Lesson 2 First Contact

"Why aren't you wearing a kilt?" a lady asked me, disapproval radiating from her.

"Only the men do." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I got this question almost every day.

"But you'd look so much more Scottish with a kilt."

Tourists. I hated them so much. Yet it was my job to keep them happy.

I forced a sweet smile. "I'll pass your feedback on to my manager. Now, are there any other questions before we finish this tour?"

The same woman raised her hand, a challenge blazing in her dark eyes. "Do you play the bagpipes? We were promised bagpipes."

My colleague Tim rescued me before I could resort to murder. He waved a stack of postcards at the group of mostly elderly well-to-dos. "Grab a postcard, everyone; there's a discount code for the shop printed on the back. You'll find some wonderful souvenirs in our shop, including kilts and bagpipes."

He winked at me, knowing my pain all too well. He'd been doing this job longer than me. With his red curls, green eyes and MacCallum kilt, he looked Scottish enough to satisfy the tourists, but as soon as he opened his mouth and revealed his Canadian accent, they looked at him as if he'd personally betrayed them.

I half-heartedly waved goodbye at my group and headed back into the castle. Behind the shop was a crammed wee room for us tour guides to hang out. Someone had made a pot of tea and it was still lukewarm. I poured myself a cup and collapsed on an uncomfortable wooden chair that looked right at home in this medieval castle.

My legs ached from walking and standing all day. Only one more tour, then I could head home.

"Any coffee left?"

Sharon poked her head into the room. She was the senior guide who'd trained me all those years ago. Back when I'd thought I'd only do this job for a season and then travel the world. Yeah, right.

"Nope, but there's lukewarm tea."

"Nah, thanks. I'll make more coffee instead. I've got a planning meeting in twenty minutes and I bet it's going to last at least two hours. I need proper caffeine."

I bit back a comment about how tea contained caffeine as well. I knew Sharon was teasing me. We'd had this discussion many times, the friendly argument between a tea and a coffee addict.

"What's the meeting about?" I asked while she busied herself with the coffee machine.

"Unicorns. Yeah, you heard that right. Someone at Head Office had the brilliant idea to stick some horns on horses. They've been trialling it at Edinburgh Castle and the kids loved it, so now they want to send them here, too."

"Do they look halfway realistic?"

"Maybe if you're a four-year-old." Sharon chuckled. "Two of the unicorns will be here tomorrow for a photo op. I think you did the social media posts for the Mary Queen of Scots exhibition, right? Want to do the same for the unicorns?"

That sounded a whole lot better than leading entitled tourists through the castle all day. "Sounds good. I'll bring my proper camera tomorrow."

Sharon plopped onto the chair next to me, exhaustion lining her face. "Maybe stick to your phone. That way, it might not be as obvious that the horns are made from cardboard."

I loved arrivingat the castle at sunrise. The hills in the distance were painted a hundred shades of orange and red, while the castle walls themselves glinted golden. I imagined what people hundreds of years would have thought of that sight. A golden castle, proof that the royal line was indeed appointed by God.

One of the security guards had unlocked the gates, but I was the first guide to arrive. I'd always been a morning person, so this wasn't unusual. I enjoyed experiencing the castle during this quiet time. History seemed to seep from the walls, waiting to be acknowledged by anyone who would listen. Later, it would be too loud to really soak in the atmosphere. It was kind of sad that the tourists only got half the experience of visiting the castle. Being surrounded by others, hearing a dozen different languages and the sounds of modern life, distracted from the true essence of being in a historic place.

I made a big pot of tea and poured myself the second cup of the day. It would be one of many more. A loud yawn announced Tim before he entered the guides' room, looking as if he'd barely slept.

"How do you look so awake?" he grumbled. "It's not fair."

"Long night?"

"Terry took me to the opera in Glasgow. We missed the last train, so we slept at the station. The first train was at 4am, so I've had about an hour's actual sleep in my bed. Terry's shift doesn't start until noon, so the bastard gets to snooze while I have to work."

While he continued complaining, I handed him a mug. "You stay here and get some rest. I'll put up the signs."

Tim shot me a grateful but tired look. "You sure?"

"I owe you for saving me from that group yesterday."

He grinned. "That's what colleagues are there for."

I gulped down a few sips of hot tea, burning my throat yet too impatient to wait for it to cool down, then collected the signs from the shop. They displayed the castle's opening times and entry prices, although I doubted the point of them. Visitors would usually ask about both at the ticket office even though the signs were right in front of them.

Heaving the heavy wooden signs to the front gates, I noticed a lone man standing next to a horse at the other end of the parking lot. Hadn't Sharon mentioned two unicorns? Maybe one had lost its horn.

With the sun behind him, their silhouettes were dark against the morning light, looking almost magical. I pulled out my phone and took a quick picture, then quickly set up the signs before I forgot.

The guy stayed in place, waiting for me to approach. His horse was huge, towering above him. I knew nothing about horses, but this one seemed exceedingly tall. Maybe they'd chosen it especially for the unicorn gig, since that would make it even more imposing when surrounded by small children.

Up close, the horse was even larger. I'd underestimated how tall the man next to it was. I wasn't small, but next to him, I felt tiny. His shoulders were broad, his black t-shirt too tight for his muscular arms. He either had a job other than chaperoning fake unicorns or worked out every day. I blinked against the sun, trying to make out his features. He was bald; not a look I usually liked, but it only made him seem more attractive.

I chastised myself for letting my thoughts stray that way. I was here in a professional capacity. Maybe I was about to get my period. That always messed with my hormones and turned me into a cat in heat.

