiling while Quentin huddles with Seamus. "Good show, old boy."

"Went off script a bit there at the end," apologizes Seamus.

"I'll forgive it." Quentin slaps a wad of cash into Seamus' hand and watches on as Seamus leaves. Quentin turns to Roger. "Shame, that. Guess you'll be re-thinking the entire operation then."

Roger squirms, unsure of what to do. He turns and sees Samantha and the kids, walking down the steps. They have heard the whole thing.

Samantha looks at Roger. "Roger, a word?"

Roger follows Samantha and the kids into the foyer. Trying to look calm and resolved, he leans against the banister, which crumbles behind him.

Samantha yanks Roger forward just in time to avoid the falling debris. "Look, Roger, I've got to get down to business with the novel and I'm not going to have a second to work on it, considering how much work we're going to have put into this place. Maybe we should just take whatever money we can for it and go back home at least a little better off than we were when we came."

Roger shakes his head. "We can't. The plane tickets killed us. We're maxed on every card we've got. Savings account's at zero. Checking account's below zero. But look, it's not so terrible."

Suddenly, a pipe bursts, pummeling Roger with water, slamming him to the ground. Spluttering, he rips off his shirt and attempts to dam the hole. Disappointed, Roger looks at Samantha. "I stand corrected."

Quentin scurries in, finds the shut-off, and with enormous effort, turns off the flow.

Roger collapses, saturated and spent as Samantha looks on. "I'll call Mom, have her wire some money to get us home. She can put us up for a while when we get there."

"Don't bother," replies Roger. "The old battle-axe has already informed me that my company's not welcome there..."

"Oh, she was just joking with you, Roger."

Roger bounds to his feet. "Joking? Yeah, right. But think about it. What do we have in New York? Nothing. And what do we have here? An opportunity. A diamond in the rough. I mean, look at this place."

Suddenly, a picture falls off a wall. Clunk.

This causes Roger to pause, but then he continues. "Now picture it cleaned up, fixed up. Looking like what it could be. Regal, majestic. We turn this thing around and it's back to New York to live like kings."

Roger looks at his children and sees that Jess is still not impressed. And Alex is off in his own world. He turns to Samantha as she walks to a nearby window.

She takes in the majestic, rain swept landscape speckled with giant hairy cattle. Beautiful in many ways. She turns to Roger, beaming with infectious enthusiasm. She can't help but be affected. "What have we got to lose?"

Roger beams and gives her a big wet hug.

As the sun goes down below the fields, Quentin, dressed in his running suit and breaking a good sweat, jogs through town. He pauses as he comes to the entrance of the Plaid & Plough and sees the drunken and ragtag lot that is known as the Diobair Hollow Rugby team. They are sipping drinks and getting drunk as they recount the day's match.

Quentin pushes towards the door, but the oversized men don't seem to notice since they don't move out of the way. "'Scuse me, boys."

No one moves. "You blokes hold the line 'gainst them numpties from Creggwick this well, we'd nary have a problem. Now step aside, will ya?"

The rugby players grouse at Quentin, but he wedges his way through, and steps inside.

Inside, a banner advertises the upcoming Annual Highland Games, Creggwick vs. Diobair Hollow.

Behind the bar is Lucy, a voluptuous but frumpy young woman, just over thirty, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, and with her hair tied up in a bun. She's busy taking orders from a various assortment of customers who frequent this place quite a lot since it is the only bar in town.

Quentin sidles up to the bar and accepts a shot of Scotch from his wife Olivia who is cleaning the bench top. Aged but stately, she has taken care of the bar for many a while. She leans across the bar and gives him a sweet kiss.

"Seems I'm goon ta have to do a little pest control if I'm goon ta take over the castle," announces Quentin.

"Why?" asks Olivia.

"Americans've shown up and seem hell-bent on stayin'."

Olivia grins as she thinks of something. "You know what would send the Yankee Laird packing in a hurry? If his squeeze, the Laird-ass, got all googly over another bloke."

"What bloke do you have in mind?" asks Quentin.

"Well, we do know of one charming, irresistible Scots rogue," grins Olivia.

Conniving grinning, Quentin nods. "He's just the man."

Across town, in a bedroom, is Tavish Boyd. At 36 years old, he is James Bond meets Hugh Grant. Scruffy with a devil-may-care grin, he dance's with a pretty redhead in her twenties.

As they dance, Tavish pulls off her wedding band. He then goes to work on her blouse.

Suddenly, there's a knock at the door and the redhead shrieks as she searches for an escape route. "Me husband!

Tavish shakes his head. "If it were Jameson, he wouldn't knock, now would he?" He calls out in the direction of the door. "Oi, we're busy in here, bugger off."

"It's Quentin! Open up."

Tavish hurries over and unlocks the door. A moment later, Quentin steps inside. He nods curtly at the annoyed redhead. "Oi, put something on, Margaret." He turns and looks at Tavish. "An opportunity has arisen, Tavish, for you to acquire what you've always wanted. I'm talking about a new home, all yours, free and clear. Away from Creggwick. In Diobair Hollow."

Tavish is dubious, but intrigued. "What's the scam?"

### Chapter 6

The sun has barely risen when Roger, dressed in his bathrobe, walks down the hallway in Diobair Castle. Clanging a tarnished sword against a rusty old shield, he yells out. "Everybody up! Rise and shine, Diobair family. Your Laird commands you! By royal decree!"

Jess and Alex appear first, grumpy and tousled. Then Samantha stumbles out the bedroom door, half-awake.

"All hands on deck if we're going to get this village ready before the re-inspection. I've laid out to-do lists for everyone. Now let's go, go, go!"

Jess rolls her eyes, turns, and heads back into her room while Alex curls up on the floor, half-asleep.

Samantha pulls Roger aside. "To-do lists? Seriously? I've got writing to do."

Roger nods. "I know, I know, but we have to get this place in shape. We've got to fix the bridge, revamp the electrical, fix the roof, get the fountain up and running, and make this place ours."

At the same time, in the Plaid & Plough, a similar conversation is going on. Quentin is pacing back and forth while Olivia is sweeping the step.

"I've got to wreck that bridge," announces Quentin. "And blow out them circuits, shed the shingles on the roof, and disable that fountain once and for all. And then the place will be mine." He pumps his fist, enthused, and looks over at Olivia for some encouragement, but she takes no notice of him as she sweeps.

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of town, a police car bumps and jostles over craggy ground as it makes its way into Diobair Hollow.

It enters the town square and comes to a stop in front of the fountain. Two police officers step out clutching 'Wanted' posters featuring the faces of Ewan and Duff.

The first police officer calls out. "Excuse me, ladies and gentl'men, we're lookin' for a coupla fugitives."

"Burglars, they are," speaks up his companion.

They turn to townsfolk as they pass by, but no one is even looking their way. They are wondering what to do when Quentin walks up. "Don't feel bad, laddies. Only thing these folks are enthusiastic about is apathy. And it comes in droves, it does." Quentin scurries off as he chuckles.

The police officers share a look, then start putting posters up all around town.

Back at the castle, Samantha is trying to please Roger by doing an item on the to-do list, which is weeding, but she can't find any gloves.

Then, deciding that she doesn't need them, she makes her way into the garden and glances around, trying to decide where to start.

Seeing a part that looks less overgrown than the others, she walks forward and gets to work. Pulling weeds with her bare hands is no easy task, and it is taking all of her strength to pull the plants up.

Suddenly, Roger yells out and she looks up as he waves from the other side of the garden just as the plant releases its grip from the ground.

"Agghh!" Samantha yells out in pain. She looks down at her bloody palm, a thorn stuck into her flesh.

Looking back up, she is about to say something to Roger, but he has disappeared. Grimacing, she pulls the thorn out and continues weeding.

Roger marches across the property deep in thought. He walks past the garden shed, but stops when he hears a noise.

He turns around, but he's just a second too late and doesn't see Duff zipping up his trousers. He also doesn't see him darting into the shed. By the time Roger looks around, the door is firmly shut. Dismissing it as an animal noise, he continues walking.

Back in the shed, Ewan peers through the crack in the door. His eyes narrow as he spots something in the distance... the Wanted Posters hanging in town.

After Samantha finishes weeding, she goes inside to one of the bathrooms in the castle. Getting some gloves, she starts scrubbing at the mildewed tiles. She almost gags at the stink, but still she continues. But, after a few minutes, she can't stand it anymore and she heads over to the toilet.

She wipes it down, beside herself with the grossness of it all. But still, she continues her work. Finally, she steps back and tries to flush. Nothing happens.

Samantha sighs. "You gotta be freakin' kidding me."

Jess walks past the bathroom door at that very second. "Four bathrooms in this dump and only one that works."

Samantha opens her mouth to reply, but Jess is long gone. She glances back at the toilet and fiddles with the toilet handle, trying to get it to flush. Suddenly, the handle breaks off.

Samantha shakes her head wearily. "Of course." Trying to wriggle it back onto the fixture, she slips and tumbles to the floor. This jostles the tank, which then jump-starts the flush!

Water sprays straight out of the toilet, coming down on Samantha like a waterfall. She stumbles to her feet, falls, and then rises again. She wearily walks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Just off to the side of the town square, lies the smallest post office in the world, which is right next to the smallest courthouse ever. There are numerous Wanted posters taped to the walls of both buildings, but not for much longer.

Duff suddenly appears from around the corner and, with his head ducked low, attempts to be inconspicuous as he reaches up and snatches away the posters.

Crumbling them up, he shoves them in his pockets and hurries around the corner as Roger appears.

He walks past the post office and enters the courthouse. A moment later, Samantha appears from the other direction and, wiping her wet hair away, she steps into the post office.

Samantha looks around the seriously small post office and sees Hanford at the counter sorting mail.

He looks up and smiles. "G'day, mum."

"Is there a working phone somewhere around here?" asks Samantha.

Hanford shakes his head. "Not since the one in the poob went all woogly on us. Rumor has it there's a workin' phone over in Creggswick, but venture over there and them Bessie 'n Clypes're likely ta snatch ya up, they are."

Samantha stares back in shock.

Realizing that Samantha is taking his advice a bit too literally, he hurriedly continues. "Oh, sorry, put the fear in ya, I do. My 'pologies, mum, wasn't intended. Just meant ta say that wotever correspondence ya got ain't worth the trip into the devil's den. And rumors 'bout workin' conveniences comin' outta that part ain't ta be believed anyway."

Samantha still looks a little freaked out, so Hanford grins as he tries to put her at ease. "We tend ta do our back-n-forth by way of the mail service. Someone ya need ta be reachin'?"

Samantha nods. "My mother. In the states."

Hanford grabs a sheet of paper and a pen, and slaps it down in front of her. "Fastest way it'll git done."

Samantha pauses for a moment or two, before she takes hold of the pen and starts composing her letter. "Dear Mom, I need a favor..."

Hanford looks on and tries to make conversation. "That boy of yours, quite in'erested in cattle."

Samantha looks up from her letter and laughs. "When he was three, he nearly drowned at Jones Beach. My mom actually waded in and saved him. He was delirious, didn't know who had done what, but he overheard some guy telling Roger that an old cow saved him."

Hanford chortles and slaps his thigh. "And the laird don't see fit to tell 'im that some bloke'd called the kid's grandmama a cow."

Samantha nods. "Right."

Hanford turns and resumes sorting the mail behind the desk. Samantha stares at the letter, deep in thought.

Next door, in the courthouse, Roger sits beside Abercrombie. He's an old fellow, at least 70, and nearly bald. An old bassett hound sleeps at his feet.

He is in the middle of examining papers as Roger signs them one by one. His hands shake, but his eyes twinkle. "Papers appear to be in order, sir. Property is rightly yours. Let me be first in line ta wish ya good luck gettin' the grounds inta some sort o' order before ya quit."

Roger frowns. "Quit? Why would I quit?"

