There were winters where Blair and I would walk through the castle when it was too cold to go outside and we had nothing better to do. Lennox would be away with friends or have friends to stay while Blair had escaped the parties and gatherings she tired of quickly and stayed at home.
She took me to the left wing one January, the day the first snowdrops showed their heads. There was a closed door, up a set of dusty stairs, the walls bare and in need of painting and the banister wobbled as she held on, leading me somewhere I’d never been.
She was fifteen and beautiful, blonde ethereal hair and creamy skin that looked as if I’d mar it should I ever touch.
And I wanted to touch.
The door into the rooms that were closed off are the same now as it had been then. Arched and wooden with blackened metal hinges and a door knob that looks just as important.
“Why’s this not used?” Isaac says from over my shoulder.
“It isn’t needed. The rooms downstairs are enough for entertaining.” I push open the door with my shoulder, needing to force it some.
The room’s in darkness, unlit for probably years, maybe since Blair and I were last here.
“We need light.” Isaac mumbles, sounding frustrated that he can’t see what’s in the space.
I fumble for the light switch. A couple of bulbs blow as soon as I turn them on, half the room still shrouded in shadows.
I hear Isaac exhale as he sees what’s in the room.
Sheets cover statues and carvings, some have fallen off exposing stone and marble. Around the room, huge portraits of the lairds and head of the clans are gathered, looking at a space that’s seen nothing but the dance of dust from the draughts that sneak their way in here and the odd mouse that’s escaped the traps.
“Fucking hell.” Isaac’s voice seems to wake the air in the room.
“You forget how big the place is.”
“And how much history it has.”
I watch him stay still and look around, keen eyes absorb every picture and object.
“The furniture?”
He’s looking at a chaise lounge, the cover moth eaten and full of holes.
“Not needed and I don’t think the King thought it was his place to get rid of it. It’s been like this since Blair and I were kids.”
He starts to walk round, pulling away the sheets that cover the statues and furniture that haven’t seen light for decades, pausing to look at the portraits of the lairds and lasses with their dogs and dresses and kilts. It screams of Scotland and its heritage and I wonder what the boy from the other side of the island thinks of it all.
“Don’t let her show William this.”
His words are fierce and direct
“She doesn’t show anyone. But why are you so adamant he can’t see it?”
Isaac turns to me, across the room, standing next to what looks like a drinks cabinet.
“Because he hates Scotland. Because if he doesn’t reunify the two countries he’ll lose his job and his career and he won’t be anything his father wants him to be.”
“Why’s he so under his father’s thumb? Everything he does seems to stem from his father.”
Isaac laughs and it’s cold and heartless. Almost mocking.
“Our father’s not exactly sane.”
“Our?”
He hasn’t let it slip by accident.
