Chapter Four

The atmosphere in the café held a note of quiet expectation as Irene cupped the warm mug of cocoa. The whipped cream was so thick it looked like a swirl of ice cream. As promised, there was a generous topping of chocolate and sugar sprinkles. The room was so hushed, she imagined she could hear snowflakes drift over the windowpanes. More people had entered the café, but there was a subdued quality about them, as though they were in church.

The rugby player had joined the elderly couple at a table not far away from hers. The older gentleman fed soup to his wife, even though his hand was so large he had a difficult time holding the small spoon. Although his wife opened her mouth to accept the broth, her eyes were vacant, and her skin was the color of parchment. But the tender, loving expression the man gifted his wife took Irene’s breath away.

She sighed as she drew the mug of cocoa to her lips, savoring the taste of the rich whipped cream and sprinkles. A low chuckle drew her attention back to the rugby player and his parents. He caught her gaze and smiled at her. As his smile broadened, he touched his fingers to his nose and then his mouth.

She felt the instant warmth of a blush spread from her neck to her face. Was he flirting with her? She cast a furtive glace over her shoulder to make sure he was looking at her and then it registered.

Irene tested her tongue on her upper lip. It was covered in cream. She snatched up a napkin, feeling the heat of the blush deepen. She ducked her head to the side and wiped the cream off her face. He’d been staring at her. She sat up a little straighter. When she turned back, his attention had been drawn to his parents. The moment was lost.

What are you doing? Irene took another sip of cocoa, careful to avoid wearing the whipped cream this time. You vowed to give up on relationships. Remember? Besides, knights in shining armor who are also devoted to their parents are either married or engaged. You are here to unlock your mother’s secrets. You are not here for romance.

With that thought in mind, she reached for the diary in her tote bag. The cloth cover was the shade of meadow grass and so worn it was held together by rubber bands and oversized binder clips. Newspaper and travel magazine clippings were pasted on many of the pages, and a few had drawings or quotes. There were even recipes and photographs.

Her mother had touched these pages. Holding the diary and re-reading her words made Irene feel closer to the memories. The three of them, she, her twin sister Louise, and their mother, used to say that anything was possible as long as they stuck together. Even after their mother had married, fifteen years ago, the bond between them hadn’t wavered.

Louise was the artist in the family. She’d leave slips of paper around the house with lines of poetry beneath her sketches. When Irene announced she was going to law school, Louse had said she was going to be a New York Times bestselling children’s book author. They’d both accomplished their goals.

Her sister had wanted to come along on this trip but had just found out she was pregnant. Irene was doing this for both of them.

Irene felt her breath catch in her throat as she opened the diary and turned to the entry she’d read in the taxicab.

Dear Diary,

One of my favorite movies as a child was Brigadoon with Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse. I always wondered what it would be like to discover a love as strong as theirs. And then I visited Scotland, the place where this wonderful legend took place, and met Connor. The last lines in the movie seem to have been written with us in mind: “…when you love someone deeply enough anything is possible. Even miracles.”

“That’s beautiful.”

Startled, Irene lifted her gaze toward Bridget, then quickly swiped at her wet cheeks and tucked the diary back into her tote bag. “It belonged to my mother. She passed away.” Irene pulled the tote bag closer to her on the bench. Now why’d she say that? It was unlike her to share so much with strangers. She sat up straighter. “The hot cocoa is wonderful. Thank you.”

Bridget’s smile broadened. “It’s a family secret. Our mother used to say she added a dash of magic before it was served.”

“My mother said things like that too, when she baked.” Irene tightened her hold on her bag. “Whoa, not sure why I’m sharing. I blame the jet lag. I’m usually not this talkative.”

Bridget’s laughter was as soft as a whisper. “It is understandable. The memories of those we’ve loved are always closest to us this time of year. When you’ve finished your cocoa, you can proceed to the line. Our sister, Lady Roselyn, will explain everything you’ll need to know about the tour once you’re inside.” She handed Irene an antique-looking key with a red velvet ribbon attached. “This is for the locker where you can store your clothes after you’ve changed into a costume appropriate for thirteenth-century Scotland.”

“Costume?”

Bridget pushed the key closer to Irene. “Fiona must have forgotten to tell you. She’s been a little distracted of late. She was recently betrothed. She…” Bridget waved aside whatever else she had intended to say. “Anyway, dressing in the clothes of the period enhances the adventure. It’s actually my favorite part. The tour becomes more than a museum-like experience.” Bridget hesitated. “But if you’d rather not, you’ll still enjoy our more traditional tour. However, you should make your decision soon. Those with the keys are lining up on the far right.”

The café had indeed come to life. The families, along with about a dozen others, had decided against the costume option and were headed to an entrance on the opposite side of the room. Everyone else was navigating to the men’s and women’s changing rooms Bridget had indicated.

Irene had traveled to Scotland to get away from everything and everybody, in order to find answers. That was what this Christmas pilgrimage was all about. Shedding her modern clothes seemed like a great idea, if only for a few hours. She gulped down her cocoa and grabbed the key before she changed her mind.