Page 54 of Scot on the Run
The awkward silence continued even after they purchased tickets for the castle tour. Once they arrived at the gate, Ian faced her soberly. “Perhaps you’d like to explore on your own?”
She shook her head, searching his eyes for answers to the questions that troubled her. “No. I’ll stay with you. I’ve always heard it makes sense to tour with a local.”
He shrugged. “I’m not exactly a local, but I’ve definitely been here a few times. If I go overboard with the history stuff, feel free to rein me in… I tend to go on and on when I get on a roll.”
“No such thing as too much history,” she said stoutly. “You forget what I do.”
Fortunately for the awkward ambiance that had sprung up between them, the presence of numerous tourists made personal conversation impossible. Instead, Ian was as good as his word.
The castle was much larger than Bella had realized. Within its walls was a city in miniature. The views from the ramparts were amazing.
Though a scientist by trade and training, Ian knew as much or more than Bella did about the history of his own country. They toured the great hall, saw the crown jewels—the oldest in the British Isles—and photographed each other with the cannons of the famous Half Moon Battery. They even paused to witnessed the firing of the one o’clock gun which Bella had come to know was an Edinburgh tradition.
When they were ready to take a break from the sunshine, Ian led her to a weathered rock structure near the center of the complex. “You’ll like this, I think,” he said. “It’s the oldest surviving building in all of Edinburgh.”
They stepped through the low, arched doorway of the stone building into a small, narrow chapel. Immediately, peace and serenity enfolded them. Pale lemon light glowed from sconces on the plaster walls.
“It’s beautiful,” Bella whispered softly. For the moment, none of the throng of tourists outside disturbed them.
Ian’s voice echoed, even though his words were quiet. “The chapel was built in the early twelfth century by David I to honor his mother, Margaret. She was an English princess, but she and her family were forced to flee from England to Scotland following the Norman invasion. By all accounts she was a pious and beloved woman. When Robert the Bruce destroyed Edinburgh Castle roughly two hundred years later, he spared St. Margaret’s Chapel, and here it stands.”
“How extraordinary.” Bella wandered closer to the altar, trying to imagine the nine hundred years that had passed and all the souls who must have sought refuge within these walls.
Ian joined her at the braided rope that kept visitors at a safe distance. Fresh flowers scented the alcove. “The chapel is tended by a special guild whose members keep an eye on things. They also supply the flowers. Everyone in the guild is named Margaret, either first name, or middle.”
When Bella sucked in an audible breath, Ian gave her a quizzical glance. “What did I say?” he asked.
She smiled at him, feeling off-kilter and amazed. “My middle name is Margaret. I never told anyone when I was growing up, because I always hated it. Seemed old-fashioned and old-lady-ish.”
“I think it’s a lovely name,” Ian said. “Arabella Margaret Craig.”
Bella winced and sighed when a family of five tromped through the door talking loudly. “After today, I’ll wear my name proudly,” she said. “Thank you for the tour, Ian.”
They stepped aside to let the newcomers read the plaques and make a quick circuit of the small space. Fortunately, the trio of preteen boys was more interested in armaments than religious relics. Their parents led them away, leaving Bella and Ian alone once again.
Her companion seemed preoccupied now. “Any other tidbits I should know before we leave?” she asked lightly.
Ian shrugged. “I’m told they have weddings here… and baptisms. This room wouldn’t hold many, though. I suppose most people are interested in the view outside.”
“Not me,” Bella said. “Think how perfect and intimate this would be.” Especially for someone who had dedicated her adult life to studying courtship and marriage in Europe.
Yet another group of tourists intruded on the simple, quiet spot, forcing Bella and Ian to give up and leave.
Ian put on his sunglasses once they were outside. “We’ve pretty much seen all there is to see. Let’s head back, if that’s okay with you. I’ve made reservations at a special restaurant tonight. I hope you like French cuisine.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Bella said, feeling her spirits lift. She had made up her mind. There would be no rehashing of their one and only intimate encounter. As far as she was concerned, all that mattered was the here and now. They would enjoy Edinburgh as friends.