“We’re here, thank God!” Daphne sighed with relief. “Whay dae ye think of yer inheritance, Mr Fraser?”

“It’s a castle!” Ray blurted as the car finally came to a stop in the pebbled courtyard. “It’s a fucking, god-dammed castle, Frase!”

Beside him, Fraser was staring wide eyed at the looming edifice. “Um, yes, it does appear to be,” He mumbled.

Daphne leaned forward to peer out into the gloom. “Gentlemen, welcome to Castle Fraser; the majority of which has been converted over to a hotel and conference centre to help with the running costs o’ such a large establishment.”

Ray dragged his eyes away from the impressive façade to glare at their travelling companion. “You couldn’t have warned us?”

Daphne rolled down her window and let the rain soak her face. “Warn you?” she scoffed. “I’ve barely been able to put two words together since we left Edinburgh.”

Ray raised an eyebrow but couldn’t argue with that.

A castle.

A fucking huge castle with battlements and flags and… and, Jesus…. staff! As he watched in awe, the entire castle staff assembled on the steps outside the ancient portcullis in the driving wind and rain to welcome their new… what did the driver say… Lard?

Daphne did her best to tidy her hair up and then took a deep breath. “Well, we’d best be getting this over with if you want to bathe anytime soon. The manager’s name is Sebastian deMarco. Yer uncle Callum never cared much for him as a person but he’s one hell o’ a business manager, from what I've been led to believe.”

Daphne checked her refection in the rear-view mirror, handed some cash to the driver and took another deep breath. “Shall we?”

Dief had finally noticed that the cab had come to a halt and was whining to get out. The wolf had the bladder capacity of a thimble. “Yeah, yeah, hold your horses,” Ray complained, trying to find his scarf and gloves in the gloom.

No sooner had he pulled on his knit cap, than Fraser had reached past him to open the cab door, which almost came off its hinges as a gust of frigid wind caught it. Jeez, and they called Chicago the windy city?

Ray stumbled out, to be met by a young lad wearing a rather fetching kilt, which he was trying desperately to keep from blowing up around his armpits.

“May I take yer bags, sair?” the youngster asked, shivering.

“Sure, knock yourself out. They’re in the trunk,” Ray replied, unable to drag his eyes off the towering grey walls of Fraser’s croft. Holy fucking crap, Fraser owned an honest-to-God castle! Ray wondered if he’d ever get over this.

“Um, trunk?” The lad asked hesitantly. “I’m not sure I follow ye, sair?”

Fraser had once again appeared at Ray’s elbow, and it seemed to Ray that the Mountie had gotten over the shock of finding out that he’d inherited a huge pile of stone with staff way quicker than was natural.

“That's American for ‘boot’” Fraser smiled warmly, striding towards the castle as though he owned it. Oh wait! He did own it.

Fuck!

A strikingly handsome man, with dark olive skin and curly black hair, met them at the head of the line of shivering house staff. When he smiled, his white teeth gleamed in the moonlight giving him a predatory air. Ray took an instant dislike to him.

“Welcome to Castle Fraser, gentlemen, and lovely lady,” he gushed, in a thick Italian accent. Sketching a quaint little bow, he continued, “I am Estate Manager Sebastian deMarco. Please, won’t you come in from the cold?”

Ray was all over that suggestion. He still needed to pee, and the rain had already soaked through his clothes leaving him feeling damp and clammy.

Fraser was smiling politely at every damned person in the welcoming committee line-up, obviously taking his new responsibilities very seriously. “C’mon, Frase,” Ray stage-whispered. “Some of us don’t have an extra layer of sub-crustaceous fat remember?”

“Subcutaneous, Ray,” Fraser corrected automatically. “And of course, you’re right. We shouldn’t keep these people out here a moment longer.” And with that he fairly flounced up the stairs and through the massive double oak doors into his castle.

At his elbow, Daphne leaned close. “Smarmy as hell, but not at all harsh on the eye.”

Ray glanced down at her. “Who, Fraser?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, deMarco."

"He’s full of shit,” Ray mumbled.

“Aye, maybe. Come on Mr Kowalski, let’s get indoors afore I freeze ma titties aff.”

He couldn't agree more, so taking her arm, he hurried up the steps in ‘Lard’ Fraser’s wake.

