Highlands Homecoming (A Highlands Christmas Romance #3)

Chapter 12

T o keep her mind off of her troubles, Melissa spent as much time as she could at the inn. She hung the artwork in the dining room, entryway, and upstairs hallways and guest rooms. She hung lovely blue tartan curtains in each window. A small wooden cutout of a sheep and a Highland cow sat on the front desk where guests checked in.

Lindsay had finalized the menu, and Elspeth had taken it to the printers. Sydney was putting the final touches on the seating arrangements for the big opening night. She tapped Melissa on the shoulder. “Melissa, I have a man who says he knows you and wants to sit at your table?”

“Colin MacGregor?”

“No, it’s a Dave something?—”

“No!” Melissa spat out the word so fast that Elspeth, used to Melissa’s sunny demeanor, was taken aback.

“Please, no. He’s my ex-husband, and he … he shouldn’t be here.”

“Enough said.”

But it wasn’t enough said for Lindsay. “How dare he try to follow you around, haunt the places where you’ll be?”

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of me.”

“Definitely don’t let him come, Elspeth. This is a soft opening for locals only. That means people we know.”

“And like,” added Melissa.

Elspeth nodded. “Got it. Oh, hey. I got the new banner advertising our grand opening. What do you think?”

The banner showed a picture of the Inn, with its new landscaping, fresh paint, and the MacAlister Inn sign on a blue-and-white tartan background with the words OPENING 7-2 .

“That looks fabulous!” said Lindsay.

Melissa squinted at it. “I thought we were opening next month.”

“We are. February 7th,” said Elspeth.

“But the banner says July 2nd,” said Melissa.

Now Elspeth and Lindsay were confused. “It says February 7th.”

Melissa thought for a moment. “Oh, right. Over here you put the date first and then the month. We usually do it the opposite way in the US.”

“Ah.”

January 25th finally arrived—Burns Night! There were thirty guests, and the dining room looked spectacular. Melissa had placed some of the art meant for the upstairs in the dining room; Sydney had put together a great playlist to play until the ceilidh band arrived; and Drew had set out several collections of Robert Burns’ works on tables throughout the dining room.

Sandy and Margaret were among the first to arrive. Melissa gave them both a hug, then took Margaret’s jacket. “Thanks so much for coming,” said Melissa.

“Wouldn’t miss this for the world,” said Sandy. “Been brushing up on my Robert Burns.”

As people began to arrive, Sydney and Elspeth acted as hostesses, checking coats and showing guests to their tables.

The fireplace in the corner crackled, and snow fell lightly on the windows. The music played classic Scottish songs and pop music by Scottish bands, and the smell of haggis wafted from the kitchen.

Melissa hovered near the door until Elspeth finally shooed her away. “You’ve got a seat with Lindsay’s father. Go sit. I’ll bring Colin when he gets here.”

Melissa couldn’t help but hover near the water pitchers, but the waitstaff shooed her away as well. Finally, she plopped herself into a seat next to Sandy and Margaret.

Margaret sipped her water and admired the dining room. “You know, I used to work here when I was in uni, and it made me so sad to see this place fall into disrepair. I’m so glad you all have been able to restore this back to what it once was … or even better.”

“Drew was the mastermind, but we all did our parts. You’re going to love the food Lindsay’s preparing for tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” said Sandy.

Just then, Colin arrived. Melissa waved him over, and he settled into his seat next to her after greeting his father and Margaret.

“Can you tell me more about Burns Night?” asked Melissa.

“Well, it started back in the 1800s, not long after Robert Burns died. Some of his friends wanted to honor his life and his works. They chose his birthday. One of his most famous poems is Address to a Haggis , so the menu was pretty clear from day one. And you can’t have haggis and Burns poems without infusing the water of life, so whisky is, of course, part of the tradition,” said Sandy.

“Sometimes the piper greets the guests; other times, they wait to pipe in the haggis,” said Margaret.

