Enchanted Parapet

THE ENCHANTED PARAPET by Susan Reintjes CHAPTER 1 The Castle Bryn looked around in dismay. “What am I going to do?” Her anxious words rebounded against the ruins, their echo sounding more desperate with no one’s ears but her own to hear them. She sank down onto the nearest pile of rubble and put her head in her hands. The uneven stones cutting into her backside were all that remained of the west side of Drochil Castle. A sole turret stood on the east end, and the castle’s south wall was the only one still intact. Looking around at the ruins, Bryn shook her head, perplexed. This is not what she had expected. She recalled the rush of adrenaline she had felt the moment she spotted the ad for the castle among possible venues for the wedding. The headline had caught her eye. “Too good to be true: Romantic castle in good repair with stunning view located in the Scottish Isles.” She now knew that the ad’s author, a Mr. Cormac Farrell, had hidden a clue for “Buyer Beware” that she had completely missed. Bryn had to admit that the view was spectacular, but the castle purported to be “in good repair” was crumbling before her eyes. Presenting an idyllic wedding on this site was going to be as challenging as turning a pumpkin into a carriage. Bryn got up, dusted off her derriere, and looked out at the North Sea, her long hair held aloft by the steady wind. The waves struck the rocks before a white-capped surge flung them onto land. Looking to her left, she saw hills dotted with Shetland ponies grazing on the heather that blanketed the moor. To her right, the remnants of fourth-century stone hovels were silhouetted against the sky. Returning her gaze to the sea, she admired the tall lighthouse on the islet of Muckle Flugga, the rocky outcrop standing near its smaller brother, Out Stack. Bryn was in Unst, an ancient Norse village at the northernmost tip of the Shetland Islands. Once known as Hjaltland, Unst had belonged to Denmark before it became part of Scotland. It stood as a boundary between the Atlantic Ocean to the west and the North Sea to the east. A loud crack brought her sightseeing to an abrupt end. A large boulder to her left had broken free and was tumbling down the cliff below her. Her body froze as her eyes followed the giant stone’s course, which ended with it bouncing off a jutting ledge and crashing into the sea. The instant the rock hit the water, she felt the paralysis of her despair turn into the fire of anger. She should have known that “too good to be true” meant exactly that. And now she had only one week to turn this disaster into a fantasy wedding for Laura Wozinsky and Jim Strathmore. She could scarcely believe that it had only been a month since she had opened Laura’s e-mail. Bryn could almost hear Laura’s flurried tone as she read: “Need a wedding planner for my wedding in the Shetland Islands on July 30. Please let me know as soon as possible if you can do it.” After reading the request, Bryn had eased back in her chair, feeling a sense of challenge. Sometimes the very specific and detailed desires of her clients limited her, but in this case, it seemed that the whole of the Atlantic Ocean was laid out before her. “Were the Shetland Islands even in the Atlantic Ocean?” she had wondered. She wasn’t sure how many islands there were, and she didn’t know how she would choose the best one. Now, standing in the ruins facing the gale buffeting off the sea, she started to feel her confidence flag. She took a deep breath and shook off her despondency. Bryn took enormous pride in her company’s ability to live up to its name. She believed in Anything Goes Wedding Planners and was not going to let Mr. Farrell taint her reputation. Bracing herself against the unrelenting wind, Bryn was more resolved than ever to succeed. Although confident in her ability to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, she had to admit that this job would require more smoke and mirrors than usual. Bryn and her business partner, Jamie, had started Anything Goes two years earlier. Jamie was twenty years younger, with thick auburn hair and a twinkle of mischief in her hazel eyes. The two began the company as a lark, yet soon found they had plenty of clients interested in their made-to-order weddings. Jamie and Bryn dared go where no wedding planner had gone before. Their clients wanted a unique experience, and many had quirky requests that would stump someone less courageous, or saner. Stepping back from the cliff’s edge, Bryn turned to examine the remains of the castle. A lone raven, perched on the opposite wall, looked down and saw a youthful forty-two-year-old woman with long silvery hair, bright blue eyes, and boundless creativity. Imitating the crow, Bryn cocked her head and stared back at the inquisitive bird. Scanning the moss-covered rubble once more, Bryn sighed. Jamie was flying in later that evening with the lighting and décor, and Bryn was counting on her partner to add a hint of hope and more than a dash of inspiration to the ruins. She decided to head back to the inn, anticipating the pleasure of a warm bath and a bowl of hot soup. Before she could take a step, an unknown force stopped her cold. Knowing better than to ignore the sign, Bryn resigned herself to staying a little longer before heading toward her creature comforts. As she climbed a set of stone steps to the remaining tower, she kicked a small pile of rocks out of her way in frustration. Unrattled by the flying debris, the raven flew close behind as if to accompany her. As soon as she stepped onto the uppermost ledge, a sudden chill seized her and held her in an icy grip. Suddenly, the dust swirled around her in mini-tornadoes as two massive Vikings battling on the rampart materialized before her, each thrusting an iron scabbard and wielding a shield. The castle had been miraculously restored, and the walls, thick and imposing, loomed over her as the heavy swords collided, metal meeting metal, occasionally striking stone in a flash of sparks. Grunts of effort and rage flew between the warriors as the tension mounted. Nearby a waif of a young girl crouched in one corner. Her green eyes, wide in terror, shone from an oval face framed by bright, red curls tumbling in the wind. “Sigdan!” the girl cried. “Lochlan! Please stop!” The fierce wind caught her voice and flung it out to sea before the men could hear her plea. The combat raged on, her words drowning in the waves below. The vision was over as quickly as it had arrived. Bryn shook her head, and the castle ruins came back into view.