The hallway was huge, lit from above by the biggest chandelier Ray had ever seen. He was so impressed by it, that he barely noticed the flurry of activity happening around them. Someone helped him out of his coat, took his scarf and gloves and pressed a mug of something hot into his cold fingers. He’d raised it to his mouth before he strong aroma of alcohol hit him full in the face.

“Is called ‘hot toddy’,” deMarco explained, handing a similar mug to Fraser from a tray carried by the shivering kilted boy. “They say here, it warm you inside and out.”

“Butt’n’ben,” Ray quipped, pleased that he’d remembered even that much from the earlier conversation. He was sure the Italian accent got thicker every time the manager looked at Fraser. Too early to tell if the guy was up to something, but Ray was getting some seriously strange vibes from pretty boy deMarco.

Fraser sniffed the concoction and raised his eyebrows. “Glenmorangie?”

“Ah! The laird knows his whisky!” deMarco took Fraser by the elbow and drew him towards a door which was being held open by two burly men with red hair, beards and kilts. Ray eyed the men suspiciously. Scottish Mafia? Oh yeah, they were security of some sort. No telling what weaponry could be concealed in that fuzzy little purse they both wore.

Ray got the distinct impression that their not-so-gracious host, was skilfully ignoring him and Daphne. She didn’t seem at all bothered by this state of affairs. She was currently inhaling the fumes from a mug she’d liberated from the tray. Dief was nowhere to be found. He’d probably already found the kitchens and made friends with the cook. But Ray wasn’t about to be left standing in the drafty hallway. Taking a fortifying gulp from the mug, which seemed to contain a lot of hot whiskey with a tiny drop of tea, he followed Fraser into the reception room.

The door closed behind him and he turned to see kilt-boy grinning at him. “Is there anything I kin dae for ye, sair?”

“Huh?” Ray blinked. It was like a foreign language or something. If he watched the kid’s lips real closely, he could just about make it out, but he kept getting distracted by the eyes, which sparkled with merriment.

“I just wondered if ye wanted me tae fetch you something? Mair tea, or perhaps ye’d prefer coffee.”

Coffee! That at least had come across loud and clear. He nodded, handing the pungent mug of hot alcohol to the lad. “Oh, hell yeah. Strong, black and sweet. I got serious withdrawal shakes here.”

The boy smiled hesitantly. “I’m Keith. I’m the handy-man aroond here.”

Ray shook the outstretched hand. He was surprised the kid was old enough to have such a title. “Kowalski,” he replied, “Ray Kowalski.”

“Be right back,” Keith smiled, letting go of Ray’s hand slowly and lingeringly, then slipping out of the room. Ray’s eyebrows climbed skyward. Was it his imagination, or was the kid coming on to him? He’d love to think he could pull someone as good looking as kilt-boy Keith, but if the kid were a day over 17, Ray would eat his woolly cap! He preferred someone a little more mature. Someone old enough to vote. Though the kilt was definitely turning his crank. What would Fraser look like in one of those, he wondered.

“Ray?” Fraser’s voice from the other side of the huge room drew Ray out of his musings. “Mr deMarco has just been telling me about all the wonderful events he’s scheduled for us. Starting tomorrow morning bright and early with grouse beating!”

“Grouse beating? What the hell is that? You kick the crap out of some bad tempered hobo?” Ray took in the roaring fire, the luxurious surroundings and the fact that Italian gigolo was standing way too close to Fraser.

DeMarco’s cold smile came no where near reaching his eyes. He laid a hand on Fraser’s shoulder in an overly familiar manner. “Your friend; he is amusing, no?”

“No,” Fraser agreed pleasantly, smiling right back.

Ray gave the Italian one of his very best glares. The ones that made bad guys quake in their boots. This guy needed watching very carefully, and not just because he was fawning all over Fraser. Nah, there was something queer about him. Ray’s spidey sense was all a tingle.

***

Ray spent the next half hour standing in front of the roaring fire, watching his clothing steam, and sipping hot coffee. He was almost asleep on his feet when deMarco finally got through his introductory spiel about the history of the castle and lengthy introductions of all key members of staff. He was so damned hungry that he felt like he could go out and beat one of those damned grouse to death with his bare hands and eat it raw. At least he’d managed to find a john earlier, so that was one less thing to worry about.

