Chilly fingers walked down her back. Because it looked identical to something she’d seen as a child. Something creepy wobbling on the surface of a bowl of water held by Granny “the auld witch” McLellan as her mother had called her great grandma. Destiny put out in plain sight, the old girl had breathed staring into the water at the image of a medieval castle. As a child, she’d believed it. She’d even studied history at school at Granny’s suggestion. Not much call for history. Or superstitious rot as her mother had called Granny’s strange ideas. A degree in business had proved more useful. But history remained her passion. And what she was looking at in her headlights was definitely a castle, when there hadn’t been one marked on Google maps anywhere near the hotel she’d booked. Probably one of those private places where they paid to be blacked out from prying eyes. So where was her hotel? She had to be lost.
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