My Heart's in the Highlands (31 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Milwaukee Museum of Art

Milwaukee, WI

November 2012

“Mikah!
  What are you doing here?  It’s the biggest shopping day of the year!  Go home!”

“You think I’m going to brave those crowds, Bernie?” Mikah called over her shoulder on the way to her office, spinning her key ring around one finger.
  “I might be crazy but I’m not downright stupid!”

The front desk attendant at the Milwaukee
Art Museum laughed and waved, and Mikah joined in until her office door closed behind her.  The smile faded away as Mikah shed her coat, scarf, and purse and dropped into her office chair with a weary sigh, as if forcing happiness took a lot of effort to maintain. 

And it did.

The last two months had been filled with people hovering about her with open concern.  While she appreciated their caring, she had quickly tired of everyone voicing their worries and had decided the quickest way to solve the problem was to be happy … or at make them all think she was.

It was getting harder and harder to do because some part of Mikah was certain that
their jokes about being crazy weren’t simply jests.  Why else would that dream adhere to her so? This wasn’t like before, when it had been a few random, vague dreams.  Now it clung to her like a memory that wouldn’t fade, and she didn’t know how to make it go away.

Of course, there was part of her that didn’t really want to.
  She wanted to keep Ian alive in her mind and heart.  And that was simply nuts.

She had talked over the pr
oblem with a few trusted friends, who provided honest sympathy but told her that she just needed to let it go.  Date.  Have fun.  Live a little.  She would never meet new guys if all she ever did was go to work and go home.  They teased that it would require a little more variety than that.

Mikah had even gone to see a psychologist
, who had told her the same thing.  Not in so many words, obviously, but the gist of their sessions had been the same.

Only her best friend, Kris, had agreed that she’d gone around the bend.
 

Pure honesty
; she loved that about Kris.

Acceptance is always the first step
in conquering any obsession.  But Mikah was dragging herself to the second step just as she did when she dragged herself to work each day, and it wasn’t just the snow and slush of early winter holding her back.  When she had first gotten back from Scotland, she’d dreamt of Ian again and again, reliving those finals moments on the balcony. 

Never the tender moments or the sensual ones
, like she had known before any of this started.  Just the terror and pain.  Reliving his death over and over until she would wake screaming, her heartache tearing her to pieces.

Now there was nothing.
  She hadn’t had a dream of Ian in weeks.  It was if the story that had been building in her mind her entire life had run its course.  It was over.

All she was left with were memories that she hoarded as if they would be ripped away from her as well.
  In a true moment of madness, Mikah had found herself talking to him out loud one night, telling him about her day.

It had to stop.
  She knew it but somehow she couldn’t let him go.

Getting a cup of coffee and carrying it into her office, Mikah sat, elbows on her desk
, and buried her face in her hands, rubbing at her eyes.  She couldn’t go on like this.  This obsession was starting to affect her work.

Picking up a pile of mail, Mikah thumbed through them with half a mind.
  Flyers for estate sales, letters of small country museums closing and looking for a home for their exhibits, catalogs, and so on.  Mikah worked through the pile, and about half way through, pulled out a thick 9 x 12 envelope.  Slicing it open, she pulled out an auction catalog, only to drop it with a gasp as she pushed away from the desk.

Scrambling to retrieve it, Mikah stared down at the auction catalog with eyes wide with shock.
  Rubbing her eyes, Mikah looked again. Dùn Cuilean?  No, it truly was.  It was actually a real castle and not just a figment of her imagination.  How was that possible?

Clutching the catalog, Mikah grabbed her
coat and purse and ran from the museum, ignoring Bernie’s worried cries.  She slipped and skidded across the employee parking lot until she was in her car. 

Starting it, Mikah gripped
the steering wheel with both hands, taking a deep, shuddering breath.  She looked up at the museum, its arcing white spines opened wide today, giving the impression of a bird or glider ready to take flight.  Her heart racing and blood pumping, Mikah thought she was ready to soar as well.

“Mikes, come on in!” Kris called from the sofa when Mikah simply opened the door and entered without knocking.
  She tossed her purse unceremoniously into a nearby chair.

“Well, Kris
, I think I’ve finally truly lost it.”

“What? Again?” Kris answered
sarcastically.  “Come, have some wine and shock me again.”

“Kris, it’s eleven in the morning!”

“And I’ve been up since five shopping, honey.  I need a drink,” Kris replied, looking over the top of the glass at Mikah.  “You look about ready to pop.  What’s up?”