“The top floor of the castle was preserved as a personal residence for the old Laird,” deMarco was saying. “I’m sure you will be most comfortable there. Keith has already taken your cases up.”

“Thank you kindly, Sebastian,” Fraser effused, stifling a yawn. And just when exactly had they gotten on first name terms?

“You are fatigued? Perhaps you would like to retire?”

Ray didn’t bother trying to stifle his own yawn. “Yeah, that’d be great, Seb old buddy, old pal. But first, I gotta eat something. Just point me at the kitchen and I’ll throw together a couple of sandwiches.”

deMarco looked horrified. “I would not hear of such a thing! Keith will bring a tray up to your rooms.”

“Whatever.” Ray was too tired to argue

DeMarco snapped his fingers. “Take the Laird and his companions up to the residence. Then have cook prepare something for them to eat.”

“Right away, sair,” Keith nodded politely, ushering the tired trio ahead of him.

They piled into a small elevator, which creaked and groaned its way to the very top of the castle. Keith stopped outside a large, ornately carved door. “Ye’ll find everything ye need in here. There are two double bedrooms off the main living area, each wi’ its own shower, and the master bathroom has a jacuzzi. If ye need anything else, just pick up the phone and dial zero for room service. One of the standard rooms on the next floor down has been prepared for yersel’, Daphne.”

“Pardon me, Keith, but would you happen to know the whereabouts of my wol… eh, dog.?” Fraser asked with concern.

“Oh, he’s down in the kitchen asleep in front o’ the fireplace. Lizzy, the cook gave him the leftovers from the banquet. We had a wedding for 200 guests this evening.”

Fraser nodded. “Thank you kindly.”

Keith grinned at them, his smile seeming particularly warm when his eyes met Ray’s and now he was sure he had a young admirer there. Ray didn’t get a lot of attention when Fraser was around, so it was kinda nice, if a little creepy.

Daphne hooked her arm through Keith’s. “You boys have a good evening. Ye’ll hae tae excuse me. I’m still a wee bit wobbly on ma pins. I’ll be staying until Monday, so we’ll worry about signing the paperwork later. Night!”

“Good night Miss McDonald. Sleep well.” Fraser waved as she disappeared down the corridor.

“Don’t let the bed-bugs bite,” Ray added distractedly to the closing door. Then turning to Fraser, “A fucking castle Fraser? How could you not know this?”

Fraser flopped down tiredly on the brocade sofa and began undoing his bootlaces. “Ray, you have to remember that my father never spoke about the Scottish side of the family. He never spoke about anything much, point of fact, not until after he was dead, but that’s a different story…”

Ray sighed as he kicked off his own boots, without undoing the laces. It had been a while since he’s heard Fraser having imagined conversations with his dead father. He had hoped it was a sign that Fraser’s weird mental health had finally righted itself.

“Okay, so you got yourself an honest to god Scottish castle. What you gonna do with it?”

Fraser was prowling the room barefoot, opening doors and peering inside. “Honestly Ray, I have no idea. It seems to be very well run though, don’t you think?”

“DeMarco gives me the creeps,” Ray blurted before he could stop himself. “Something ain’t right there.” He joined Fraser in his investigation of their living arrangements. “Whoa! This would be the jacuzzi then?”

The master bathroom seemed bigger than Ray’s whole apartment. Everything was made out of white marble, and all the trimmings were gold. Greenery adorned every surface, making Ray think of pictures of Roman bathhouses he'd seen in a magazine in his dentist waiting room. And right in the middle there was a sunken jacuzzi large enough for five people to sit in. Someone had very kindly filled it and turned on the jets and the steam filling the room smelled like roses.

Suddenly Ray was aware of how stiff and sore the journey had made him and all he could think about was sinking into that lovely hot bubbling water. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!” he declared, peeling off his sweaty t-shirt and reaching for the button of his jeans. He hadn’t even gotten them to mid thigh, when a draft at his side heralded Fraser’s hurried passage, and he got a quick flash of pale buttocks, long legs and the curve of his spine, before Fraser disappeared under the water.

***

“So let me get this straight,” Ray eyed the large stick dubiously. “We ain’t supposed to actually hit the bird with this, just make enough noise to scare them shitless?”