"Are you here for the photoshoot?" I asked. "Wait, don't answer that. I don't think we're going to get any other unicorns visiting us today."

My mouth was running away from me. Think before you speak, Tara. But he was making me nervous. He was intimidating and attractive and looking at me way too intensely. His gaze swept over me from top to bottom, as if he was ingraining every detail into memory. I felt strangely naked under his gaze.

I forced myself to focus on the horse. It was safer than to risk meeting his eyes and get drawn into their depths.

"That horn looks really realistic," I blurted. "I assumed it would be a cardboard roll or something silly like that, but this is beautiful. How do you make it shimmer that way?"

The horse snorted, hot steam rising from its nostrils. Its fur was a silvery white all over, reflecting the morning sun. Its large eyes were a stunning turquoise framed with silver lashes. The mane looked freshly brushed and a few golden ribbons had been tied into it. I wondered if the guy had done that or someone else. He didn't look the type to care much about ribbons.

The horn was a curved spire of silver and gold. I couldn't quite determine what material it was made from. Definitely not plastic. It reminded me of mother-of-pearl, but that couldn't be right. How was it even attached? I couldn't see any cords. Surely they hadn't glued it on? That would be cruel.

I wanted to reach out and touch the horn, but the huge horse was intimidating. It stared at me just like I'd stared at the fake unicorn. Its eyes sparked with intelligence. I'd never been around horses much, but I was starting to feel like this horse was special.

"You can touch her," the man answered my unspoken question. He had a slight accent, but it was barely noticeable.

"Sure she won't bite?"

"She won't bite you."

I faked a smile, not sure if he was making a joke.

"Does she bite other people?"

"Sometimes. She stabbed me once. I almost died."

Alright, he had to be joking. That horn was fake and couldn't be hard enough to stab someone.

I turned to look at him and realised his intense gaze was still fixed on me. "Are you making fun of me?"

"Never."

He said it with such conviction that I didn't doubt him in the slightest. Everything about him was intense. His huge body, his dark eyes that seemed almost black, every word that came from his perfectly shaped lips. Lips that looked very kissable indeed.

I took a step back to get some distance between us. This situation was becoming ever stranger. I should take them into the castle and start taking some pictures. For some reason, I didn't want to stay alone with him any longer. Not because he was making me uncomfortable. Because he was making me feel too comfortable.

"Follow me," I said and turned around before I could change my mind. "There's a great spot in the Queen Anne Garden where you can see the castle looming up above. And after that, we can go into the inner courtyard for some pictures in front of the Royal Palace."

The horse's hooves click-clacked over the cobblestone, but the man's steps were silent. I was tempted to look over my shoulder to make sure he was following me.

The security guard by the gate stared at us, his eyes wide. "That unicorn looks very real," he muttered to me. "I didn't know horses could be that big."

I shrugged and waited until he lifted the barrier that prevented cars from driving into the castle complex. Something warm touched my shoulder, followed by a burst of hot air against the side of my face.

"Turn very slowly," the stranger said, his voice calm. "No sudden movements."

I did as instructed, coming face to face with the unicorn. She kept her muzzle on my shoulder. Something akin to humour twinkled in her turquoise eyes, but I had to imagine that.

"Reach up and stroke her cheek. She likes that."

I gingerly rubbed the soft fur beneath the horse's eye. She snorted and pushed against my hand as if to ask for more.

"I'll take a picture," the guard announced. "You two look adorable together."

I frowned. I didn't want to be called that. The horse was adorable, yes, despite her intimidating size, but not me.

Without warning, her tongue shot out and licked my ear. Yuck.

"Can I step away from her now?" I asked the horse's owner, realising at the same time that I didn't even know his name. I'd forgotten all about polite introductions. That wasn't professional at all. I was representing not just the castle team, but all of Historic Scotland, the charity looking after many of Scotland's ancient sites. I had to get my act together and stop being so affected by the stranger's presence.

"Slowly, don't startle her. She likes you."

Great. I stroked her warm cheek one last time, then stepped back. She inclined her head a little, then snorted happily. At least that's how I interpreted it.

"I'll send you the pictures later," the guard promised.

I probably wouldn't take him up on that. I hated seeing pictures of myself. I preferred to be behind the camera where I could indulge my insecurities.

Now that the barrier was up, I led the stranger and the horse through the gate and up the uneven cobblestone path until we got to the gardens. The roses were in their final days of bloom and their sweet fragrance filled the air. It was one of my favourite parts of the castle complex.

Ignoring the ‘don't step on the grass' signs, I headed to the wall looming high above us. When I stopped to make sure they'd followed me onto the grass, I wasn't surprised to have the stranger stare at me intensely once again.

"That beech tree over there is over two hundred years old," I said, falling into my tour guide routine. "And did you know that Queen Anne, after whom this garden is named, never actually visited the castle?"

"I did not know that," the man said, an amused smirk twisting his lips. "And there's something else I don't know. Your name."

"Tara. Tara Crawford."

He touched two fingers to his forehead and gave me a short bow. "Bruin, son of Tholin."

Again, I felt like he was making fun of me, yet his expression was sincere. I couldn't make head nor toe of this man.

He stroked the horse's mane, getting a soft whinny in response. "And this is An'tia. She is as pleased to meet you as I am."

The unicorn stared at me. Her turquoise eyes seemed to turn into swirling whirlpools, pulling me in. Unseen ropes wrapped around my chest, restricting my breathing. My knees buckled, yet I couldn't look away from those gorgeous eyes. I was trapped, held in place by a force I had no words to describe. My body was frozen, yet my mind was free as I floated towards the unicorn, pulled into the depths of her soul.