The Secret of Braemore Castle

By T. Clement Robison

Using both historical events and legends and set against the backdrop of the beautiful Highland Country of Scotland, the author weaves a fascinating tale of mystery and adventure. Written in the first person, the author entices the reader to accompany him on a visit to his ancestral estate of Braemore Castle. The visit turns dangerous when an ancient clue draws the author into a search for a medieval treasure that is believed by many to be nothing but foolish folklore. Medieval legends of: warring clans, Vikings, Nordic kings, and Knights Templars each play a part in this imaginative narrative.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9781669878032

T. Clement Robison

OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR W.I.A. (Wounded in Action) Enemy of My Enemy Operation Duck Hook Lost Treasure of the Grand Strand The Improbable Life of Billy T. Kettle Corpse on Cape Romain

Book preview

THE SECRET

OF BRAEMORE

CASTLE

T. CLEMENT ROBISON

Copyright © 2023 by T. Clement Robison.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/24/2023

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

842523

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

EPILOGUE

OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR

(W.I.A.) Wounded in Action

Enemy of My Enemy

Operation Duck Hook

Lost Treasure of the Grand Strand

The Improbable Life of Billy T. Kettle

Corpse on Cape Romain

Legend of Saint Boniface’s Chalice

Curse of Yamashita’s Gold

The Peculiar Disappearance of Professor Brownrigg

Papal Quest

This work is dedicated to the memory of Michael (Mike) Leonard whose initial genealogical research planted the seed in the mind of the author for this story.

CHAPTER ONE

May 15, 2020

It was late Friday afternoon before I returned to the office. I had just completed a four-day jury trial and I was anxious to get back and clean off my desk before the weekend. I was in good spirits, having won a hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar judgment for my client. My fee would be twenty percent.

The day’s mail sat on the corner of my desk. As was customary, my secretary, Brenda, placed the mail in two piles: one for business correspondence the other for personal. I shuffled through the business mail, momentarily ignoring the one personal envelope.

After deciding there was nothing in the business group that demanded my immediate attention, I turned my attention to the single envelope. Instantly the return address caught my eye. The correspondence was from the Braemore Castle, Berriedale, Scotland.

As an attorney I was used to receiving lots of mail from odd places usually sent by odd people with odd requests. My habit was to just drop those letters into the oval file next to my desk. But for some reason my curiosity was piqued.

I was further intrigued when I turned the envelope over and saw it was sealed with wax. On the seal there was what appeared to be, a crest imbedded with the words: CLAN GUNN across the top and the words AUT PAX AUT BELLUM across the bottom.

The address on the envelope added to the mystery. It was addressed to Barrister Thomas C. Robison. I knew a barrister in the United Kingdom is the equivalent to an attorney in the United States, but I had never received correspondence bearing that title.

I carefully slid my letter opener under the seal and pried open the flap. The envelope contained a single page letter. The penmanship was beautiful very closely resembling Calligraphy. At the top center of the page, was a drawing of a castle in the foreground and some trees and shrubbery along with some clouds in the background. The drawing was done in a manner to suggest a feeling of a windswept location. It was drawn using a light gray scale. Written over and across the center of the drawing, in bold letters, were the words: BRAEMORE CASTLE.

The letter read:

Dear Sir:

It has been determined that you are a direct descendant of the Robison Gunn Clan of Braemore, Scotland. Specifically, you are a decedent of Donald Gunn, son of Robert (Robi) Gunn, second son of George (Seoras) Gunn, the Crowner of Caithness and first chief of the Gunn Clan as determined in the fifteenth century.

The purpose of this correspondence is to inform you that the Braemore Estate, consisting of a castle and approximately five hundred acres of land located on the east coast of Scotland, south of the Village of Knockally and north of the Village of Ramscraigs, is scheduled to be auctioned off by reason of a deficiency in the payment of land taxes. The government having taken possession by intestate succession. The auction is to occur thirty days from the date of this correspondence.

You are invited to take part in this auction if you so choose, and if successful, take immediate possession of your ancestral estate. The outstanding debt on the estate to date is £ 969751. Only bids of that amount or higher will be accepted. Please contact the Office of the Highland Council at the address below no later than June 30, 2020 to acquire the necessary credentials for purposes of entering bids and obtaining other pertinent information regarding this matter.

Sincerely,

Sir William Robison Gunn, Chief of the Clan Gunn

www.highland.gov.uk

I did a quick calculation of the amount of the unpaid taxes in dollars and found the amount to be approximately $300,000; a little too rich for my blood but, admittedly, not that much for a castle and five hundred acres of land on the coast of Scotland.

I retrieved a world atlas from my bookshelf and opened it to the country of Scotland. It took some time until I was able to locate Braemore and the villages of Knockally and Ramscraigs. I found it odd the map had the location of the Village of Braemore several miles inland from the coast while the other villages appeared to be on the coast. Apparently, the estate was not located near the Village of Braemore.

A computer search informed me the nearest airport to the area was the John O ’Groat Airport located one mile from Wick, Scotland. I stuck my head out of the office door and asked Brenda to find out the best flights to Wick.

Wick, Scotland? Why do you want to know that? she asked.

I just found out I am of Scottish descent and they are going to auction off my ancestral estate in Braemore, Scotland in one month. I would like to visit my family castle before it is put on the auction block.

Your family owns a castle in Scotland?

It appears that way, lassie, I laughingly replied.

I was never very interested in my ancestors or from where the Robisons originated. I had once asked my father what nationality we were and he offhandedly replied that we were Nordic.