"Ya don't know, do ya? It's in yer blood, 'tis. Quittin', I mean. Books here're full of tales of Diobair give-ups. Had to erect extra shelving to hold up the accounts. I can show ya if ya like." He rises and carefully moves to a chest under the window. He opens it and rummages for a minute, pulling out a dusty old scroll.

Roger coughs as dust billows as Abercrombie unrolls the parchment on the table, a long family tree. Abercrombie jabs the paper. "Lachlan Diobair let the South Wing o' the castle burn ta the ground in 1632 a'cause he got tired o' runnin' ta the well."

He jabs again. "Mary Alice Diobair. Left six husbands between 1757 and 1769 a'cause she couldnae see it through."

He jabs once more. "Kendrick Diobair. Surrendered ta the Sassenachs during the Battle of Hastings just as his troop had the upper hand. But he may not count, rumor was he was a bit daft."

"A family of quitters..." mutters Roger.

"Yer just doin' wot's in yer blood, is all. What d'ya think the family name means then?"

"Huh?" Roger looks puzzled. "What do you mean? My mom told me it meant adorable."

"Oh, she did now? Diobair in Scot Gaelic means to give up, throw in the towel. Epic fail, m'lud!"

### Chapter 7

With her letter done and her hair now dry, Samantha heads back toward the castle. She makes her way through the town square. Seeing someone watching her, she glances around and spots Tavish.

He's changing a flat tire on his old junker truck. He gives her a smile and wink.

Instinctively, Samantha smiles back as Tavish mimes tipping his hat, gets in his truck, and drives off.

Flustered, Samantha turns the wrong way, takes two steps, rights herself, and continues toward the castle.

A few seconds later, Roger appears walking with Quentin. They make their way through the town square and across the bridge. As they walk, Roger looks through the local paper and sees an advertisement for the Annual Creggswick/Diobair Hollow Highland Games.

Roger looks at Quentin. "What's this all about?"

"Ta the North of the village ya'll find a heath on which noothin' grows 'ceptin' whins and heather. Three hundred years ago, the Laird of the Hollow and the Laird of Creggwick met ta set the rules fer the Highland Games we hold yearly. The Lairds scrabbled over a Sassenack lass with eyes of fire. When the rammy was done, both were deid." He shrugs, as though the death was of no importance. "The villages cried foul. And just as certain we are that Creggwickers are thievin', murderin' buggers, certain they are that Diobair Hollow is a bunch of backstabbin' wankers."

Roger shakes his head. "Jeez. Why can't you bury the hatchet?"

"We like to hold a grudge," answers Quentin, "though being from the states you wouldn't know. Anyway, every year we air our grievances and fight it out in the Highland Games. Ya know, the traditional stuff. Caber toss, stone put..."

"Sheaf toss," breaks in Roger.

Quentin looks at Roger, surprised. "Ah, ya know of such things?"

Roger nods, a grim smile on his face. "Never could get the form right."

Understanding, Quentin continues. "Well, we have a few modern events as well. Rugby and relay race and such. Keepin' up with the times. But to no avail. Every year Creggwick wins, to be sure. We might take an event or two but ne'er the whole lot. Like a plague once it's in the bag too. The Hollow goes all pissy and gurnie for a few weeks. Just the nature of the land yer standin' on, it is. Why, I'm of a mind that New York might be better suited to a man like you."

He pauses talking as they arrive at their destination. Roger goes bug-eyed, smiling at the ancient structure.

"St. Magnus," explains Quentin. "Built in the 12th century."

Roger is in awe. "It's beautiful."

Suddenly, Pastor Bunch, 40's, wild eyed and nuts, huffs out from inside. "Get off church property!" He points his shotgun at Roger who drops to the ground straight away.

Quentin stifles a laugh. "Now, now, Pastor Bunch, it's us. Quentin and Mr. Diobair, the new owner."

Pastor Bunch grunts and lowers the shotgun. He shakes hands with Roger. "Laird Diobair. Sorry 'bout that." He flicks a hand towards Quentin. "Watch this guy. Slippery, he is."

Roger frowns, but Quentin pats him on his shoulder. "Don't listen to the pastor, he spends too much time preaching with himself."

Suddenly, the pastor sees a sheep peek its head around the side of the church. He fires his shotgun at the animal, missing.

The sheep bleats and runs off. "Next time, you're done, Murphy!" yells the pastor. He turns towards Quentin. "Gotta go make the porridge."

He heads inside, and Quentin moves off down the path. Roger makes the sign of the cross before he follows Quentin.

Back at the castle, Samantha enters the small drawing room and sits down at the dusty table. She stares out at the Scottish countryside through the window. It's rather nice and green today. Very pretty.

Inspired, she snatches up a leather messenger bag and pulls out a think stack of paper. She slaps it down onto the desk and dust flies everywhere. She coughs and puts her hands over her mouth until it clears.

She then starts to skim through her manuscript, making changes with her red pen.

Outside, the children are trying to do their part in cleaning up the castle. Or at least Alex is. He's thigh deep in the moat, skimming crud with a disused old skimming net.

However, Jess stands on the ledge, unwilling to get in. She lazily drags her skimming net over the water, doing no good whatsoever.

Alex glances up at her. "You have to help. Or I'm..."

Jess looks down. "What, you're going to squeal? Cry like a little girl?" She throws the back of her hand to her forehand, mocking. Then looks up to the sky. "Oh, Mommy, Mommy, please make Jess help me so we can get done and I can read the most boring books in the world, all about cows..."

As Jess's eyes are skyward, Alex reaches over and gives a little tug to her skimming net. Splash! She falls into the drink.

Alex bursts out laughing, but clams up, hiding it in a hurry when the filthy, grimy, dripping Jess re-emerges. "You're so dead."

Alex turns to run, but stops in his tracks when he sees Sara, the gorgeous redhead walk past, schoolbooks in hand. Alex sighs, smitten.

Noticing, Jess smiles. It's time for revenge. She looks up at Sara and calls out. "Hey! Hey, you! Sara!"

Sara turns. Embarrassed, Alex gasps and dives head-first into the moat, hiding underwater.

Roger stands in the main hall with Quentin. Standing next to them is electrician Farquahar, middle aged and rotund. He smiles. "Ya stickin' around for the games, are ya, Mr. Diobair?"

Roger shakes his head. "Wasn't planning on it."

Farquahar is a little disappointed. "Don't figure ya would. Well, I'll tell ya, this place needs new wirin', outlets, the whole lot. Gone ta cost ya, tis."

"I was wondering if maybe we could work out some sort of barter," says Roger.

"Wot've ya got in trade?" replies Farquahar.

"The thanks of a grateful Laird?"

Farquahar just stares at him, unimpressed. Trying his hardest to not laugh, Quentin emits a weird sort of sound.

Roger looks at him for a moment, before he pleads with Farquahar. "But I don't have any money."

Farquahar slaps a business card in Roger's hand. "Call me when you're ready to deal, sir." And with that, he turns and walks away.

Roger looks on as Farquahar disappears before he talks to himself. "I'll just have to handle this myself." He heads for two frayed, dangling wires that are exposed beneath a wall sconce.

Quentin looks on in amazement. "Um, sir, you're not an electri..."

Zzzzap! Electricity hits Roger and he flies across the hall. Landing on the other side, he finds that his hair is frayed and his blackened, burnt fingers are smoking.

But this doesn't stop Roger from fixing things up himself and, a few hours later, all cleaned up, he is working on the bridge just outside of town.

He has got a stack of new boards and is in the middle of tearing out the old ones and nailing new ones into place. It takes a while, but, as he finishes the last board, he steps back and admires his work. "Well done, if I do say so myself."

Whistling, he heads back toward the castle. As he fades away, Quentin steps out of the thicket and marches up to the bridge. Glancing around to make sure no one is in view, he stomps on the new boards. But Roger has done a good job, and he can't break them.

Quentin mutters to himself. "Lousy, no-good, quality workmanship." He then gets a spark in his eyes as he thinks of something. He runs off in a hurry.

That night, as the moon is high in the sky, a lone figure attaches a hook into place on the underside of the bridge.

As the figure makes his way to an old tractor, we see in the moonlight that it's Quentin. Climbing into the vehicle, he starts the engine. It rumbles to life and, as Quentin looks over his shoulder once more, we see that the hook is attached to a chain, which is attached to the tractor.

Quentin moves the gears and the tractor lurches forward. Nothing happens for a few moments and then, with a groan, the bridge tears apart and collapses into the creek.

Quentin is not the only one up this night and, in the town square, two shadowy figures skulk about. They head for the few remaining Wanted posters that are pinned to the walls about.

One by one, they're ripped down and torn to pieces. Big gusts of Scottish wind take the shreds and flitter them into the sky. As that happens, the light of the moon shines on the two figures and we see that they are Duff and Ewan.

They continue their quest to rid the town of incriminating signage when they catch sight of the rugby team stepping out of the Plaid & Plough.

Singing merrily and drunkenly, they head straight for Duff and Ewan who scramble to find an escape. They look left, then right. But there's nowhere to go. Before long, they're swallowed up in the crowd.

Arms are thrown over shoulders and Duff and Ewan play along, mumbling a song they don't know and fitting right in.

The rugby team captain sings out in his loudest voice. "Where hae ye been sae braw, lad? Where hae ye been sae brankie-o? Where hae ye been sae braw, lad? Cam' ye by Killiecrankie-o?"

The group moves toward the fountain where Duff spots a wanted poster pinned up against the side by the wind. It's the correct way up, so the faces of Duff and Ewan are in plain view.

Duff nudges Ewan and, together, they inch towards it. But they stop in their tracks when the rugby team captain plops down on the edge of the fountain, the wanted poster pinned right between his legs.

The captain goes into a solo and the rest of the team quieten down. All eyes fall to the team captain. "An' ye had been where I hae been Ye wadna been sae cantie-o, An' ye had seen what I hae seen, On the braes o' Killiecrankie-o..."

Suddenly, Duff and Ewan make their move. Diving forward, they slide into place in front of the legs of the team captain. Faking singing, they snatch the poster and crumple it into their hands.

The song comes to an end and the team surge forward, mobbing the team captain at the fountain in a giant scrum.

Duff and Ewan crawl out from under the group on all fours. "Oi, that was close."

Duff nods. "We gotta get hidden again in a hurry." Leading the way, they crawl out of the town square.

### Chapter 8

Standing outside the front entrance of the castle, Samantha paints crown moldings that are laid out across sawhorses. She's covered in droplets of splattered paint and clearly a bit overwhelmed.

Squeak, squeak, squeak. A noise from around the corner catch's Samantha's attention. She snaps upright and looks around.

Silence. Samantha goes back to painting. A few seconds later, clunk, thump, two rapid pounding noises.

Samantha looks around. Feels very alone. She holds the paint brush up like a weapon and spins in a circle, worried. She goes full 360-degrees before... Splat! She accidentally paints a swash of color across the chest of Tavish, rolling up on his bike. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."

Tavish glances down at his shirt and grimaces.

Samantha looks at him. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up, Mister... Um..."

Boyd smiles. "Boyd. But you can call Tavish."

Meanwhile, in the castle cellar, Roger tinkers with the water heater while Quentin looks on from the steps. With barely veiled sarcasm, he calls out. "You're doin' right good there, Master Diobair."

Roger yanks on his wrench. He tries to turn a knob. Nothing happens and then, the water heater creaks forward. With its screws missing from its mooring, it crashes down on top of Roger. "Aaagghhh!"

Quentin shakes his head. "Lemme give you a hand with that, sir."

Rising up from where he is sitting, a number of screws fall out of his pocket as he walks over and rolls the water heater off Roger.

The two of them then head out into the main hall. Roger leads the way first, limping along, Quentin right behind him. "Perhaps some salve for that shoulder, sir?"

Roger ignores him and pushes through the door, gone. Quentin laughs and heads up the stairs.

A second later, Tavish and Samantha walk through. Tavish looks around admiringly. He takes off his ruined shirt as he walks. The sight would stop any woman with a pulse cold. Samantha involuntarily fans herself.

