She wasn’t surprised at her father’s horror at her location, never having been to Scotland himself he couldn’t even begin to appreciate the beauty here. It was everything her friends had said it was, peaceful, exhilarating, but most of all breathtakingly beautiful.
For one thing Loch Ness was so large, like a miniature ocean, and she could see one or two motor-cruisers on its length, probably holidaymakers like herself. The banks of the Loch rose steeply either side, a smattering of sheep just visible to her on the luxurious green grass on the other side, the road cut into her side of the Loch before it too rose steeply, one or two cottages just visible in the denseness of the trees.
Because she had picked her bicycle up late in the day it was already well into evening by the time she reached her set destination of the day, Urquhart Castle, the ruins of which overlooked Urquhart Bay. She had a tent and all the necessary equipment for camping, but as there were a couple of hotels in the area she decided to stay at one of them for the night and look the castle over in the morning.
‘Morning’ was almost lunchtime by the time Sabina emerged from the exhausted sleep she had fallen into as soon as her head touched the downy pillow. When she tried to move, the whole of her body seemed to ache—in places she hadn’t even known she could ache! She must be sadly out of condition if a simple bike ride could make her feel this way. But it had been quite a few miles ride, more miles than she had cycled for more years than she could remember.
She hobbled out of bed, a quick bath easing away some of her aches and pains, deciding to have an early lunch instead of bothering with any breakfast. After all, it was almost twelve o’clock. The day didn’t look as warm as yesterday, a light drizzle was falling, a slight mist stopping a clear view of what Sabina knew to be magnificent scenery. Well, she had to look at the ruins of the castle now she was here, might even take a picture of two—if only to prove to her father what a good time she had had.
She donned denims and a sweater. a light waterproof the only clothing she had to keep out the rain. While paying for her bill she asked the proprietor if she could leave her bicycle here while she went down to look at Urquhart Castle.
‘You’ll not be going far today, I’m thinking,’ the middle-aged man took her key.
Sabina smiled. ‘I thought I might try and get as far as Fort Augustus.’
He shook his head, frowning darkly. ‘I wouldn’t recommend you going anywhere, not in this weather.’
Sabina looked down at the light drizzle. ‘It doesn’t look too bad to me.’
‘It never does. But the heavy mist can come down mighty fast. It’s a fair trek to Fort Augustus, I wouldn’t want you to get lost.’
‘But it’s a straight road, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, it’s straight,’ he nodded. ‘But there’s tracks leading off the road to the cottages, ye ken, and it’s mighty easy to take one of them by mistake.’
‘I’ll take care,’ she promised lightly, pulling her hood over her hair and braving the light rain.
The castle stood in the curve of Urquhart Bay, overlooking Loch Ness in all its glory, although the mist clung to the water like a thin white sheet. The guidebook she had bought in Inverness told her that the castle dated back to the thirteenth century, although improvement had been made during the sixteenth century.
The castle was placed perfectly for watch over Loch Ness, and had obviously been a stronghold for the Scottish Crown in the past. Now all that remained was the square keep, the crumbled ruins of its turret and outer walls. Sabina wandered amongst what must surely have once been a magnificent castle, its splendour still evident in the grey stones that made up its structure.
In the end she decided not to take any photographs now but try and get some on the way back if she could. The last thing she wanted was to show her father pictures of it pouring with rain! And it was pouring now, absolutely bucketing down. She decided to have a coffee in the hotel lounge while she waited for the rain to abate somewhat.
‘You’re going, then?’ the proprietor asked as she made a move about an hour later.
‘I thought I would,’ she nodded.
He shook his head dourly. ‘I think you’re making a mistake.’
‘If it looks like getting any worse I promise I’ll turn around and come back.’
In actual fact that was something she couldn’t do, not unless she walked. The front tyre of her bicycle suddenly went flat, and no amount of pumping it up made any difference to its condition, and the mist chose that moment to close in on her like a blanket, making it impossible for her to see farther than a few feet in front of her. There was nothing else for it, she would have to walk, and as she was sure she was nearer to Fort Augustus than Urquhart Castle she decided to go on rather than turn back.
Just where she went wrong she didn’t know; all she did know was that the surface of the road didn’t feel smooth any more, and groping down on her hands and knees she found that it wasn’t the road at all but a roughly cut dirt pathway. Where it led to she couldn’t even begin to guess, and she couldn’t even see her map in this mist, let alone read it.
If only she had listened to the man at the hotel! He had sounded like a local, had probably lived here all his life, and he obviously knew a lot more about the sudden dropping of the mist than she did.
Well, it was no good standing here berating herself; should she go on or should she attempt to find her way back to the road? One thing groping about on the pathway had told her, there was the mark of hoofprints there, hoofprints going forward, not back. But where would the path take her? She didn’t remember seeing a village in this direction when she checked the map this morning.
She sighed. She really had no choice but to go on; she wasn’t sure of her way back, and at least she knew there must be some form of habitation in this direction. She only hoped the owner of that habitation wouldn’t mind an uninvited guest for the night—she could hardly pitch her tent in this.
Keeping to the roughly hewn pathway didn’t prove too difficult; either side of her were tall trees, making it impossible for her to deviate. Nevertheless, she almost felt faint with relief when she saw a glimmer of yellow light in front of her. After almost an hour of this stumbling progress she had been beginning to doubt ever seeing another human being again.
But there had to be humans where there was electric lighting, and as she reached the front of the low, white-painted cottage she saw a spiral of smoke drifting through the lighter coloured mist. Light and warmth, it sounded like heaven to Sabina, and reminded her of how damp her clothing had become.
A sharp tap on the door heralded no reaction whatsoever, so she knocked again. Still no answer. There had to be someone here. She walked along the front of the cottage to the window with the chink of light showing through, trying to see in through the tiny gap in the curtains. She felt herself tense as the curtains moved slightly, two venomous green eyes suddenly appearing in front of her and making her let out a bloodcurdling scream.
‘Satan’s no more enthusiastic about nosey-parkers than I am,’ remarked a cold voice from behind her.
Sabina swung round to see the owner of that unwelcoming voice. Standing in front of her, the mist swirling eerily about him, stood a tall dark man dressed completely in black—black cords and black jumper, his hair also jet black, long and unkempt. His face was gaunt, all strong angles, the focal point being a pair of cold grey eyes that remained unblinkingly on her white face. He was a handsome man in a pagan sort of way, the handsomest man Sabina had ever seen.
‘Wh—who are you?’ her voice quivered.
His mouth twisted tauntingly. ‘I’m Satan’s master, who else?’
Sabina woke to find herself lying