“Okay, I know you thought I was going completely cuckoo there for a while
, and I was right there with you.  I was a believer,” Mikah said, stripping off her coat and pacing the room.

“And something has happened to change all that?”

“Yes.  This.”  Mikah tossed the catalog into Kris’s lap.

“And this is?”

“That is Cuilean, Kris.  Dùn Cuilean. 
My
Cuilean!”  Mikah was nearly panting with excitement as she tapped the picture on the cover.

“You do need a drink
… or two.”  Kris said, flipping through the first few pages of the catalog.  “So, it’s similar.  A castle is a castle, isn’t it?”

“Not similar,” Mikah insisted with a shake of her head as she dropped down next to Kris on the sofa and took the catalog
, opening it to a random page and pointing.  “The same.  Look at this.  Item 27.  That is the painting that hung next to the window in the dining room.  Item 48.  That is my music box.  The one Ian and I danced to.”

“Mikah
…”

“No, look!
  Item 179.  That’s my dress.  I wore that dress,” Mikah said insistently.  “All of these things are from my Cuilean.  And look at the picture on the front.  That’s the castle.  It’s real.  It’s all real.”

“You’re starting to scare me, girl.”

“I’m pretty terrified, too.  But that was my life.  I know every nook and cranny of a place I’ve never been.”  A wide smile split Mikah’s lips.  Perhaps the first real one she had felt since her return.  “It wasn’t all a dream.  It couldn’t be.  So tell me, am I nuts or not?”

“You are a mixed bag of cashews, peanuts
, and almonds.”

“Kris, come on!”

Kris took the brochure once more and looked down at the cover, seeing the castle just as Mikah had described
it months ago, and looked back up at her eager face, not knowing what to think.  He had known Mikah since they were in kindergarten back in Oshkosh.  They had been best friends ever since she had pushed him off the playground swings on the second day of school.

Through all the years, she had stood by him.
  Through the worst of it, she had defended him against bullies and teasing in junior high and high school.  She had held his hand tightly when he had come out seven years before and had never let go.  They’d been there for each other during the good and the bad, through breakups and outright dumpings.

But this was crazy.
  The queen of crazy. 

Unless
…

“There’s a history here of the castle.”
  Kris tilted the catalog toward Mikah for a second before reading the brief synopsis.  Dùn Cuilean had been the ancestral home of the Earls of Maybole and the Marquis of Ayr until into the 1950s, when it had been closed up for almost thirty years.  It had been reopened in the 1980s as an exclusive bed and breakfast.  But with the struggling economy, they were closing and selling to
Historic Scotland
, who would open the castle as a museum. 

Many items found in the castle were being kept for display
, but the bulk of the estate was being sold off to cover the owner’s losses.

The rest of the catalog listed pictures and descriptions of
thousands of pieces of art, furniture, and décor that were included in the auction.  Flipping it shut, Kris stared down at the cover, smoothing his hand across the glossy picture.  It had never occurred to him that this Cuilean was a real place.    He shook his head stupidly.  Why would it have?

Neither had it occurred to Mikah.

It had been a dream, hadn’t it?
   But how could she have dreamt of a place in such detail?

Drawing his laptop onto his lap, Kris
Googled Dùn Cuilean and Mikah leaned against his arm with an exclamation, wondering why she hadn’t thought to do the same.  Immediately the screen was filled with options, proving that the castle truly did exist. 
Historic Scotland
, the organization that funded dozens of museums throughout Scotland—including GoMA, Mikah pointed out—had their fingers into Cuilean.  It was a national marvel, a fine representation of Adam’s work.  There was a website for the B and B, for tours of Scotland’s greatest castles, for ghost tours.  The list went on and on.

Under the images tab, they
found thousands of pictures.  Some were professionally done, showing the exterior and interior rooms, while others were amateur shots taken by tourists.  Clicking on the one for the bed and breakfast, Kris found a more detailed history of the castle and family.  It detailed the history of the Mayboles, the Ayrs, and the Conaghams—and that’s when they found it.

A story telling of the
Third Marquis of Ayr, who had been murdered along with his wife of just a week.  The story went on to detail how the marchioness’s father, the Duke of Beaumont, and another had been witness to the murders and apprehended the killer.  The duke, who had been out of the public eye for several years, returned to London, using his influence and connections to push the trial through the courts.  One Camron Kennedy was quickly found guilty and hanged for the murders.