They make their way into the kitchen where Tavish rinses out his shirt. "If you'll indulge the ramblings of a fan, let me say I'm quite taken to meet you, ma'am. I read your first book, 'The Templar's Mistress'. Lass I was, er, dating at the time recommended it to me. Impressed, I was."

Samantha gazes at him in admiration. "Wow. I-I don't know what to say. Thank you. It's been almost five years. Don't think anyone remembered. But how do you..."

Tavish grins. "You Diobairs might as well be royalty. Talk of the town, you are." He smiles at her as he wrings out his shirt. She blushes.

"Come on, gladden me heart and join me for in town for a wee coffee. Give ye a little inspiration, I might."

Samantha laughs nervously. "I should get back to work. I want Roger to be impressed."

Tavish looks at her. "If he isn't, he's an insensitive lout." He reaches forward and kisses her hand.

She blushes. "I have to... I have something to do... I really need to be..."

Tavish grins and dons his wet, clingy shirt before bowing and exiting out the side door. "Until anon, ma'am."

Tavish peddles down one of the many trails that border the area. Seeing Lucy picking wildflowers, he rides over and squeaks to a stop. He calls out. "Oi, Lucy."

Lucy glances up and gawks at his buff physique. "Eh, Tavish, how come ya never sought to have a go at me?"

Tavish shrugs his shoulders. "Never gave it much thinks, really." He flicks his wet balled shirt at her before he rides off.

Lucy wipes the water from her brow as she watches him peddle away. She mutters to herself. "You should."

In the town square, a group of villager's watches as Roger sloshes around in the fountain. He threads a pipe snake into the filthy main pipe that is green with moss. "Don't worry, I got this. Anything any of you need, come see me. The new laird..." Roger pauses as he hears the gurgle of the water coming through the pipe. He smiles as the rumble gets louder and then... Boom! Water and muddy green goop spray through the air, covering Roger and the crowd in sludge.

Embarrassed, Roger turns to the crowd. The villagers laugh, so he laughs in reply. "Hey, at least I got it working."

Some of the locals smile and he's feeling good about the vibe until Tavish comes riding past on a bike. He hooks his thumb toward the castle behind him. "Quite a lassie ya got back there."

Roger's grin fades and Tavish smirks, he's into Roger's head.

That night, the entire family sits in the dining room having dinner. The children stare at the steaming clumps of muck on their plates while Roger's distracted, he has the same look on his face as he had when he saw Tavish earlier on.

Jess glances around. "Oh my God, I am just doused in an endless waterfall of lameness."

Alex looks at her. "Must be tough, since it's so lame to be so lame."

"Excrement," quickly replies his sister.

"Strumpet," is Alex's prompt reply.

"Children!" yells their mother. She sighs. "Sorry, I never made it to the market. That's... well, it was in the freezer. Label said Ham & Haddie."

Roger suddenly looks queasy. "That's ham and haddock. With whiskey. It's supposed to be in a pie. My grandma made it at holidays."

Jess stares at it. "It's singularly revolting."

Samantha cringes and eases her plate away. Jess picks up a clot of the food and stares at it closely, as if studying it on the atomic level. Alex shrugs and digs in.

"Never made it to the market, huh?" comments Roger.

Samantha shakes her head. "Got tied up around here."

Roger mutters under his breath. "I try it one time, you call me a sick-o but now..."

Hearing his muttering, Samantha looks over. "What's your problem?"

Feigning calm, Roger replies. "No problem. I'm cool, I'm cool. So... anything unusual happen today?"

"Pretty much everything," answers Samantha. "Oh, Mr. Boyd dropped by. Nice guy. Very... nice."

Roger fumes. He doesn't like the sound of that.

Jess looks up from studying the food. "OMG. I saw him walking past yesterday. I think he modeled for the cover of one of your books, Mom. You know, I'm talking chiseled shirtless hunk inspiring lust in unhappy housewives everywhere."

Samantha just stares at Jess, who looks back down and starts eating the ham & haddie.

"Well," says Samantha, "I don't know about that... ahem. Knows how to treat a lady, though. Charming, sweet. A woman needs that in her life. Someone to pay attention."

Roger slams his fist down on the table and rattles silverware. He then hops around for a few moments as his hand hurts.

Samantha breaks free of her daydream and everyone turns to look at him.

"You okay, Dad?" asks Alex, concerned.

Roger eyes Samantha. Then looks at the children. Deciding that he can't hash out his jealousy in front of them, he inhales deeply, calms his nerves, and smiles. "So, how was everyone's day?"

"Dorktilian here met his true love," says Jess. "Too bad his bonnie Scottish lass doesn't know he exists."

Roger looks at his daughter. "Jess, I don't want you to be something you're not, but would it kill you to be a little less condescending? Maybe you should... I dunno, maybe try to meet some friends here. Get involved in an activity."

"Maybe I should walk around mumbling incoherently about losing at some stupid games to some other stupid village, how about that? Seems like that's the most common activity in this place."

Roger shakes his head. "Yeah. Great job of not being condescending. No, I was thinking more along the lines of golf or Scottish dancing."

Jess stares at him. "Whoa. Golf? Scottish dancing? Isn't that a little..."

"Scottish," breaks in Alex.

"Yeah, coming from you," finishes Jess.

Roger looks back and forth among his children. "Well... Okay, look, I know maybe I've been somewhat remiss in... look, maybe this place isn't so bad. It kinda grows on you."

"Yeah, like Scottish moss," says Jess.

Roger glances down at his place. He grimly smiles as he sees that it resembles moss. "You know what? Let's go out for dinner."

### Chapter 9

The Plaid & Plough is fully packed by the time the family enters. They manage to make their way through the crowd to the bar and sit down.

As they wait for Olivia to serve them, they glance around. The rugby team is watching a match on television while a couple of locals are writing up team lists on a sheet labeled Highland Games Roster.

"Here you go," announces Olivia and the family glance back to see her plump down plates of grey, sausage-like heaps and greenish mush. "Only the finest fer our new Laird. House special for ye all! Haggis, fresh out of the sheep, it is."

She turns and left as Roger gags and his face turns green. Jess glances around, mortified that she might be seen sitting next to Roger. Samantha takes a bite and can barely get it down. But Alex chews it down like there's no tomorrow. "So good!"

Olivia appears once more and lays down a bottle and some shot glasses.

Samantha looks up at her. "Oh, um, we don't drink."

Suddenly, the pub becomes fully silent as every single pair of eyes turns their way.

Roger glances around and realizes that he has to make a choice. "One shot isn't gonna hurt us. Thank you, Olivia. Cheers!"

Half an hour later, Roger and Samantha are completely hammered. They fall over each other as they attempt to sing Elton John & Kiki Dee's "Don't Go Breakin' My Heart."

The crowd whoop and bang on tables as they sing along. Even Pastor Bunch joins in the fun, and lets loose his shotgun as Jess and Alex sit there, miserable.

Jess glances up at the rugby players, still in uniform, who are arm wrestling. "See, now to me, that's a shame. Perfectly cute little costumes wasted on the unsubtle physique of men."

Alex frowns. "The unsubtle what of who?"

Jess continues. "I'm saying, short-shorts like that? I could rock those."

She pauses and looks on as Tavish saunters in, nodding and greeting a few regulars.

Behind the bar, Lucy immediately straightens up. She flashes an awkward smile at Tavish, which is complete ignored.

His eyes are focused squarely on Samantha. He's flashing her the smile. Samantha smiles back politely.

Noticing, Roger tries to dance his way between them but crashes into a table, bringing Samantha down with him.

Everyone in the pub stares at Roger and Samantha. They giggle like school kids, lost in their own little world.

Rolling her eyes, Jess looks on. "Puke."

The sun is barely up as a figure creaks open the door of the garden shed and gazes at the sleeping figures.

Duff and Ewan are snoring away, using 50-kilo bags of manure as mattresses. Drool drips from Duff's gaping maw. Jack, the dog, is also asleep, still attached to Duff's leg.

Suddenly, a pitchfork jabs into the manure sack inches from Duff's head. He jumps awake immediately. "Gah! Oh, cripes, that smells!"

Groggily, Ewan wakes up. "Wh... What is it, Duff?" He pauses as he looks up and sees the menacing figure standing over them. "Oh, bugger."

It's Quentin, a pitchfork in his hand. "Oi, what's all this then?"

Jack wakes and growls, but doesn't move or let go from Duff's leg.

Quentin eyes the entire scene with disbelief.

"Please don't kill us! Me mum would be vaguely upset if I died," cries out Ewan.

Duff nods. "Forgive us, sir, we're just travelers, we are, in search of shelter."

Suddenly, Quentin recognizes who they are. "Oi, I know better, and so do you." He grins as Duff and Ewan look back in confusion.

A little while later, Quentin gathers everyone in the kitchen. He then presents Duff and Ewan to the family. "Introducin' Diobair Castle's maintenance team. Finest in the area. Duff here rebuilt Chichester Kirk almost single-handedly after that freak low-flying plane incident a few years back. Master with a hammer, he is. And Ewan here is a top-notch landscaper and plumber, not to mention his renowned culinary skills."

Ewan looks mortified. He tries to wave Quentin off, but Duff stomps on his feet, producing a muffled yelp.

"Best of all, they're happy ta offer their services in exchange for room and board. Kind of, shall we say, community service. Right, lads?"

Duff and Ewan nod, half smiling, half grimacing.

Roger smiles. "Fantastic!"

Jess looks at Duff. "Umm... Why is your ankle all chewed up?"

Duff pauses as he checks her out. Nice... "Ah. Me beloved pooch Jack. Sadly, met an untimely demise. Got lockjaw, he do. Poor thing. Always liked to nibble on me leg, kind of an odd separation-from-mum thing I suppose."

Ewan suddenly looks around as he hears a noise. He sees Jack jumping up and down, trying to see in. He gasps and taps Duff on the shoulder as he continues talking, now choking up. "Anyway, we had to put him down, poor little bugger. I miss him so."

Ewan's urgent tapping finally gets the attention of Duff. He whirls on Ewan angrily who points at the window. Duff looks out and sees the dog.

Looking shocked, he shouts out. "Good heavens! He's alive! Jack! He... he escaped from the vet, followed me back here, he did! That's me boy!"

Duff ran out of the kitchen door to embrace the dog. The family can't see anything, but they can only imagine what is going on when they hear snarling and chomping. Suddenly, Duff screams.

Samantha exchanges a dubious look with Roger, who shrugs.

Later, down in the cellar, Duff digs through old junk while Ewan paces. "Might not be so bad, considerin'. Some good scenery, at least."

Ewan looks at him. "Don't be gettin' us pinched on account o' yer teenaged lustfulness now. Yeah, go on, actin' like yer more adult than me but who's got the 'ormones surgin' through 'em? Trouble, that. Best find yerself some other activ'ty ta get yer energies out."

Duff smiles as he finds a dusty, cobweb-covered rugby ball. "Alright then. Toss around the ol' rock?"

A few minutes later, Duff and Ewan throw a rugby ball back-and-forth. Ewan suddenly chucks one hard and it flies over Duff's head toward the moat, where Alex is still cleaning and Jess is filing her nails.

The ball hits the ground in front of Jess, bounces up, and knocks the nail file out of her hand, which disappears into the filthy moat.

Jess looks down at Alex. "Cow-lover, dig that out for me."

"Yeah, right."

Hearing footsteps, Jess turns and picks up the ball. She looks at Duff. "This yours?" She throws it back to him, but it sails over his head and lands at Ewan's feet.

Duff smiles. "Nice toss."

Impressed with herself, Jess nods. "It was, wasn't it?"

"Nothin' sexier than a lass with a taste for sport." With a wink, Duff turns and scurries back to Ewan to continue the game.

Alex tosses the dirty nail file up a moment later, but Jess barely notices, her eyes are glued to the game in front of her.

Half an hour later, the game of catch continues as Roger marches over. He walks between Duff and Ewan, clutching his notes. "Fellas..."

