HIGHLAND GAMES, CENTRAL VIRGINIA
The Hotel - Present Day
Rubric Kensington, a heavy-set man with a pair of wire-rimmed bifocals resting on his bulbous nose from too much drink stared with envy at the strapping Highlander standing at the desk. Life was so unfair, he thought as his wife Mildred for thirty years come Sunday after next made a spectacle of herself giggling like a smitten school girl while fanning her over heated face.
“The bus should be back any minute now.” She leaned forward, propping elbows up on the desk and her chin on her hands.
Rubric rolled his eyes. He had never seen the woman get that exited around him, even when he was younger. He nudged her backside.
“Give the lad some room to breathe, woman.”
She cut Rubric one of her staple angry glares. The same one he had seen for thirty years.
“Go in back and get one of the maps for our guest,” she snapped.
Rubric rubbed his meaty hands together and tried to suck in his gut as he pressed his shoulders back. “You go get the lad a map.”
Her eyes narrowed at him menacingly, another look he knew all too well that meant he was digging himself in deep and if he didn’t do her bidding there would be hell to pay later.
“Fine,” he huffed and turned on his heel, stomping into the back room.
“Fifteen minutes?” Gavin asked, shifting uncomfortably under her scrutinizing stare.
She waved her hand. “It should be back anytime now.” She gave him a toothy grin.
Gavin smiled in return, just a little one. He felt a bit uncomfortable to say the least.
“So, will ye be returning this evening?”
“Nay, I do no believe I will.”
“Oh.” Her smile vanished. “Have you been to the games before?”
“Nay. Not these games.”
She frowned. “I love your colors.” She reached out to touch the material. “It looks so authentic. Not like the other rabble rousers that come here once a year.”
“Aye, it is. Old, I mean ta say.”
“Was it a relative of yours? I haven’t seen those colors before. What clan are you with?”
“Grey,” he said.
“Grey?” She leaned back, frowning. “That doesn’t look like the plaid from the Grey clan that I have seen. And trust me when I say, I have seen a lot of plaids.” Her penciled brows lifted to her hairline as she inspected the material closer.
“This is from the old Grey clan.”
“Hmm…” She tapped her chin. “From what part of Scotland?”
“Around the northern region, near Loch Morar.”
Her face showed her surprise. “I can’t say I’ve met a Highlander representing a clan from there before.” She leaned back and scratched her head. “What’s your motto?”
“We do not have one.”
“Pish posh.” She waved her hand. “Every clan has a motto except….” Her eyes rounded with surprise.
“I’ve got the map, Mildred.” Rubric hustled back into the room, huffing and puffing from trying to hold in his distended belly.
“For God’s sake Rubric, stop panting. You sound like a dog.”
Rubric glared at his wife and handed the map to the lad. “Here you go.”
“I thank ye for yer troubles.” Gavin took the map.
“You are welcome,” he said. “Now, you better get, the bus is here.” Rubric pointed a stubby finger towards the door.
Gavin looked over his shoulder, spotting the bus. Thankful he had a reason to leave, he tucked the map into his plaid. “Have a nice day,” he said, repeating what his lass, usually said to people.
“Same to you,” Rubric called. Once the lad was on the bus, he turned to his wife. Her face was pale and there was a light sheen of sweat on her face.
“Mildred?” Rubric eyed her warily. “What is wrong with you?”
Mildred turned her haunted eyes on Rubric. “Ye will no believe this...” she said falling back into her Scottish accent the one she rarely used nowadays. “ I think we just saw a ghost.”
Rubric was accustomed to hearing a lot of things from his wife but this would not be one of them. “Mildred, what the devil are you spouting now?”
“I’m telling ye…he is a ghost.”
“Who? The Highlander?”
“Aye, Rubric, the Highlander,” she snapped.
“Mildred…” He gave her a look of disbelief. “Have you been nipping in my whiskey again?”
“Och, Rubric, I have no been nipping in yer whiskey.”
“Sherry?”
“No.” She stomped her foot in frustration making her orthopedic shoe squeak on the floor.
Rubric sighed. “Why do you say that?”
“He is wearing their plaid.”
“Whose plaid?”
“The thirteen.”
“The thirteen what?”
She bustled over to the book case on the far wall and pulled out an ancient book on clans. Flipping through the pages, she found what she was looking for. “See…” She stabbed the page with her finger.
Rubric shoved his bifocals up on his nose and peered down at the picture. Sure enough, there was a Highlander on the page with twelve others that looked a lot like the man who was just in the lobby. “Mildred…that’s just an old-wives- tale…you can’t really be thinking…”
“I am, Rubric.” She nodded her head emphatically.
“Now, Mildred…I doubt that lad was one of them. Surely he just has a resemblance…”
“Rubric, I know what I saw. And so do ye.”
For support, Rubric leaned back against the chair in the lobby. “Well, you better call Tilde, and let her know a live one is coming her way.”
“Ye took the words right out of me mouth.” With a spryness that had been long absent in her step, Mildred rushed over to the desk and made a phone call.
With a shaking hand, Rubric pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped the sweat from his brow. Unlike Mildred, he hoped the lad changed his mind and stayed put, because nothing good ever came from revisiting the past.