The head of the McKenzie clan stood with a pint of ale among a group of adult males, engaging in a lively and cheerful discussion.
“Ah, here come the youngsters!” Alaric joyfully said, giving Warren a friendly slap on the shoulder.
“Friends, let me introduce you to Megan, Malcolm's granddaughter. She arrived here a few days ago.”
Megan greeted them. The new acquaintances were curious indeed; they asked her about life in London and her impressions of Scotland. She responded, but eagerly awaited the chance to leave the adult company. After twenty minutes, she took advantage of a brief pause to ask Alaric, “Have you seen Duncan? Is he at the festival?”
“Yes, we came together, but he opted for some younger companions; he’s here somewhere. I suggest you look for a group of young ladies, Duncan will surely be at the center,” he laughed.
“Oh, that Duncan!” chuckled one of the older men. Everyone began to jovially discuss Duncan's love-persuits.
“I'll go look for him. Thank you for the advice,” Megan smiled.
In a moment, she blended into the crowd, trying to quickly disappear from the elders' view, before they have a chance to stop her. In reality, she wasn't really looking for her cousin but needed an excuse. She aimlessly wandered past the tents, peering into the faces of passersby, in hopes of seeing Derek. Roaming the fair, she didn’t notice how quickly time flew by. The sun had set, and she had neither encountered Derek nor any of her relatives. Some drunk men tried to strike up conversations with her, as the festival was in full swing. People grouped together around tables overloaded with food and drinks. Ritual fires were lit all around the fairground, illuminating the surroundings with their bright light.
Megan felt tired after several hours of walking. She was looking for a place to sit, but now all the seats were taken. Ordering a pint of ale at one of the tents, she asked what time it was.
“It’s only 10:15. The fern hasn’t bloomed yet,” said the man with a smile, handing her the drink.
Moving among the celebrators, it was possible to catch snippets of conversation. Many spoke of the mystical plant. Some sincerely believed in its blooming, others mocked the believers, especially those who planned to search for it at midnight. However, Megan didn’t pay much attention, as she was occupied with searching for Derek and had no intention of wandering the dark forest at night, in the hope of finding a mythical flower, which may or may not exist. Her gaze quickly scanned the faces around the tables.
As she moved away from the crowd, the hum of voices grew fainter. She walked down towards the river. Behind her, the folk festivities and the reflections of burning fires remained. She sat on one of the large stones at the water’s edge and thoughtfully looked ahead. There, on the hill, stood Castle Raven, and to the left, in the valley, was Castle Mal. They created such a beautiful and harmonious picture.
Megan turned abruptly when she felt someone sit beside her. And there he was, the one she had been waiting for. Calmly and silently, he gazed at the river.
“Derek!” I’ve been looking for you.” Her heart began pounding with joy.
“Really?” he asked, shifting his gaze from the river to her.
“You were in my room, not only the night I was attacked, but the other night too. You kissed me. I realized it wasn't a dream. Why did you secretly sneak into the castle in the middle of the night? You say you’re protecting me, but you appear in my bedroom and ignore my questions. Who the hell are you? And what do you want from me?” Megan asked assertively, eager for answers.