The ball sails by his head and nearly takes him out. But Roger doesn't even notice. "Break time's over. There's work to be done. The frontage wall needs shoring up, and then we'll need to de-tile the roof and tarpaper it afresh. Understand?"

Duff pays scant attention. He's staring at Jess, who fails miserably at looking like she's not staring back. "Mm? Oh, 16 1/2, I'd say."

Chewing on that response, Roger walks away. "Metric system, I guess..."

On a patch of grass near the moat, Alex dries himself while he rests. He watches as Jess flips the rugby ball up and down in the air.

"Maybe I'll take up rugby myself," comments Jess.

Alex frowns. "What? 'Cause some guy..."

"No, not cause some guy anything. Cause I'd look damn cute in one of those little get-ups."

Alex nearly gags at the though. He turns away and his eyes light back up. "Speaking of cute little get-ups..." He gazes at Sara, dressed in her in her school uniform, walking home. Suddenly, her schoolbag snags on a branch, and the contents tumble to the ground.

As she gathers her belongings, she looks up to see Alex giving her a hand. "Oh! Thanks. I'm Sara."

Alex nods. "I know. I mean, I'm Alex." He reaches for her bagpipes that are still on the ground. "Whoa! You play?"

"I'm learning," answers Sara. "Mum won't let me play the pipes in the house. Says they sound like dying wildebeest."

Alex stands up, holding her books. Gives her a goofy smile. "Can I walk with you?"

Sara nods, and the two of them walk off.

Up on the roof, Duff and Ewan rip away tiles. Suddenly, Duff stops and, thinking, looks at Ewan. "Best not damage it too much. Least give it the appearance of sturdiness."

Disagreeing, Ewan continues tearing the tiles away. "Don't worry, it's still structurally..."

He pauses as the roof makes a sound. Creeeaak... craacckk... craacckk. Suddenly, the roof underneath Duff and Ewan caves in and they disappear in a heartbeat. A moment later, there is a heart rendering crash.

### Chapter 10

The next day the big job of fixing up the castle and village starts with earnest. Samantha redecorates the Great Hall by hanging pictures on the walls. Jess files her nails while Alex scrubs musty walls. Roger X's out days on a calendar on the kitchen fridge. The goal, a few weeks ahead: Re-inspection Day

Roger patches a hole in the side of the Post Office. Then he heads to the castle to admire the progress. He walks through the Great Hall just as every picture that Samantha had hung, falls to the ground.

But he doesn't notice, he's too busy staring up at the roof where, for some reason he can see Duff and Ewan. He gives them a thumbs up nevertheless and continues on, not noticing that Samantha is sobbing in the corner. And so the days progress like this, with each one getting closer to the big day.

Quentin whistles as he walks through the town square. Sitting down on the edge of the now-working fountain, he glances around to see if anyone is watching him. Satisfied, he rolls up his sleeves, pulls a wrench out of his coat-pocket, and shoves his arm into the water.

He manipulates the wrench underwater and twists a pipe. Hearing footsteps, he quickly looks up as two rugby players head past. "Beaut'ful day, innit? Go on, have yourself a pint or twenty."

The players take no notice of him and head inside the pub. Quentin goes back to his act of sabotage, yanking on the wrench until... gurgle... swoosh... water pours down the drain in a hurry.

Quentin hurriedly gets up and, stuffing a length of pipe into his pants pocket, walks away.

Ambling up to the castle, Quentin suddenly notices Roger heading off into the fields. He's carrying surveying gear. "Ah, bugger!" Worried, Quentin jogs quickly off in pursuit of Roger.

By the time he has caught up, Roger is wandering across the heath to a strange, flat parcel of land, roughly square. "There's really nothing of interest out here at all, sir."

Roger doesn't take any notice of him. "Some extended landscaping would be good but why doesn't anything grow?"

Quentin steps right into Roger's line of sight. "Just the way of it with land of this sort. No good, stricken with a case of the nothingness. And a helping supply of cattle piss."

Roger leans to the side, trying to see past Quentin, who mirrors his motion, blocking him. "Quentin, if you don't mind..."

"Not in the least, sir," replies Quentin.

Roger leans the other way. Quentin does too. "Quentin!"

"Back to the castle, now shall we?" comments Quentin.

Roger pauses and then, suddenly rushes past Quentin. But, before he manages to get far, the ground gives way under his feet. He pitches forward, arms flailing, and lands flat on his face.

Quentin looks down. "See, that there's what I was trying to warn you of, sir. Quite a nasty little spot of Earth we've found here. Best be gettin' back to the castle."

Spitting out dirt, Roger pulls himself up to examine the hole that had tripped him up. Puzzled, Roger scoops up a handful of dirt and rubs it between his fingers. With a frown, he starts digging with two hands, at first slowly, then faster.

Samantha makes her way into the post office and up to the desk. Hanford slaps a wire transfer form down on the counter. He grins as she reads it. "Looks like yer kin came through with some money, eh?"

Samantha looks up as he continues. "Not that I been readin' yer correspondence or anythin' of the sort. Just... well, me business to sort out what comes through and all. Hope I haven't overstepped me bounds."

Samantha stretches over the counter and kisses Hanford on the cheek. He flushes red. "Just tell me where I can cash this in."

Back at the heath, Roger digs frantically while Quentin surreptitiously kicks what dirt he can back in the hole. "You're getting yerself all soddy. Not very becomin' for a Laird, now is it?"

Roger just keeps digging, clearing the topsoil. He then wrenches up a heavy chunk of dirt and rock and tosses it over his shoulder. Roger suddenly smiles as he sees what is underneath. He grins like a kid at Christmas.

He digs some more before he stands up and looks at Quentin. "Look!"

Quentin looks at what Roger has partly dug up and he grimly smiles. It's a stunning Roman mosaic.

Meanwhile, in the small general store, Samantha is at the counter while a clerk counts out money. As he finishes, Samantha pockets the money. "Thank you." Turning, she runs smack into Tavish.

She tumbles backwards, almost hitting the floor. But Tavish reaches out just in time to catch her. "Fancy meeting you here."

Samantha flushes as Tavish produces a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. She hesitates, then takes them. "That's very sweet. But look, Tavish..."

"Just making you feel welcome in my village," breaks in Tavish.

Samantha frowns. "Don't you come from the other village?"

Tavish shrugs. "Minor technicality." He prowls forward, closing the gap between them.

"Ahem."

Tavish and Samantha spring apart as Lucy saunters down the aisle, with an arch look for the couple.

"Oi, Lucy," says Tavish. "We were just..."

"A challenge, huh? Like a Yankee princess isn't the lowest of low-hangin' fruit."

"Excuse me?" breaks in Samantha.

The two women stare at each other for a few moments before they both walk off in opposite directions. Tavish stays behind, confused.

With Quentin on his heels, Roger bursts into the Plaid & Plough and hurries toward Hanford at the bar, who is sitting with a few cronies, including Abercrombie.

"Ruins!" shouts out Roger. "You have ruins! Ancient Roman ruins. They're beautiful, breathtaking."

Roger pulls out his sketch pad from his pocket and flips through drawings until he reaches the page which he had drawn the mosaic. "This is a unique, historical find of enormous importance."

Quentin shoots Olivia a conspiratorial look, who turns to Roger. "Important to us though, luv? Or to the nose-in-book crowd at university?"

Roger looks at everyone. "This is a direct link from one of the earliest civilizations to modern-day Scotland. It cements our place in history."

Eyebrows rise and Abercrombie frowns. "Our?"

Roger nods. "Yeah. Our. Yours, mine. All of ours. We fix this place up, it'll be the envy of the world."

Clink! Hanford brings over a bunch of glasses and a bottle of whiskey and sits them down in front of Roger. He pours shots. "Like the sound of yer jabberin'. 'Bout time a proper Laird took things in his hands."

The men raise their glasses and Roger hesitates. He then joins them, sputtering as the shot goes down.

As the party warms up, Duff and Ewan are back on the castle roof. Duff hammers away, distracted as he stares off at the nearby field where the Diobair Hollow Rugby Team is warming up before practice. Among them is Jess, looking amazing in her rugby gear, stretching up high

Duff accidentally hammers his thumb. "Argh!" The sound carries out to the field where Jess turns, hearing the commotion.

Spotting Duff, she gives a little smile and turns away. Amping up the performance, she bends over and touches her toes.

Up at the rooftop, Duff hammers harder. And harder. And harder. Until... Crash! He knocks a hole through the roof and goes tumbling straight through.

The party is in full swing at the Plaid & Plough. Roger and the locals are singing and drinking as they pass around Roger's sketches for an increasingly elaborate village renovation.

Quentin sits at one side of the bar while Olivia sits on the other. She shoots him a black look. He hangs his head. "Did me best ta hide it, now didn't I? Bugger."

"Aye, well maybe your best isn't good 'nuff," replies Olivia. "Told me we was goon to take over the prop'ty thistle ta thorn, ye do, and get well on the riches from such a find. Yer plan's crumblin'."

"Nothin's crumblin'. Just leave it to me noodle to figure the way forward."

Behind him, the door suddenly opens and in walks Monty McGarnigle of Caledonia Realty. Looking dapper in a cheesy red blazer, he addresses Olivia. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Diobair Castle? I'm Monty McGarnigle, Caledonia Realty."

Quentin jumps up. "Sorry, old boy, but it appears the Laird has changed his mind about sellin' the prop'ty on the open market."

Monty frowns. "But he..."

"I know, I know," breaks in Quentin. "Yanks, can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em." He escorts Monty out of the door, whispering to Olivia as he went. "Last thing we need's some prop'ty huckster gettin' wind o' that find. Don't worry, I'm on this."

That night, Samantha, Alex, and Jess sit at the dining room table. Jess, in her rugby outfit, is uncharacteristically excited.

Alex looks at her. "Wait. You actually joined the rugby team? Aren't you afraid you'll break a nail? Maybe even get dirty?"

Jess ignores him and looks at Samantha. "Mom, this uniform and shoes cost 40 pounds. I have to pay up by the end of the week."

"Before we invest too much of ourselves in staying, I have to tell you..." Samantha pauses as she hears singing.

It's Roger. He sings: "Well it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog!"

Jess and Alex exchange looks. Samantha winces and hastens outside.

She makes her way into the inner courtyard and finds Roger, staggering home, playing a cricket bat like a guitar.

Roger continues singing. "For I spent all me tin with the lassies drinking gin. Far across the western ocean I must wander..."

"Roger," calls Samantha.

Unnoticed to either of them, Duff is back on the roof again. But two swings of the hammer and.... Crash! He smashes through the roof again.

Roger and Samantha look up upon hearing the noise but, when they don't see anything, they resume their conversation.

Roger drops the bat and takes Samantha's hands. "Sammie! My bonnie, bonnie, Samantha. I have the most... the most wonderfulous thing to tell you..."

"Me too," breaks in Samantha. "Mom wired the money. We can..." She pauses as she realizes that he is drunk. "You're drunk!"

Roger nods. "And properly foolish."

"Roger. Listen to me. Mom sent money..."

"I have an urgent mission... to the bathroom," interrupts Roger. "But after that... an even urgenter mission." He races into the castle, leaving Samantha shaking her head in disbelief. As she waits for him to re-appear, she spots a gift-wrapped box on the steps.

She smiles and opens it. Reading the card, she sees that it is from Tavish. Her smile disappears. She looks around furtively before stashing it all under her shirt as Roger comes stumbling back out, grinning.

Samantha grabs him by his shoulders. "Roger, I need you to hear me. We can afford to go home now..."

Roger breaks in. "I found a Roman mooose-egg-ic... muse-ee-kick..."

"Wait... What?" cries out Samantha.

Roger gestures emphatically, about to go into his spiel, but then he falls face-first to the ground, passed out drunk.

### Chapter 11

Jess strolls into the kitchen the next morning, brushes against Duff who is in the middle of applying hydrogen peroxide to cuts, and scrapes on his hands. The chemistry between them is off the hook.

