wasn’t really old didn’t diminish the fun of seeing how people may have lived hundreds of years before and what was purported to be a lock of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s hair.
We all hurried as requested, except Kenny and Sherry. It was nearly two hours before Joyce could drag them back to the bus, and they arrived without their customary bags of souvenirs, both faces flushed. The way Sherry glared at Kenny’s back as he climbed aboard, I was surprised he didn’t burst into flame. He came back to sit behind Laura again and said with a little laugh as he dropped into his seat, “Had a bit of a dustup with the cashier in the shop. Took us a while to sort it out.”
Before we stopped for our noon meal—at another Gilroy’s Tearoom—Joyce announced in a strained voice, “To get to Dunvegan Castle and on to Portree by teatime, please eat quickly.”
“But I want to stop in Kyle of Lochalsh,” Sherry objected. “There’s a jeweler there I particularly want to visit. And what does it matter when we get to Portree, so long as we’re there for the ceilidh at eight? Or we could skip Dunvegan.”
By then I’d had enough of Sherry and Kenny dictating our schedule. “Laura is meeting cousins in Portree for tea,” I called, “and I particularly want to see Dunvegan. My guidebook says there are seals there, and I’ve never seen a live seal except in the zoo.”
“Atta girl,” Marcia said softly over her shoulder, and Dorothy leaned up to give me a pat. Laura, however, threw me a look I could not read, then turned to look out her window.
For those who don’t know, Dunvegan is a large granite castle on the northwest corner of Skye, and sits squarely above the sea. It lies nearly fifty miles from Kyle of Lochalsh, where you cross from the mainland to the island, and the only way there is a tortuous, narrow road up along the Cullins, some of the most spectacular mountains in Scotland. Poor Watty was driving right into the sun, but none of the rest of us minded the drive, for the weather was superb, with huge puffy clouds that cast lavender and dark purple shadows on the gray hills.
“We could live here,” I leaned up to suggest to Marcia. “I haven’t seen a soul in miles.”
She nodded, then her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’ve got a bit of a headache,” she said, getting to her feet. “I think I’ll go lie down on the back bench.”
Watty stopped occasionally to point out places of interest, but the wind was so strong that most of us stayed on the bus and looked out the window. Kenny invariably got off, marched up and down, and played the “Skye Boat Song.” After his third rendition, Dorothy leaned up and asked me softly, “Do you suppose anybody has ever been murdered with a bagpipe?”
When we got to Dunvegan, Kenny climbed off the bus and held out a hand to Laura. “Come on, fair wench, let’s go look for seals.”
Sherry’s glare was enough to daunt the stoutest of heart. Laura shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m sticking with Mac, here. She’s the seal lady.” I sure was relieved to see several frolicking near the shore. Seals aren’t the sort of thing you can command at will.
Everybody but Joyce, Jim, and Brandi decided to look at seals before touring the castle. As usual, Kenny and Sherry led the way. Over one shoulder he lectured us on the life cycle and habits of seals while she punctuated his lecture with laments that these seals weren’t as numerous or as active as those they’d seen on other visits.
I finally got so irritated by both Boyds’ pontificating that I said, “I need to get out of the wind,” and headed for protected, sun-warmed rocks. Laura and Dorothy joined me and we sat with our arms around our knees, delighted by what we agreed was an adequate number of reasonably active seals.
“Look at them pushing and shoving, like a bunch of kindergarten children!” Dorothy’s laugh rang out over the water. She seemed a lot less shy since our time
We all hurried as requested, except Kenny and Sherry. It was nearly two hours before Joyce could drag them back to the bus, and they arrived without their customary bags of souvenirs, both faces flushed. The way Sherry glared at Kenny’s back as he climbed aboard, I was surprised he didn’t burst into flame. He came back to sit behind Laura again and said with a little laugh as he dropped into his seat, “Had a bit of a dustup with the cashier in the shop. Took us a while to sort it out.”
Before we stopped for our noon meal—at another Gilroy’s Tearoom—Joyce announced in a strained voice, “To get to Dunvegan Castle and on to Portree by teatime, please eat quickly.”
“But I want to stop in Kyle of Lochalsh,” Sherry objected. “There’s a jeweler there I particularly want to visit. And what does it matter when we get to Portree, so long as we’re there for the ceilidh at eight? Or we could skip Dunvegan.”
By then I’d had enough of Sherry and Kenny dictating our schedule. “Laura is meeting cousins in Portree for tea,” I called, “and I particularly want to see Dunvegan. My guidebook says there are seals there, and I’ve never seen a live seal except in the zoo.”
“Atta girl,” Marcia said softly over her shoulder, and Dorothy leaned up to give me a pat. Laura, however, threw me a look I could not read, then turned to look out her window.
For those who don’t know, Dunvegan is a large granite castle on the northwest corner of Skye, and sits squarely above the sea. It lies nearly fifty miles from Kyle of Lochalsh, where you cross from the mainland to the island, and the only way there is a tortuous, narrow road up along the Cullins, some of the most spectacular mountains in Scotland. Poor Watty was driving right into the sun, but none of the rest of us minded the drive, for the weather was superb, with huge puffy clouds that cast lavender and dark purple shadows on the gray hills.
“We could live here,” I leaned up to suggest to Marcia. “I haven’t seen a soul in miles.”
She nodded, then her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’ve got a bit of a headache,” she said, getting to her feet. “I think I’ll go lie down on the back bench.”
Watty stopped occasionally to point out places of interest, but the wind was so strong that most of us stayed on the bus and looked out the window. Kenny invariably got off, marched up and down, and played the “Skye Boat Song.” After his third rendition, Dorothy leaned up and asked me softly, “Do you suppose anybody has ever been murdered with a bagpipe?”
When we got to Dunvegan, Kenny climbed off the bus and held out a hand to Laura. “Come on, fair wench, let’s go look for seals.”
Sherry’s glare was enough to daunt the stoutest of heart. Laura shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m sticking with Mac, here. She’s the seal lady.” I sure was relieved to see several frolicking near the shore. Seals aren’t the sort of thing you can command at will.
Everybody but Joyce, Jim, and Brandi decided to look at seals before touring the castle. As usual, Kenny and Sherry led the way. Over one shoulder he lectured us on the life cycle and habits of seals while she punctuated his lecture with laments that these seals weren’t as numerous or as active as those they’d seen on other visits.
I finally got so irritated by both Boyds’ pontificating that I said, “I need to get out of the wind,” and headed for protected, sun-warmed rocks. Laura and Dorothy joined me and we sat with our arms around our knees, delighted by what we agreed was an adequate number of reasonably active seals.
“Look at them pushing and shoving, like a bunch of kindergarten children!” Dorothy’s laugh rang out over the water. She seemed a lot less shy since our time
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