It was the butt-crack of dawn, Ray was still half asleep, but at least it wasn’t raining any more.

“Well essentially, yes,” Fraser confirmed, scratching his eyebrow. “The birds take fright, fly up over the concealed shooters and….”

“Get shot?” Ray finished. “Listen Frase, not that I want to put a damper on your little excursion, but shooting helpless birds for sport just ain’t my thing.”

Fraser nodded unhappily. “Mine either, Ray. I don’t know how on earth I got us talked into this.”

DeMarco was approaching them, a shotgun thrown casually over his shoulder. “Buon giorno, gentlemen. We have a fine day for the shoot, no?”

Fraser looked down at his borrowed rubber boots and cleared his throat. He was obviously finding difficulty with the wording so Ray decided to help him out.

“Seb, we changed our minds. We’re thinking of maybe just hanging out in the jacuzzi all day.”

Fraser spluttered and needed thumping on the back before he could meet Ray’s eyes. “Or perhaps we might take a nice stroll, Ray. See the sights. Have a look around the estate? I would be very interested to see how things are administered.”

Ray was watching deMarco’s reaction and could swear that he saw momentary panic flit across the handsome features before the slime-ball mask was firmly back in place.

DeMarco scanned the line of beaters preparing for the off and spotted Keith. Beckoning him over, he leaned close and whispered something to the lad. Ray strained to hear what was being said without being obviously rude, but between the thick Italian accent and the rolling Scots burr, he couldn’t make out a thing.

“Keith will take you. As you don’t know the area, I’ve asked him to go with you.”

Keith’s huge grin was aimed, once again, at Ray. He wasn’t feeling quite so freaked out about it after finding out this morning from one of the staff that Keith was actually twenty-three. He just had a realy baby face.

They stopped off at the castle to change into more suitable footwear, and for Keith to pick up Jock and Jamie, two of the largest dogs Ray had seen in his whole life. Deerhounds, he called them. And Ray believed they could take down a fully-grown deer with little trouble. Dief didn’t seem to notice that the hounds were twice his size. He trotted up to them and did his usual alpha thing. Within moments, both hounds were part of his extended pack.

They set off through the grounds, with Keith pointing out the famous rose, herb and walled gardens. Now that the sun was trying to poke out from behind the low clouds, Ray supposed it was really quite pretty. Not that gardens were his thing. He could barely tell a rose from a radish on a good day. Back in the Stella days, he'd relied on the local florist to make sure his floral apologies where apropriate. The place smelled weird too, but not in an unpleasant way. Ray’s nose was far more accustomed to Chicago smells. City smells, like gas fumes and garbage.

Once out of the castle grounds, the terrain changed drastically. Where there had been manicured lawns and cultivated flowerbeds, there was now bracken and gorse and thistles growing as high as a man. Ray found out the hard way not to go near those. Then there was the sticky, clinging weed that tried to eat him alive when he fell into a patch of it. Keith hauled his ass out, laughing as he picked little round balls of greenery from Ray's hair.

"Yer covered in sticky willie, Ray," he chortled.

"That's disgusting!" Ray proclaimed, stomping away from Keith's ministrations. Fraser wisely didn’t say a thing.

Keith offered Ray his stick to help on the increasingly rocky paths, but Ray shook his head. If he could chase a scumbag down a Chicago street in the middle of rush hour, he could damned well handle a few rocks and some evil plant life.

The bugs were another matter. As they passed a small stream, a huge black clouds of the little fuckers started swarming around his head and man, they could bite. Ray could hardly concentrate on avoiding the thistles for slapping at the back of his neck.

“The midges hae taken a linking tae ye Ray,” Keith smiled apologetically. “Here. This should help,” he held out a packet of cigarettes, which Ray gratefully took. Lighting up, he was relieved to see that the little buggers really didn’t appreciate the smoke and took off after Fraser instead. “They must have been attracted to yer hair gel,” Keith suggested then under his breath added, “or maybe it’s pheromones?”

Ray felt a blush spread over his face and he hastily handed back the smokes. “Thanks. Remind me to buy some mosquito repellent at the first pharmacy we see.”

“Out here? Ye’ll be lucky.”