Jess looks at him. "You okay there?"

Duff nods as he wraps his hand with a bandage. "Just a minor flesh wound, it is."

"Scars can be... cool, I guess," says Jess, looking at his bandage.

Duff pauses and then heads out, brushing against her as he went. "Off to acquire more then."

Jess turns to Ewan who is at the counter, stuffing a turkey with goop in the armpits. It's clear he has no clue what he's doing.

Jess shakes her head. "Seriously, dude. This is a farce. You are so not a cook."

Ewan looks at Jess, worry in his eyes. "Not going to rat me out, are you?"

Jess considers this, then shakes her head and moves to a large cupboard. She rattles around inside for a minute, then hands him a cookbook. "Learn."

She strolls out of the room as Ewan opens the book, curious.

Roger, quite hung-over, stands in front of the bathroom mirror, a bit of stubble on his chin. Red stubble. He reaches for the razor, then stops. He stares at the stubble once more and gives a little grin. He then tosses the razor into the trash as he steps out into the hallway and runs right into Samantha.

"Agghh!" cries out Roger. He pauses as he sees that she has her arms folded and a stern look in her eyes.

"So... I doubt if you remember anything about last night but I tried to tell you..."

"Something about your mother?"

"Yes. Mom wired me some cash so we can go back home. Leave this place to the termites."

"No!" cries out Roger, as he moves forward, right into Samantha's face. She stumbles backwards.

Roger throws up his hands. "Sorry, didn't mean to yell in your face. Look, I found a Roman mosaic on our property. Do you know what that means?"

"No, but I've got a feeling you're about to tell me."

"Us! I'm going to tell us. All of us. Get the kids," pleads Roger.

Rugby practice is in full swing the following day on an empty field near the castle. The team scrimmages, runs hard, plays, and hits hard.

Jess stands off to the side, trying not to get her uniform dirty. A scrum heads in her direction. She sidesteps aside, but she's too late. Slam! Bodies crash into Jess and she hits the ground hard. While she's down, she hears a few remarks about her being a lassie in a man's game.

But Jess doesn't get mad, she gets even. When she gets back to her feet, her hair's a mess and her bangs are falling over her eyes. But she's soon back in the mix, knocking heads with the best of 'em.

Meanwhile, in the castle gardens, Duff snips flowers from their stems with scissors. He looks up as he hears his name being called. Startled, he spins and hides the scissors behind his back.

Alex walks up. "I wanna ask you something. There's this girl and..."

"Just be yourself." Duff pauses and then, after looking at him, says "or, you know, someone better. Learn what lights up her eyes and figure out how ta do it yerself. Simple."

Alex is about to reply when Samantha suddenly calls out. "Alex! Jess! Your father wants to talk to us all."

It's cavernous and musty in the castle attic, with even more junk than downstairs. The family and Quentin gather around Roger who is looking a bit roguish with his new red stubble.

Roger glances around. "You guys ready? Because this is the reason we're here." He pauses for effect and then, lays out a piece of paper. It's a rendering of Diobair Hollow, fully restored. A beautiful, colorful, cultural destination completely respectful of the heritage.

Alex stares. "Wow. Is that what this place used to look like?"

"That's what it's going to look like," nods Roger. "We're going to build this."

"Yer plannin' on stickin' around then?" says Quentin, frowning.

Roger smiles. "Aye."

"Goon ta turn this hollow into a right proper Eggface World, are ya now?" mutters Quentin.

Roger's smile fades. "What? No. How'd you... No, nothing like that. Not a touristy dump like that. Something real. A celebration of this land's place in history. Are you with me?"

"Soon enough, sir," replies Quentin. "But, if you'll excuse me, I have a few matters to attend to in the meantime."

Quentin turns and leaves in a hurry as Roger scans the pile of boxes and junk. "Somewhere in all this mess are a set of 18th century blueprints of the castle from the last set of renovations, and maps of the village in its heyday."

"I didn't sign on for staying here full-time," says Samantha.

"Look, the re-appraisal is in a couple of days. Just give me until then. We do our best to make a go of it and if it doesn't work, if we don't pass, then the whole thing'll be decided for us."

Jess rolls her eyes and walks out. Then Samantha does the same. Roger glances at Alex, but he stays still. Roger grins and walks over and, as he gets closer, Alex speaks. "Your breath smells like whiskey."

Roger nods. "Aye, lad. It does indeed."

As the sun falls below the fields, a timer goes off in the kitchen of Diobair Castle. Ewan pulls perfect cookies from the oven and sets them down. He smiles, proud.

Duff steps into the room a moment later and takes a bite of a cookie. "Bloody good these are."

Ewan looks at his friend. "Reckon the Diobairs'll feel the same?"

Duff nods. "Aye, and I'm startin' to feel a might guilty about wot we're doin' here. Takin' advantage of these good folks."

"The girl's gotten into yer head, she has," says Ewan. "And you wanna get into her."

Duff looks at her. "Yer point bein'?"

Darkness has all but enveloped the village as Jess says goodnight to a group of rugby players and heads towards the castle. As she walks through the town square bouncing a rugby ball, she doesn't notice Lucy, her eyes cast to the ground, depressed, walking towards her.

A moment later... Smash! They collide, both tumbling to the ground.

Lucy looks at Jess angrily. "Watch where yer goin', will ya?!"

Jess is about to say that they are both to blame, when she notices that Lucy looks different. Then she realizes why, as she spots her hair tie on the ground. Without it, Lucy's hair is flowing over her shoulders, looking pretty good.

"Wow..." says Jess.

Lucy looks confused. "Wow, wot?"

Jess picks up her rugby ball from the ground. "You've got the goods, you know that?"

"The good wot?"

"The good..." Jess pauses as she glances at Lucy's chest. "The good everything."

Noticing where Jess is looking, Lucy starts to cover her cleavage up. But Jess reaches forward and stops her.

"No. Don't." Jess reaches down and adjusts Lucy's top. Making it tighter. "Don't be afraid to let yourself shine. In fact, don't be afraid to let yourself sparkle."

Lucy's face is still one of confusion as Jess put down the rugby ball and reaches into her back pocket. Her hand re-appears along with a micro-mirror and a makeup kit.

"Ever had a makeover?" asks Jess. She wags her eyebrows.

"Ya know, maybe you Yanks ain't so bad after all," says Lucy, finally speaking.

Jess grins. "Those of us not in government, yes. Now hold still."

As Samantha put a bottle of milk in the fridge and shut the door, she pauses for a moment to stare at the calendar. A long line of X's are visible, and they all lead up to today: Re-appraisal day.

She heads out of the kitchen and walks down the hallway. She pauses beside the entrance of the cellar and listened. Hearing hammering coming from nearby, she walks off.

Down in the cellar, Alex puts sticker labels on the electric panel as Roger hammers new nails into wobbly stairs.

As Roger lines up a board on the next step up, he peers through the crack to see a stash of antiquities hidden under the stairs. He reaches through and pulls out a leather parchment holder. Digging a bit deeper, he emerges with a couple of ugly plaid tartans and kilts in different colors.

Roger's face lights up. "My old family plaid. I used to..." He trails off a second, lost in the memory.

Alex, who has walked over to investigate, gazes into his dad's face. "Uh, Dad?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, well, when I was a kid, I used to have to put this on every summer for these Scotsfest things. Hated it then."

Roger awkwardly wraps the cloth around himself and dons a kilt. "Fits a little better now though."

Alex peers through the hole in the stairs and spots a set of bagpipes. A smile spreads across his lips.

The appraiser, Seamus, follows Quentin as they walk through the town square. "Now, you know the deal, wotsoever these louts've managed to fix, ya miss. Ya hear me?"

Seamus nods. "Hear ya a lot better, I would, if I were to be paid in advance."

Quentin grouses, but pulls out his wallet. Taking every bit of money he has, he slaps it into Seamus' hand. "Best be worth me investment, that. Cause if these Yanks stick around and go all museumy with the land when I could be rakin' in the amusement park dollars and livin' off me earnin's in the South o' France, it'll be on yer head. Un'erstand me?"

Seamus nods once more as they heads towards the castle, where bagpipe wailing invades the air.

As they walk past, a crowd of townsfolk steps out of homes and businesses, intrigued by the bagpipes.

As Quentin and Seamus step into the main hall of Diobair Castle, Quentin plugs his ears, while Seamus bobs his head to the atrocious sound. "Master Diobair! MASTER DIOBAIR!"

Finally, the music stops. A few moments later, Roger emerges, grinning. "Quentin! Did you hear Alex practicing?"

"Aye, a regular wind bag he is, sir. Seamus is here to do the re-appraisal. So, are we all ship-shape?"

Roger nods. "We've been working our tails off. C'mon, let me show you."

As Roger leads Seamus and Quentin further into the castle, no one notices the eyes of the townsfolk, peering in through the windows.

Down in the cellar, Seamus checks the electrical panel. It's all neatly labeled and clean. He searches for a problem, but can't find anyway. "Um, er, well..."

Quentin, who is standing beside Roger, pipes up. "The MacLoonan Breaker, perhaps?"

"Huh?" queries Seamus.

"MacLoonan. Is it up to the MacLoonan code?" Quentin shoots Seamus an angry glare.

"Ah, yes, the MacLoonan, right. Yes, Master Diobair, I wonder if you know about the MacLoonan requirement."

Roger frowns. "Er... No, what's that?"

"Requires an inverse amount of the electricification to the magnification of the proformation," answers Seamus, with as much confidence as he can muster.

Roger opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He can't think of anything to say.

Quentin grins. "Shame, 'tis."

Meanwhile, outside the castle, more townsfolk have assembled and, as they hear footsteps coming up from the cellar, they shuffle around with them, following the progress.

The next inspection is in one of the many bathrooms. Roger and Quentin watch as Seamus turns the faucets on and off, on and off, on and off. But he can't so much as find a leak. He mutters to himself. "Quite impressive."

"What's that?" asks Roger, stepping forward.

"I said..." answers Seamus.

"It appears you've failed to supply the needed aquatic cantilever antidrip," breaks in Quentin, shooting another angry glance at Seamus.

"The what?" questions Roger, looking bewildered.

"Aye. The code," says Seamus. He marks something down on his pad and heads out. No one notices that Farquahar has been watching from the window. He shakes his head in disbelief.

More inspections cover the other areas of the castle, and then the three of them, along with the townsfolk, walk through the town square, where Seamus ticks things off his checklist. "Road's a bit wobbly, 'tis."

"Road's wobbly? Seriously?" Roger frowns as he pulls an hanky from his pocket and wipes the sweat off his face. This is not going like he had planned.

Behind them, Farquahar grabs Hanford by the elbow. "Seamus's is buggerin' the Laird."

Hanford nods. "Aye, he is. Isn't a fair inspection."

Quentin looks around and sees that the locals are getting restless, so it's time to move things along. He glances at Seamus. "Perhaps we should check on the status of the drainage system."

"Drainage system?" replies Seamus.

"Ah, in accordance to the rainfall management code enforcement act of 1732."

"Oh, aye. Right."

Roger frowns. "I... I've never heard of that."

"That's on account of it doesn't exist," yells Hanford.

The three of them turn around and spot Hanford and Farquahar walking forward. "Seamus is givin' ya the boom's rush, he is," says Farquahar, "And it's not right."

The townspeople inch forward. Seamus's eyes bulge, as do Quentin's.

"Seamus, you give the Yank a fair shake now!" calls out Hanford, staring at Seamus.

Seamus shakes his head in protest. "I'm just doin' me duty is all."

"Yer sourin' the haggis, ya are!" shouts Farquahar. He punches his fist into his meaty palm.

Seamus gulps at the sight while Roger beams, proud to have the support of the locals.

And, as they move in, Quentin senses danger and steps aside, disappearing through the group and shuffling down an alleyway.

