The Highland Fling(6)

“For someone who’s worried about getting hit, you should be more concerned about keeping your head in the car,” Dakota says, her voice full of fear.

“I can’t see—this windshield is so small.”

“Turn right. Google Maps is saying turn right.”

“I think I need to turn left.”

“I’m telling you to turn right.”

“And I think you’re wrong . . .”



“Stop staring at me. I told you I was sorry,” I say, feeling the heat of Dakota’s peeved gaze.

“Are you listening now?” Dakota asks, still pale from the ten minutes we spent on the side of the road so she could throw up. My left turn resulted in a rather scary downhill road that brought us face to face with an oncoming tour bus.

“Listening.” I give her a charming smile.

“Stay on this road, and do not turn unless I tell you.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” I answer with a smile that does nothing to help the green tinge in Dakota’s cheeks.

Please don’t let her throw up in the car.



“We’re GOING TO DIE!” I scream for what seems like the tenth time as we merge into the inner circle of a roundabout.

“AHHH!” Dakota flails, holding on to the rope as we corner on two wheels.

(Not really, but that’s what it feels like.)

“Mother of Jesus, what hellish labyrinth are we in?” I yell out the window as another car passes us.

“We’re circling the devil’s teat,” Dakota whimpers. “That’s what we’re doing.”

“We drive in Los Angeles, for fuck’s sake. We can do this.”

“The rope is slipping!” Dakota calls out.

“For the love of God, don’t let go. Hang tight, Dakota. We can do this.” On a scream, I turn on my blinker and hope for the best.



Ten minutes later . . .

“Let me know when you’re ready,” I say, gripping both ropes while Dakota heaves out the side of the car. “Roundabouts were made to destroy the hearts of tourists.” I glare up at the cloudy gray sky. “I see you, Scotland. I see your witchy ways.”



“So . . .” I break through the silence that’s fallen over our car as we peacefully make our way down the winding back roads of Scotland. The scenery has become increasingly green—found those trees—and instead of troublesome buildings to navigate through, we’re delighted with the tumbling mountains with the occasional sheep dotting the meadows. “That was fun.”

“Why were you honking so much?” Dakota asks, weak and most likely dehydrated.

“It felt like it was my only defense mechanism.”

“I’ve never seen your jaw unhinge like that before.” She stares blankly out the windshield. “The swear words you said. Very . . . colorful.”

“Seems like roundabouts bring out the trucker in me.” I clear my throat, feeling hoarse from the banshee-like screaming I did while trying to cut across the three-lane death trap.

“I don’t think I can ever unsee what happened back there.”

“That’s fair,” I say quietly. “I understand. That was a side of me I don’t think anyone was expecting to see, myself included. But, hell, we did it. We are taking Scotland by the whisky and lochs.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Dakota says, staring out at the stunning nature and rugged mountains. Dark shadows from the looming clouds above add a mythical feel you can’t find in smoggy California.

“It does—you know, like ‘taking the bull by the horns,’ but . . . forget it. So, about that whole Penis Stone thing. I thought he was asking for . . . payment by tapping his crotch like that.”

“The Scots aren’t Neanderthals, Bonnie. They speak English.”

“That was not English back there.”

“Some people have thicker accents than others. When I spoke to Finella on the phone yesterday, she had a very pretty accent, easy to understand. I had no problem speaking with her.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Was she the one who told you about the Penis Stone?”

“No, I read about it when I was researching Corsekelly.” The green shade that once was Dakota’s face has now dimmed to a normal skin color, thankfully. “Apparently that’s what the town is known for. That and a goat.”

“Oh-kay. Want to elaborate on the Penis Stone?”

“You know the show Iron Crowns?”

“The one with all the incest and rape?” I ask.

“Yeah, the one you couldn’t stomach anymore, so we switched over to watching Jane the Virgin.”

“I would marry Rojelio in a heartbeat. Give me some of that Latin love.”

“Even I would consider marrying Rojelio.” Dakota chuckles.

“It’s the Rojelio gift baskets, isn’t it?”

She clutches her heart with her free hand. “He puts so much thought into them. Anyway, Iron Crowns made TV history when they had the Serpent Queen—”

“Ugh, she was creepy. I’m all for women’s empowerment—own that crown, baby—but then she’d flick her serpent tongue out at people, and it just didn’t sit right with me.”