Ray noticed that they seemed to be heading farther away from civilisation. The path they were on was now littered with pine needles as they headed into a small forest, but at least the bugs were not so thick in here.

“So where the hell are we going anyway?” Ray puffed. Obviously all that extra conditioning he’d had by the end of the quest had disappeared after two months of pizza and beer.

Keith stopped to let him catch up. “The other side o’ this hill, we start heading down towards Loch Skene. There’s a wee pub down there that serves the best haggis this side of Inverness.”

“Sounds delightful,” Fraser enthused, thumping Ray on the back encouragingly. “I should think we’ll be more than ready for a good hearty meal by the time we get there.”

Under his breath, Ray muttered, “Or an oxygen mask!”

***

“It’s made of what?” Ray spluttered, looking at his plate in absolute horror. Keith was grinning like a lunatic. The bastard had obviously chosen this particular dish from the menu on purpose to freak Ray out, and it was working, damn it!

“I believe the traditional recipe for haggis is minced sheep’s lungs, liver and heart - otherwise known as offal- mixed with onion, oatmeal and suet, then boiled up inside the sheep’s’ stomach,” Fraser helpfully told him. Ray felt the bile rising. How the fuck did the Scots eat stuff like that?

He poked the giant sausage-like thing with his knife. It nestled between a large creamy dollop of mashed potatoes and some virulent orange mulch which looked like it might be pumpkin. Fraser’s plate held the same horrors as his. Keith, on the other hand, was making short work of a T-bone steak.

“How come you ain’t eating the awful offal?”

Keith chewed slowly on his succulent morsel, eyeing Ray hotly and taking his god-damned time about answering. Swallowing, he winked at Ray. “Can’t stand the bloody stuff,” he confided. “That shit’s just fer tourists.”

Fraser was shaking his head. “Really? Well I must say you don’t know what you’re missing.” He stuffed a forkful into his mouth and made appreciative noises.

“You like that?” Ray couldn’t tell if the Mountie was just playing along or if he really did like what he was eating.

“Delicious!” Fraser beamed, shovelling up another forkful.

Ray pushed his plate aside and went to work buttering a dinner roll. Even if he were on the brink of starving to death, he couldn’t have choked down something that revolting. Diefenbaker was obviously hoping to sample the local delicacy, and Ray would have happily put his plate down to him, only that might offend the chef. He could feel Dief's eyes boring into the back of his head, and turned in his seat.

“Hey, I can hear you drooling,” he admonished.

Dief woofed and tossed his head in the direction of the two hounds, who had turned away the moment Ray looked in their direction. It was obvious that they had been staring too.

“What’d he say?” Ray asked Fraser.

Fraser, caught in the act of mopping his plate with a bread roll, blushed and cleared his throat. “Well, it appears that Jock and Jamie share your aversion to offal. They would prefer um… rump steak.”

Ray glared at the pampered pooches. “So how come they were staring at me like that?”

“According to Dief, it’s your rump they have designs on. Are you going to eat that?” Fraser was already reaching for Ray’s neglected dinner plate.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ray eyed Keith hopefully. “Swap seats?”

“The wolf is pullin’ yer leg, Ray. They will’na bite.”

Dief whined, sneezed and grunted, which, judging by Fraser’s shocked expression, was pretty dirty language for a lupine. “There’s no need to be so disparaging,” he scolded. “I’m sure Ray has an extremely tasty rump.”

Ray expelled his recently taken mouthful of beer in an impressive arc, managing to miss the Mountie by scant centimetres.

“Oh aye, he has at that!” Keith agreed.

Ray wiped beer from his face and gave Keith the evil eye. If Fraser wasn’t aware of the sexual tension between Ray and Keith by now, then he really was some kind of monk or something. But the temptation to get some kind, any kind of reaction out of the Mountie was becoming harder to suppress. "Hey," he groused, "eyes off my ass okay, and I mean all of you"

Fraser's eyebrows disappeared under the brim of his hat. "Ray! I can assure you…

“Nu-huh. I seen you looking."

“I was merely making sure…”

“You were leering."

“Assessing…"

“Ogling.”

“Considering…”

“Eyeing up.”

“As you wish, Ray.” And damn him if he hadn’t gotten the last word again!