The group closes in on Seamus, who quickly scribbles something on his appraisal report. As the shadows fall over him, he rips the report off the clipboard and shoves it into Roger's hand before disappearing in a millisecond.

Roger eyes the report, then holds it up in the air, triumphant. "We passed!"

The crowd goes wild.

Scurrying away from the rousing applause at the square, Quentin heads toward the pub. He stops when he sees Tavish stepping out of it. "Oi, Tavish. Things've gotten outta hand and ye've not sealed the deal on your end."

"I'm doing the best I..." protests Tavish.

Quentin steps forward and jabs a finger into Tavish's chest. "Time is up. And if you dinnae step it up, I'll make sure ol' Major Purley knows exactly who was shagging his beloved Jacqueline. And Maria. And..."

Tavish throws up his hands in protest. "Yeah, yeah, I don't need the litany."

Quentin steps forward and gazes into Tavish's face. "Listen very carefully then. The so-called Laird has stumbled upon something that is rightfully mine and represents an entirely new revenue stream."

"Yer talkin' the museum, are ya?"

Quentin growls. "Resort! The Diobair Hollow Amusement Park and Resort. A full-scale family entertainment attraction. Rollery rides for the lads, overpriced slushies for the folks, and chipper little MacMascots runnin' around and takin' pictures with the tourists for a lump o' cash each. Do ya get me?"

Tavish groans. "Sounds awful."

Quentin gives him a disapproving stare. "Looks like I'm goon ta have to take this effort to the next level, I am."

"Aye?"

"Aye," answers Quentin, grimly smiling.

### Chapter 12

It's nearly noon, and the Plaid & Plough is fully packed for the lunch crowd. It's not this busy normally, but with news of Roger's upcoming speech, almost the entire village is gathered.

Roger stands behind the bar. "I know that when I came here, most of you don't know what to think of me. And the truth is, I don't really know what to think of myself. But now... I do. Now... I know who I am. Now... I know where I belong."

Roger jumps up onto the bar and, for the first time, the villagers see that he's decked out in his family tartan. "I... AM... A... SCOTSMAN!!!"

A roar of approval comes from the villagers. Out of nowhere, someone hands Roger a bottle of whiskey. He shrugs, and takes a gulp. "And I want to tell the world what I now know. Tell them how wonderful this land is. How amazing the people. And it's our ruins that will bring them from faraway lands to learn of our Scottish greatness!"

"I think ya mean our ruins, lad," yells out a voice.

Everyone turns and gasps as Angus, the mayor of Creggwick, along with two brutes, steps inside the pub.

Abercrombie sneers. "Cregg. Ya're not welcome here."

"And I'll be on me way, soon as your new Laird and I settle the matter of ownership," replies Angus. "We all know the heath is on Creggwick property."

Hanford shakes his head. "It's part of Diobair Hollow. Since the first Laird built the castle and passed it on ta his son, and then ta his."

"But it was given over ta our Laird in 1537 as trade for one hundred sheep," argues Angus. He lays out ancient documents and the grumbling in the room grows.

Roger looks them over before he motions Abercrombie to come over.

Abercrombie reviews the documents grimly. "Appears to be in order, m'lud."

Angus smiles, smug. He turns and gives Quentin a quick wink as he and his crew starts to leave. The townspeople deflate.

Roger slumps down, depressed. But then he suddenly thinks of something. He yells out. "Wait!" Angus stops and turns around as Roger stares at him. "You a betting man, Mr. Cregg?"

Angus shoots Quentin a look. Quentin shrugs, he has no idea what Roger's thinking.

Roger continues. "I... WE... challenge Creggwick to a friendly wager at the games.

Angus thinks. "Wot's at stake then?"

"The heath," replies Roger.

Angus grimly smiles. "And why, pray tell, would I risk something as valuable as all that? I understand there's ruins and such."

"Because it's only truly valuable if it's connected to the castle. And that's what I'm willing to put up against it."

Shock runs through the crowd as Angus can't help but smile. "So this is truly, as you Yanks like to say, winner take all?"

"Exactly. Winner of the games walks away with the castle, the heath, and the ruins. Everything."

Angus thrusts his hand forward. He clutches Roger's and pumps it vigorously. "Ha! You've got a bet!" He tips his hat and heads off.

Roger turns to the locals who are all staring back in disbelief.

Hanford stares at him. "Wot have ya done, Laird?"

"Thrown down the gauntlet," replies Roger. "Time to win the games. Who's with me?"

No one speaks. No one even moves. They all drop their heads and gaze upon the ground. They are already in defeat.

Roger glances around. "Anyone?" Still no movement. "Come on! What? Are you all this easy to defeat?"

Hanford steps forward and grimly nods. "'fraid so, Laird. See, we been losin' them games long as any o' us can remember. Rough go, 'tis, but one we can accept, bein' that there's nothin' but pride at stake. Left that behind decades ago. But now... Well, ya've gone and cost us our homes."

One by one, the townsfolk file out, brushing past Roger, pure disappointment in their faces.

That night, Roger and Samantha, stand on opposite ends of the bed as they get undressed. "What else could I do?" begins Roger. "We... we lost it. And it was the only thing I could think of to get it back. Frankly, I kinda thought they'd be behind me. Like they were for the inspection."

"Centuries of failure and you think that just because you get some support during an inspection these people are going to just, what, follow you off a cliff?"

"Off a cliff? Not exactly how I'd put it..."

Samantha stares at him. "And now you've taken us all with you! All of us! After all the work we've done? After all we've been through? You've talked me into staying with you every step of the way but now... Now you go and risk everything like that?"

Roger reaches over and tries to take Samantha's hand in his. "Quite a dream, huh?"

Samantha pulls her hand back. "Pipe dream is more like it." She pulls back the bed sheets and Roger starts to climb in, but Samantha yanks the pillow out and slaps it against his chest.

"What are you doing?"

"Whole lot of rooms in this place. Find one!"

Disappointed, Roger heads out and tries to find a room. But try as he might, after half on hour of searching, he finally ends up in the library.

Lying down on a musty couch that's a foot and a half too short for him, he tries to get some sleep. But he tosses and turns and then flops, rolls, and... Thunk! He lands on the floor in a heap.

It's a beautiful summer's day as Samantha sits on the edge of the fountain in the town square. She has a pen in her hand as she attempts to write, but she isn't getting anywhere. As soon as she has written something, she pauses and blacks out what she has just written.

Suddenly, someone calls out. "Enter the charming rogue, rose between his teeth."

Samantha looks up and sees Tavish rolling up on his bike. She lets out a small grin. "Hate to tell you, but you forgot the rose."

Tavish wags his eyebrows and produces a rose from his backpack. He then places it between his teeth. "Sorry, not a proper entrance. Didn't quite have time to prepare."

Samantha blushes and inhales. She lets the frustration out of her body as Tavish hands her the rose with a flourish.

A group of ladies who are walking past suddenly pause and watch the romantic display. A pretty girl on a bike, Margaret, eyes Tavish lovingly.

Samantha gets nervous. "I... I have to go."

Tavish doesn't move. "Why go alone when you could go together? Take a ride through the countryside with me."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I know what you want to know. All about the romantic nature of this fair land. That's key to yer new book, is it not? And who better to fill you in than someone who knows it inside and out?"

Samantha pauses and then she says, "This is nothing more than a history lesson."

Tavish nods. "Agreed. Nothing more than a romantic history lesson."

"A history lesson about romance," corrects Samantha.

"What'd I say?" queries Tavish.

"You said... oh, never mind. Fine. Something to get the creative juices flowing would help."

Tavish smiles. "Aye. I'd be more than happy to get yer juices flowin'."

Samantha is about to retort when two fingers between Tavish's lips produce an ear-splitting whistle. "Oi, Margaret. Lend the lass here your bicycle for a wee bit." He glances back at Samantha. "Fancy a wee picnic?"

Samantha nods and the two of them climb upon their respective bikes and ride out of town just as Roger enters from another direction.

He pauses as he sees the two of them leave, smiling and laughing. His heart sinks even further.

On the outskirts of Diobair Hollow is a charming lake. And that is where Tavish and Samantha are relaxing. The picnic basket is empty and the two of them are sprawled on a blanket.

Samantha gazes up into the cloudless sky. "So... you're from Creggwick."

"Aye, but I've always had a soft spot for Diobair Hollow."

"What, run out of women to woo in your town?"

Tavish grins. "Cheeky one, you. How goes the novel then?"

Samantha looks over at him. "You know... I'm making progress. For the first time in a long time. Something about being here... The place, the people..."

She pauses as Tavish leans in and kisses her. She let him for a few seconds, but quickly sits up and pushes him away. "Tavish. No. Not now, not ever."

She waggles her hand at him, and her wedding ring gleams. "Roger and I may have our problems. Lots of problems. But... well... they're our problems. Mine and his. For better or for worse. Understand?"

Tavish looks down at the ground, embarrassed, as Samantha stands and hurries away. Overhead, storm clouds brew.

Dusk is falling as Roger walks alone in a field, his shoulders slumped and his eyes wet. He stumbles about and plops down in the dirt. He looks up at the sky. "Aaaaggghhh!!"

Suddenly, on cue, rain starts falling. Pelts Roger's face. Goes from drizzle to downpour in 3.5 seconds. Roger just sits there, the dirt under him becoming mud.

He sits there for what seems like an eternity. Then, standing up, he slowly walks across the field, the rain now slamming him in heavy sheets. He slogs through mud, eyes red and angry.

He slips and goes down in a heap. Covered in mud, he forces himself back up. He moves off once more, trudging through the storm.

Lightning flashes and illuminates the castle in the background. But Roger doesn't look back.

Roger continues on as he marches up to the church. There are tears in his eyes and rain is whipping at his face. He stares through the slats of water at the magnificent building, its Gothic magnitude makes more impressive by a blast of lightning.

Then another blast. This one revealing Pastor Bunch, walking up behind him, clutching an umbrella. "Hell of a night, innit?"

"Aagghh!" yells out Roger, as he jumps and clutches at his heart in shock.

Pastor Bunch steps forward, holds the umbrella over Roger's head. "Not fit for man nor beast."

"Are you allowed to say hell?"

"Aye, and repeatedly. Somethin' on yer mind, son?"

Roger looks away. He doesn't want to talk about it. But Pastor Bunch isn't going anywhere. Finally, he speaks. "My wife. I think she's... I think she's leaving me."

Pastor Bunch nods, as if it makes perfect sense to him.

Roger shoots him a look and Pastor Bunch puts on his sympathetic face as he pats Roger on the shoulder. "Surely yer over-reactin'? Wot makes ya think she'd do such a thing?"

Roger throws up his hands. "She's being wined and dined by Handsome McGee as we speak."

"Hanson McGee from Renfrewshire?" queries Pastor Bunch.

Roger just stares at him, blank. "Huh?"

"Look, son, yer wife's a mighty good-lookin' lass," puts in Pastor Bunch.

Boom! Thunder. Flash! Lightning. The storm intensifies. The pastor waits until the storm quietens just a bit before he continues speaking. "Figure ya put some effort inta landin' her, yeah? How 'bout the same doin's in pursuit o' keepin' her?"

Roger nods, understanding as the pastor continues. "Master Diobair? One last thing..."

"What?" asks Roger.

Pastor Bunch offers a kindly smile, one which looks demonic as lightning flashes across his face. And, with an ominous tone, speaks. "The games."

Roger recoils in horror.

In a warmer tone, the pastor continues. "The games. I heard wot ya do and I gotta say, well done."

"Seriously?"

Pastor Bunch nods. "Aye. See, ya gotta have faith, in all matters of life."

Roger shakes his head. "I don't think the townspeople agree."

"They will, Laird," replies the pastor. "They will. All ya have ta do is show 'em you're serious. They'll come along."

As he finishes talking, the rain suddenly lets up. Noticing this, Roger cracks a smile.

### Chapter 13

The morning sun rises over Diobair Hollow and glistens against the dewy grass as Roger practices the sheaf toss in an empty field. He stabs a pitchfork into a burlap sack full of straw, spins, and hurls the sack up toward a bar raised high in the air above.