The room was nearly full now. The wait staff brought out drams of whisky, and the scent of peat and smoke wafted through the room. The first course was soup: a choice of cullen skink or scotch broth. As Melissa reached for her spoon, Colin shook his head slightly. Once everyone was served, Drew came into the dining room.

“Welcome, folks, and thank you for being the very first to attend what I hope will be the first of many Burns Suppers here at the MacAlister Inn. We’re here to appreciate our national treasure, the Bard himself, on his birthday, so let’s raise a glass to our favorite poet, Robert Burns!”

They raised glasses. “ Sláinte! ”

“And since he wrote The Selkirk Grace , we’ll be starting out with that,” said Drew.

“Some hae meat an canna eat,

And some wad eat that want it;

But we hae meat, and we can eat,

And sae the Lord be thankit.”

Everyone raised their drams again with a “ Sláinte .” Then they started the soup course.

“So, Melissa, what’s your favorite Robert Burns poem?” asked Margaret.

Melissa felt caught off guard, but she thought about it. “I think I probably read My Love Is Like a Red, Red Rose somewhere along the line. Probably high school?”

Margaret nodded kindly, and Melissa was relieved that she had gotten the correct writer.

“What are your favorites?” Melissa asked quickly to pull herself away from the center of attention.

“I always liked To a Mouse ,” said Margaret. “How about you, Sandy?”

Sandy coughed, and Colin suppressed a grin.

Margaret looked from one to the other. “One of the more bawdy poems, then?” she asked.

Sandy said nothing but took a long sip of his dram. “Burns had quite a wit.”

“I look forward to hearing you read, then,” she said.

As they finished their soup course, Lindsay popped out of the kitchen for a minute.

“This is just amazing!” said Melissa.

Lindsay blushed and looked excited. “Really?”

Sandy stood and hugged his daughter. “So proud of you.”

“Not bad,” said Colin, punching her lightly on the arm.

“Thank you so much. I’ve got to dash back, but thank you!” Lindsay flushed and hurried back into the kitchen just as a piper appeared in the room.

The piper was a young dark-haired man dressed in a red, black, and white Inverness tartan kilt, with a dark gray vest and jacket and a black sporran.

“He’s going to pipe in the haggis,” said Colin.

“That makes it sound like he’ll be frosting a cake,” said Melissa.

“Nope, this is part of the tradition.”

Soon the pipes began to drone, and everyone stood. The piper played a tune that Melissa didn’t recognize at all. The program on the table listed it as A Man’s a Man for A’ That , a song written by Robert Burns.

Drew, also dressed in his finest kilt—a slightly different red-and-black plaid—carried the haggis on a silver tray. He lifted it high, at shoulder level. He walked solemnly and ceremoniously, following the piper around the room so that everyone had a chance to see the haggis.

Melissa had half expected to see an entire sheep on the plate, displayed the way some chefs served the whole fish or roast suckling pig. Instead, this was a smallish cylinder, a little bigger than a large baked potato. On the outside was the gray casing. Inside, Melissa knew the haggis contained sheep's heart, liver, and lungs, some spices, and oats.

Melissa stood at attention like the rest of the room, but her thoughts raced. She was surprised at what a solemn affair this was, and how seriously everyone was taking it. She thought it was amazing. Chocolates and books on Christmas eve like the Scandinavians, and now celebrating a poet as part of a national holiday. Melissa tried to think of any other writers or creators who had sparked a holiday. There was May the Fourth, the informal holiday for geeks who loved Star Wars. Some people celebrated Festivus, the holiday from the television show Seinfeld. Others had toast, jelly beans, and popcorn on Thanksgiving in honor of Charlie Brown’s Friendsgiving. But nothing like this.

When the piper finished playing and Drew had displayed the haggis for all to see, he set it down on the table in the middle of the room.

Melissa’s eyes widened as Colin coughed and stood. Without a book, without a scrap of paper, he began to recite from memory Robert Burns’ Address to a Haggis .

“Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,

Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!

Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,

Painch, tripe, or thairm:

Weel are ye wordy of a grace

As lang ‘s my arm …”

Melissa was in awe. She could barely understand him, but honestly, who cared? In his gorgeous Scots—which she had never heard him speak—he recited the poem as if he were composing it on the spot.

When he reached the part about the knife, Colin picked up the huge kitchen knife that sat beside the haggis and brandished it like he was a Shakespearean actor. He then plunged it deep into the poor, unsuspecting haggis as he read the lines:

“... His knife see Rustic-labour dight,

An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like onie ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm-reekin, rich! …”

Both grossed out and fascinated, Melissa pulled out her phone and began to record this amazing performance.

The whole audience was entranced. By the time he reached the last line, he roared like Alan Cumming in a one-man-show of Macbeth .

“... But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,

Gie her a Haggis !”

The room erupted into thunderous applause. Colin, always rather reserved, flushed and returned to his seat.

“Good on you,” said Sandy.

“Outstanding,” said Margaret.

“You are incredible!” Melissa gushed. “I can’t believe … I mean, of course, I know … but wow!”

“Courtroom experience helps with poetry recitation,” said Colin humbly.

They clinked glasses and downed more whisky. Waitstaff brought plates of haggis, neeps, and tatties with whisky sauce to the tables. The food was served family style as everyone chatted.

Now that the main course was served, Drew set up the microphone and a podium. As the meal began to wind down, Drew took the mic.

“It’s time for some readings and a toast to the lassies and laddies.”

Sandy stood and unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket. He read a rich, wonderful rhyming poem—both soulful and hilarious—talking about everything from his daughter, his wife, his mother, and ending with Margaret. There were tears in his eyes as he finally raised his glass and ended with “Let us toast … to the lassies!”

Drew raised a glass and said “Now which brave lassie wants to give a toast to the laddies?”

Melissa was nervous just thinking about speaking, but Margaret stepped up and grabbed the microphone and belted out a savage, bawdy, hilarious poem that shot back at Sandy’s little digs. It was feminist and funny and wonderful. “You’ve met your match!” shouted a member of the audience to Sandy, who chuckled and nodded.

The kitchen doors opened, and waitstaff emerged with pudding. There were trays with a variety of choices for each table. As their waiter appeared, Melissa was awestruck.

“Tonight we have a choice of desserts and small plates for all to share. This one is cranachan, a raspberry whipped cream dessert; this caramel covered cookie is millionaire’s shortbread; this is sticky toffee pudding; and finally, we have a heather-honey specialty ice cream made in-house. Bon appetit!”

As they sampled the incredible desserts, guests took turns approaching the mic and reading Burns poetry. To a Mouse was followed by To a Louse, and then Drew stood. Someone brought Lindsay out, and she looked around at the crowd finishing their desserts. Everyone was relaxed and happy, and Lindsay’s cheeks flushed with pride.

The dancing was next. Despite his arthritis, Sandy somehow managed to whisk Margaret off her feet. Melissa and Colin soon joined, along with Drew and Lindsay, and Sydney and Elspeth. It reminded Melissa of the square dancing required in elementary school, combined with the country line dancing she’d done at weddings. Breathless, she circled, twirled, and raced down the line and back again while the rest of the crowd joined in.

When it was all over, they gathered and crossed arms—it reminded Melissa of the Girl Scouts’ closing ceremony, where they held hands and passed a hand squeeze around the circle. They sang Old Lang Syne , mostly in Scots. Melissa was grateful to have the lyrics written out on a little card on the table. She hadn’t realized it was originally written by Robert Burns. What a guy!

Afterwards, as friends stood and said their goodbyes, Melissa hugged Lindsay. “That was incredible! This place is going to be such a success!” Then she hugged Elspeth and Sydney. “It was great! Thank you!”

“I think we’re off to a cracking good start. Thank you, Lindsay, for your incredible skills!” said Sydney.