The trip to Scotland had been wonderful. My roots were there, in the Highlands, and I’d always wanted to visit. Now, it was time to go home. We were driving along the curvy roads toward the south of Scotland when we saw the old castle. Old, but in good repair. It had not been on any of the tour schedules we had seen. We pulled into the driveway.
No one was around, but the castle door was open. There was a sign out front that said, “MacDonald Tower. Enter at your Own Risk.” We looked at each other. That gave us pause, but one of the clans from which I was descended was Clan MacDonald so I was intrigued. Without speaking, we entered the open door.
It was dim inside. The ascent up the stairs was steep, but there was no other place to go. We began to climb. As we got to the top of the stairs, we heard a growl and a gruff voice said, “Who goes there?”
We replied, “Visitors to your home.” No answer.
When we left, much later, we were in shock. Our car was gone and two mules stood in its place. We began to walk. We didn’t walk far until we realized that it wasn’t 2018 anymore. We now knew what “enter at your own risk” meant. Entering that castle and speaking with the Laird had transported us back to the Middle Ages. How would we get home again?
*Thanks to Sue Vincent
The Write Scribe 