The sack goes straight up, but doesn't even get halfway up before it descends right down on Roger's head with a thud.

As Roger keeps on practicing, Samantha awakes and rolls over. As she sees that Roger is not there, guilt fills her face.

She quickly gets dressed and heads downstairs. She's soon at the library. She thrusts the door open. "Roger, look, I'm sorry. You can sleep in the..." Her voice trails off. Roger's not there either. She makes her way into the kitchen, but he's not there either.

Back at the field, the mid-day sun beats down as Roger continues to practice the sheaf toss by himself. On his latest attempt, he stabs the straw, spins it, and flings it. It goes flying off in the distance.

Undeterred, Roger marches over and stabs another bag. Same result. But still Roger keeps on trying.

On a nearby hill, Hanford and Farquahar watch, impressed. "Determined, isn't he?" says Hanford.

Farquahar nods. "Quite." He pauses as a thought comes into his head. He glances over at Hanford and grins. "I just thought of something."

Hanford smiles. "Me too."

The two men quickly make their way back to the village and into the Plaid & Plough where they find the majority of the townspeople drowning themselves in drink. They are mopey and mumbly as they grouse about the games. All eyes turn to the newcomers who are standing still and grinning.

Abercrombie frowns. "Wot's gotten inta you grinnin' goats?"

Creggwick is a little more modern that Diobair Hollow, with a couple of chain stores along the main drag.

Standing next to the perfectly functional center fountain, is Angus. Beside him is Quentin, dressed in his jogging suit.

"Never thought we'd be partners," says Angus.

Quentin nods. "Just as long we split the revenue from the amusement park 50/50."

"Aye, me lads are drawing up the papers," confirms Angus. "What's this apple pie eater's angle? Does he not know he cannae win?"

"Wish I knew. Wanker's somehow trumped me every step of the way. Just to be safe... ye might be needin' a ringer."

Angus frowns. "What ye suggest?"

"Ya know I can run. I took the championship right out from under ya back in university, now didn't I?"

Angus grouses as Quentin continues. "Fume all ya want but wot I'm sayin', there's life left in these legs, if ya smell wot I'm cookin'."

After a minute, Angus grins. Smells it, he does.

The hot sun beats down, but Roger continues practicing alone. He's still trying to get the hang of the sheaf toss. He's getting better with each throw, but still having some difficulty.

Roger pauses as he hears footsteps drawing closer. He looks up to see the whole town, marching his way. Hanford, Farquahar, everyone. And they are all decked out in workout clothes.

And, behind them is Jess, with the whole rugby team, in uniform, arms folded and looking like she's taking it pretty seriously now.

And, to top it all off, Samantha and Alex appear behind her. Roger smiles as his wife puts her hand on his shoulder and gently and kisses his cheek.

Roger and Hanford coach the teams, putting them through their paces. Pastor Bunch keeps an eye on a stopwatch as the men of the village race up and down the field, while the women do pushups. When Samantha looks ready to keel over from exhaustion, Pastor Bunch clears his throat, motions to his shotgun, and somehow she finds the strength to bang a few more out.

At the caber toss, the strongest and the heartiest toss the caber, which in Roger's case goes exactly eleven feet. He simpers sheepishly as Samantha hurls it a good thirty. Everyone cheers.

Practicing the relay race is Alex. He races as hard as he can. Wheezing, he passes the baton to Jess, who promptly skitters on a patch of wet ground and... Splat! Eats mud. A wave of shock from the onlookers but, to everyone's surprise, Jess just gets up, doesn't even wipe away the mud, and keeps on running.

More events are practiced throughout the day until everyone goes home for a rest.

Night has fallen across Diobair Hollow, but the town square is awash with people. Everyone is preparing for the games on their own time. Stretching, jogging, and even practicing sword fighting moves. Farquahar practices his stone putting skills.

In front of the Plaid & Plough, at one of the many tables, sits the only two people that are not active. Quentin looks on with disgust while Olivia smiles.

"Wot's gotten into all them then?" wonders Quentin.

"Lil bit o' pride, I guess," replies Olivia.

"Wot, did they have it imported?"

"I think so, yes."

Quentin grouses and steps inside, he can't take it anymore.

Nearby, Jess tosses the rugby ball back and forth with a teammate. Then... Clang! She turns toward an alleyway where Jack, the dog, has overturned a trash bin. Jess scurries into the alley, tossing the ball behind her as she goes.

"Oh, bad boy! Bad!" She picks up the dog and rights the trash bin. She then glances at Jack's collar. The tag reads: "Rodrigo. Contact: Walter MacLesh, Dundee City Hall 03-21-651."

Jess glances at the dog. "Rodrigo?" Upon hearing his name, Jack gets excited and squirmy and licks Jess' face all over.

As Jess walks down the hallway the next morning, her perpetual annoyance is replaced by a look of satisfaction on her face.

She pauses as she comes upon Duff carrying an overflowing laundry basket. He scans her up and down. "Wot's with you?"

"Meaning?" asks Jess.

Duff shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know. You just... You look... Happy. Suits ya, it does."

Jess smiles and, leaning in, gives Duff the kiss of a lifetime. Separating a moment later, she grins. "Duff?"

Duff is so shocked he can hardly talk. "Um... Yes, luv?"

"Now that you see what you'll be missing, I hope you'll reconsider," smiles Jess.

Duff frowns. "Reconsider what?"

"Lying to me."

"But I never..." Duff pauses as Jess reaches behind her back and comes up with Jack/Rodrigo's collar.

"This isn't your dog, is it?"

Duff swallows hard. He's busted.

"So, what? Are you guys, like, dognappers or something?"

Duff shakes his head. "Oh no, nothin' like that. Not in the least. We're... Well, see... We're..."

Jess speaks up as Duff stops speaking. "You're what?"

Duff collapses into a chair. Looks her in the eye. He can't keep up the charade any longer. "We're right burglars, we are."

Jess's jaw drops as Duff points to the dog. "And that pooch there, latched onta me in the act, it did." He throws up his hands, defensive. "But look, we weren't gonna take a run at you and yours. I promise. We were just looking fer a place to hide out. And Mister Quentin, he promised ta keep our secret if we helped sabotage yer family's doin's. That's all."

Jess looks on, shocked. "That's all?"

Duff glances down into the laundry basket and eyes the plaids on top. He turns back to Jess and nods earnestly. "Don't you worry, luv. I'm gone ta make it right, I am."

### Chapter 14

It's the day of the tournament and it's a crappy, rainy day. On either side of a field, vendors sell food, trinkets, and livestock. Banners proclaim: Welcome to the 257th Annual Creggwick/Diobair Hollow Highland Games.

And, in the center, an arena has been set up with bleachers on either side, and a stage on one end. The two villages stay far apart and catcall at one another. And then... a hush falls over the crowd.

Eyes and ears look at Lucy as she steps up to a microphone on the stage. She's looking hot. Made up and made over. Her clothes are now form-fitting, decolletage on full display, and hair down and flowing.

"On behalf of Diobair Hollow, I'm pleased ta welcome ye ta the annual Diobair Hollow and Creggwick Highland Games!" cries out Lucy.

She pauses, composes herself, then straightens to sing, she has a beautiful voice. "By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond, Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae, On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond..."

As the song comes to an end, Tavish gawks at Lucy, impressed. Jess looks on with pride.

A few moments later, Roger leads the family up to join the Diobair Hollow Team, which is comprised of Hanford, Lucy, Pastor Bunch, and a good portion of the village.

All eyes fall to Roger as he raises his head, showing off his red beard to the crowd for the first time. Scotsman all the way now. He pumps his fist. "For Scotland!" He waits for the big applause. Nothing.

Samantha tugs on Roger's elbow. "Um, Rog, Creggwick's in Scotland too."

Roger yells out again. "For Diobair Hollow!"

Now comes the applause. Cheers and pats on the back as Roger works his way through his fellow Diobair Hollowers... And up to Quentin, standing on the sidelines in Creggwick colors and peeling the shell off a hardboiled egg.

Roger looks on. "You vanish just when I need you the most. And now you show up wearing Creggwick colors."

Quentin, smug, offers the egg to Roger. "Egg? Oh, sorry, would that be hittin' too close ta home fer ya then, Laird?"

Roger is taken back, but he reaches forward and takes the egg from Quentin's hands and chomps right into it. "You've been working against me from the outset."

Quentin smiles, sarcastic. "Ay, ya catch on fast, ya do." He pats him on the shoulder, a bit too hard, and walks off.

For a moment Roger is defeated. But then a voice calls out. "I'm quite a runner, I am." Roger turns to see Duff and Ewan decked out in Diobair family plaids.

"And I've got some skills at the hammer throw," puts in Ewan. He pats his belly. "Girth's got its advantages, it has."

Roger's frown turns upside-down as, moments later, marching drums signal the start of the games.

The Creggwick Team marches onto the field with military precision, led by Angus.

A referee steps between the two teams. "The rules are simple. The teams from each village will compete in a series of seven events. Best out of seven wins. The winning village will retain rights to the heath separating the two villages. In the event Diobair Hollow loses, then Creggwick will take ownership of the village and all its properties. Will the Lairds please step forward?"

Angus and Roger step to the center. "Very well, please shake hands, and let the games begin."

A quick, hostile pump of the hands. "Ach!" yells out both men.

Then, the games start. The first event is sword fighting. Roger and Angus square off in full armor, making movement slow and clunky. Clung! Thrust!

Roger stumbles over his own feet and goes down in a jangle of metal. Creggwick cheers.

In the stands, Alex drops his head into his hands, ashamed. Jess nudges him in the arm. "Don't worry, we can beat these punks. Just gonna have to get our hands a little dirty to do it." She flicks at her nails, and a fake tip goes flying off.

Alex looks on in shock as Jess beams. He's impressed. "Who are you?" Jess just smiles.

The next event is rugby. Jess' rugby team faces the brutish Creggwick team. With only a few minutes left to play, the score is tied.

Samantha stands on the sidelines, looking worried as Jess doubles over from a vicious jab to the stomach. "Are you okay, honey?"

"I've got this, Mom," yells back Jess. She jumps up to retaliate, and within moments, the game has devolved into a brawl. A giant, throbbing mass of people, fighting. Hard to figure out who's who and who's winning until one Creggwick player comes flying out, lands flat on his back. Then another, tumbling out of the mix, nursing a black eye.

And another. And another. And another. Then, stepping out of the mix, muddy and bloody, and loving it, is Jess. She throws her hands up in the air, victorious... just as the ball lands right in her grasp.

Jess runs off, a desperate surge downfield where Jess's victims lie on the ground like minefields. She hurdles one. They rise up, slam into her. Jess goes tumbling, but manages to hold onto the ball. The charge downfield continues. Another opponent gets up, slams into Jess and she slams back! A mighty collision, both bodies flying.

But Jess never lets go of the ball. The goal is in sight when the biggest, meanest Creggwicker appears right in front of Jess's face grinning a nasty, snarling, toothless grin.

"God, you're ugly," comments Jess. She then rears her head back. "Time for a makeover." She whacks her forehead right into his. A brutal head butt and he goes down in a heap. Reeling herself, Jess forces focus, fires off a shot and it goes in!

A whistle blasts, ending the action. The referee yells out. "Winner... Diobair Hollow!

Jess is mobbed by her teammates and lifted on to their shoulders, a muddy, bloody, missing-nailed mess. And she couldn't be happier.

The caber toss is the third event. Duff squares off against a hefty rival. Each holds a long tapered pine pole. On the whistle, they hoist them into the air, run forward, and tosses it end over end.

The hefty rival's pole lands perfectly, and Creggwickers scatter as Duff's pole launches into the bleachers, which come crashing down. The referee glares at Duff, who shrugs.

It's Roger versus Tavish in the sheaf toss, which is the next event. Both stand off to the side of the raised poll, pitchforks in hand.

Tavish motions to the burlap sacks on the ground in front of them. "Age before beauty."

Roger shoots him a glare, steps forward, and stabs the burlap sack with all he's got. He really digs the tines in. Clearly, he's picturing Tavish on that bag.

"Looks like someone's got a little pent-up energy there, if ya know wot I mean," continues Tavish.

Fueled by hatred, Roger rocks and fires. Perfect form! The sack goes flying upward, hits the pole and lands right on top of it. Teetering on the edge, but not falling.

"Oh, come on!" calls out Roger. He stabs his pitchfork into the ground, angry.

"Close. But close won't cut it," smirks Tavish.

Roger pulls the pitchfork out and thrusts it toward Tavish. He recoils, bumps the pole stands... And the burlap sack comes tumbling down on the other side.

The scorekeeper yells out. "Point, Diobair Hollow."

Roger pumps his fist, proud. Tavish steps forward and stabs his own burlap sack. "Stand back, Yank. Lemme show ya how it's done." He turns to the scorekeeper. "Raise it half a meter!!"

A wave of 'ahs' from the crowd as the pole is raised. Tavish goes into his move and rocks back

Roger yells out. "I pity you, you know. Being the inspiration for such an overcompensating, impotent little scoundrel in the new book."

Tavish stumbles as Roger says 'impotent' and the sheaf tears open, straw flying everywhere. "Ach, hush your mouth! Not even a word of that!"

Tavish slams his pitchfork down... Right into his own foot! "Aaagghh!!"

The Scottish hammer throw is the fifth event, and Ewan is trying to make his team proud. He picks up the round metal ball that is attached to a wooden shaft. He then fixes his feet, and whirls the 'hammer.'

Thunk... It sticks in the ground a good distance away. Ewan smiles, proud of himself.

But then the Creggwicker fellow walks up and he's a massive hulk of a man. He picks up his hammer, whirls, throws...

It spins, end-over-end through the air, and comes down right on top of Ewan's hammer, its force pounding Ewan's hammer straight down into the ground and out of sight. All that's left is the Creggwick hammer.

The official marches over, looks down at the single hammer on the ground. "Point, Creggwick."

The stone putt is the sixth event of the competition, and it's Farquahar who is trying for Diobair Hollow. He shakes hands with his Creggwick opponent before the two of them pick up their stones.

The Creggwicker spins and throws. An impressive effort. He turns and beams, showing off.

Farquahar spins and throws. The stone flies straight toward the Creggwicker, who ducks just in time. He recovers, shocked, and turns to see Farquahar's stone landing on top of Creggwicker's, burying it in the turf. Exactly what happened to Ewan's hammer.

Farquahar yells out. "Now 'at's wot ya call payback."

The scorekeeper calls out. "Point, Diobair Hollow!"

It is the last event of the day and, as Roger huddles with Team Diobair Hollow, an official walks up to the loudspeaker. "For the first time in 45 years, we're tied three events-all going into the final. Which is a relay footrace obstacle course. So, whichever team finishes first, will win the day. Good luck, and let's get started."

Roger scans the troops. He glances around and sees that all eyes are on him. He's finally, officially and unquestionably, their leader. "This is it, gang. Ready?"

Alex nods. "We can do it, Dad."

Roger yells out in thick Gaelic. "Ay gorfloockingosten ack."

The locals thrust fists into the air, inspired. But from the family... slack jaws and confused looks.

Alex frowns. "Um, Dad? What did you say?"

Roger smiles. "I said... You're damn right, we can!"

Now it's the family that cheers.

The team gets ready and then, a few minutes later, Roger, Ewan, Alex, Jess, and Samantha take their positions along an obstacle course.

Roger looks over at their opponents, and sees Quentin limbering up with the Creggwick team. Damn impressive physique for a man of his age. Quentin turns, sticks his ass out for Roger to see. "Hope ye like the view."

"You're a traitor, you know that," calls out Roger.

"Aye, I can live with it. Yer a loser. Can ya live with that?"

Roger, incredulous, as he and his team take their positions, in order. Looks over, sees that his lines up perfectly with Quentin. They're both the anchors. Quentin starts doing plyometrics, showing how in-shape he really is. It's an impressive display.

Alex stares. "Whoa."

"Forget about him," says Roger. "Just... get in position, Alex. Get us off to a good start and Quentin won't matter at all."

Alex nods as he thought about the first leg, which was along a dry stretch of field. He then gets into position and waits. A few moment later the starter pistol fires... Crack!

Sara calls out. "Go, Alex!"

Alex turns to see Sara in the stands, waving furiously. He puts on a burst of speed, passing Creggwick.

At the end of the field, he passes the baton to Jess, who dives under barbed wire for the long crawling section of the course. Her rugby jersey gets caught in the wire, and as she struggles to free herself, Creggwick catches up and surges ahead.

Jess rips free of the wire, clothes torn, covered in mud, and thrusts a hand out to pass the baton to Samantha.

She takes off like a bat out of hell, up over climbing walls, clambering across jungle gyms as she nearly catches up to the Creggwick runner, Tavish!

Tavish glances over at her as she catches up. "Didn't ya know, I like to do the pursuin' rather 'an bein' pursued?

Samantha charges forward, side-by-side with him. "Fine by me." Crack! She plants a foot right in his chin, sends him stumbling backwards as she takes the lead.

Samantha hands the baton to Duff, who hurries through a mud pit and up a ladder, where Roger and Quentin await the handoff, waiting midway across a rope bridge over a pond. As Duff is about to hand the baton off, he falls... Splash! He disappears under the water

"Ha! Losers, you are!" Quentin takes his baton from Tavish and surges into the lead. Roger stands behind, in shock, until Duff rises up out of the water heroically, shaking it off and slapping the baton into Roger's hand.

"Go!" shouts Duff.

Roger clambers back up to the rope bridge, across, jumps into a pile of foam bricks, and sprints towards the finish line.

Quentin is just ahead of him, moving like quicksilver. Roger gives it all he's got and gains, and gains...

It's close, and Roger throws himself forward, out of control, stumbling and... Crack! He catches the heel of Quentin's shoe in his chin...

Roger goes down, skittering across the ground like a rolling snowball and taking Quentin down with him!

They tumble forward, the two men wrapped up with one another as they roll, all knees and elbows as thud, thump, thwack they crash towards the finish line.

They come to a sudden stop. Everyone surges forward to see the two men frozen in time, a photo finish of sorts..

Roger's hand is splayed across Quentin's face, smushing it and holding him back as his other hand stretches forward... Two inches short of the finish line!

Roger looks up, realizes it. Quentin does the same. Both men scramble, surge forward, and Roger slams his hand down across the line a split-second before Quentin!

Diobair Hollow goes wild. They rush to pick Roger up and hoist him on their shoulders.

An official calls out. "Diobair Hollow wins! And I'm out 100 bob!"

Creggwickers push Quentin around angrily as the Diobair Hollowans bursts into a lively Scottish song.

"Fellas, fellas, please... I did me best! Ach! That hurts." Quentin throws up his dukes and fights his way out of the scrum. He grins as he backs away. "That's wot I thought..."

But his grin fades as the Creggwickers all start to smile back at him.

Suddenly, a herd of sheep bowls Quentin over! He hits the ground, swallowed up by the herd, just elbows and arms flailing as they move on. And when they're gone, so is he.

Pastor Bunch thrusts his shotgun into the air. "Well met, Murphy! Well met!" A sheep bleats back at him in response.

Nearby, Samantha, Alex, and Jess push through to Roger. Samantha calls out. "You did it!"

Roger smiles. "We did it!"

Ewan and Duff stand by, watching the family celebrate.

"Quite a sight, innit?" speaks up Ewan.

Duff nods, then he howls... Jack has sicced on his ankle again. "Ah. There ye are. Come here, doggie. Time for ye to be going home to your frightful owner."

Ewan frowns. "Duff?"

"It's what we have to do, Ewan. Wot I meant by makin' it right. Besides, your mum will bail us out again, right?"

Ewan nods. "She always does."

The closing ceremonies are in full swing as a parade of bagpipers marches over the horizon. It's a wall of sound, the drone of the pipes filling the air.

And then, a solo. One bagpiper steps forward from the mix and the others quieten down as the lone bagpiper commands center-stage.

It's Alex. Roger slips an arm around Samantha and smiles. They are proud of Alex as he moves forward, playing just for Sara. It's not good. In fact, it's pretty bad. But Alex is giving it his all. And, when he finishes, there is complete silence.

Sara finally speaks. "That was... atrocious."

Alex is crushed. But Sarah continues speaking. "But very sweet." She walks forward and kisses him on the cheek. He grins.

Tavish inches up to Lucy, mildly nervous. "Oi, Lucy. Be alright if I asks you out, then?"

"What, with you playin' fer the other team and all?" answers Lucy.

"Jes wot are you implyin'?" says Tavish.

"That yer a dirty, lowdown bugger wot can't keep his filthy mitts off every skirt in our fair land."

"And wot if you were to cure me of such an addiction, by way of you an' me spendin' every wakin' hour in one another's arms?"

Lucy glares at him. He flashes his dimples at her and the glare is slowly replaced by a grin. "Alright, then."

Roger hops up on a picnic table. "Come on, everyone. I'm going to have a feast at my place. Ewan, can we handle that?"

"Yes, sir, er, Laird," answers Ewan. He salutes and hurries away.

Jess and her team follow him as they chatter excitedly about the game, followed by Alex and Sara.

Roger hops down from the table and takes Samantha's hand. "Are you sure you're okay with this? Staying on? I can't do it without you."

Samantha nods and smiles. "You couldn't keep me away."

Roger grins ear-to-ear as they follow the crowd towards the castle, where a banner with the Diobair colors flutters in the wind.

### Epilogue

One Year Later

Diobair Castle is marvelously restored, and even the village itself is epitomizing Roger's dream design.

At the heath clearing, the roped off mosaic is beautifully restored. Around it, a Spring Festival is in full swing. The whole village has turned out to show the tourists a good time.

Smiling and laughing, Jess and Duff toss a rugby ball around while Ewan mans a bake sale with dozens of patrons lined up to purchase.

By the livestock pen, Alex and Sara happily hold hands as he admires a prize-winning highland cow wearing a blue ribbon.

"So beautiful," comments Alex.

Sara blushes, then realizes that Alex is staring at the cow. "You really like cows, huh?"

Alex nods. "My parents think I believe a cow saved me from drowning once. Seems to make them happy to think it, so I play along. Seriously though, they are pretty cool creatures. Very interesting design."

"You're sweet," says Sara.

Alex turns and sees that she is smiling at him. He reaches forward and kisses her softly on the lips.

He breaks apart as Samantha yells out. "It came!" Alex turns and the two of them look on as Samantha rushes up and heads to a stall where Roger is arranging deviled eggs on a table with none other than Marge herself.

Roger looks up as his wife drops her armful of books upon the table and then shoves one into his hands.

"Look!" yells Samantha.

Roger stares at the cover, which is a picture of Diobair. The title reads: Laird of the Hollow by Samantha Diobair.

Roger whoops and grabs Samantha by the waist. He spins her around and Marge grins at the showing of affection.

As they jump around, Kincade walks past and yells out. "Ohgorfansolagger!"

Roger smiles and, not knowing what it means, yells back. "Right you are."

Meanwhile, in a small field somewhere close by, one lonely worker in a country crew jumpsuit toils away. Pausing for a moment from scooping up sheep poop with gloved hands, he looks towards the Spring Festival. And, as he does so, we see that the sour, unhappy face is none other than Quentin...

The End

Did you like or love this story? If so, please leave a review. As an Indie author, I need all the help I can get, and any good review will help me keep on writing. Thanks...

Oh, and in case you were wondering, this tale is inspired by a true story, in fact, there are quite a couple of stories out there about villages for sale or people inheriting villages from their relatives that they hardly knew. Just search the net, you'll be surprised at what you'll find...