The letter had motivated my curiosity so I did a computer search of my surname. As it turns out, my father’s remark was correct. The Gunn Clan are direct descendants of Gunni, the grandson of Sweyn Asleifsson, a Viking hero of some sort. Also, it appears the Gunns are of royalty having descended from the Earls of Orkney who were Norsemen. Coincidently, the Gunni name is Norse and means war.

The meaning of the Gunn name certainly was fitting. A search of the history of the clan reveals they were at war nearly constantly with one rival clan or another such as the Sinclairs and the Keiths who had obtained grants from the Scottish King for lands held by the Gunns. Feuds between clans were commonplace; of special note was the feud with the Keiths.

Apparently one of the Keiths, by the name of Dugald, had romantic feelings for a lass named Helen, the daughter of the head of the Braemore Gunns. Unfortunately, Helen did not feel the same way about Dugald. The rejection angered the Keiths who surrounded the Gunn home and killed several inhabitants allowing Dugald to kidnap Helen and carry her back to Ackergill, the Keiths’ castle. This kidnapping apparently caused Helen so much anguish that she killed herself by jumping off the castle wall.

As a result, the Gunns and the Keiths went to war which lasted several years. An effort to end the war occurred around the year 1478 when a meeting was set up to discuss a truce at a chapel located in the Tayre area of Caithness, wherever that was. It was agreed upon that twelve representatives of each clan would attend the meeting.

George Gunn at that time was the chief of the clan, his sons and some chief kinsmen arrived first. In violation of the agreement the Keiths arrived later with twenty-four men and a battle ensued. George Gunn was killed along with some of his sons and several of the Keiths. The Keiths retreated later to be attacked by surviving Gunns and killed.

A footnote to this story states that in 1978 the leader of the Keith Clan and the leader of the Gunn Clan signed a treaty at the same chapel ending the feud after five hundred years.

If the story of the feud is true, and I have no reason to believe it is not. I’m sure although embellished over the years, it shows it didn’t take much for these Viking descendants to take up the sword and attack a neighbor.

The more I read about the history of my family the more I became fascinated, and the more I became convinced I needed to see my ancestral home for myself.

Getting to Braemore Castle was not the easy task as I had assumed when my secretary walked into my office and sat down. I looked up from my paperwork to see a troubled expression on her face.

What’s the problem?

She looked at the note pad in her lap before replying. There really is not any easy way to get to Wick, Scotland. From what I was able to find out you would first have to fly to London, England, then to Edinburgh, Scotland. From there you can fly to Wick, drive to Wick, or take a train to Wick.

So, what’s wrong with any of that? I naively asked.

The connecting flights have huge layovers. In some cases, days, she replied; then continued, for example, while the flight from Edinburgh to John O’Groats Airport in Wick is an hour and ten minutes, there is only one flight a week.

Well, what about taking a train or a bus? I asked

A train from Edinburgh to Wick takes seven and a half hours. A bus ride is about the same. If you drive it is only five hours.

I thought I would throw her a curve, so I asked, How far is it from Wick to Braemore?

She quickly looked at her notes and replied, Only twenty-seven miles south.

So, if I drive from Edinburgh to Braemore I only knock off about a half an hour. So, it turns into a four-and-a-half-hour drive since Braemore is south of Wick and north of Edinburgh.

Are you thinking of driving yourself? You know they drive on the left-hand side of the road over there. Do you think you could adjust to that?

Probably, but not right away. I am sure it would take some getting used to, I replied.

Well, I doubt they give you driving lessons before they let you get behind the wheel. I think you would be better off flying to Wick and hiring someone to drive you to Braemore, she replied in a somewhat motherly tone.

Okay, book me on flights from Detroit to Wick, Scotland the best way that you can. Also, find me some acceptable accommodations in the area and arrange for a rental car from Wick to Braemore. I certainly should be able to cover twenty-seven miles on my own without too much difficulty. The way it looks on the map it’s mostly country roads.

That was that. I would soon be on my way to the home of my ancestors. I was starting to feel excited and nostalgic about the whole undertaking. Little did I know this seemingly innocuous trip to Scotland would turn into a life threating adventure.

CHAPTER TWO

I needed to make sure I packed the right type of clothing for my journey. I found out the average temperature for the summer months in northern Scotland was fifty-nine to sixty-three degrees; mild compared to some areas of the United States. The summer days are long with extremely long twilight periods. The area is warmed by the Gulf Stream swirling across the Atlantic Ocean. It was common knowledge Scotland is Europe’s windiest country, so I did not pack any hats. Because of the windy conditions cloud cover is prevalent most of the year. However, rainfall in the area of the country I would be visiting is limited.

A good fleece-lined windbreaker sounded appropriate along with sweaters and sweatshirts. Good hiking footwear also seemed appropriate since I doubted flat concrete sidewalks were commonplace; I was betting I would be required to do a great deal of cross-country walking on unfinished roads and trails.

Thanks to the internet I was able to request and receive my required credentials to attend the auction-even though I obviously did not intend to bid, along with a few other instructions as to exact date, time, and location, in a matter of three hours. As it turned out, the auction was to be held in the great hall of Braemore Castle itself.

As far as suitable accommodations in the area of Braemore, there wasn’t much to choose from. After an extensive search, Brenda was able to find a small hotel located near the Village of Latheron located eighteen miles south of the John O’Groats airport and nine and a half miles from the Village of Braemore.

The Blends was the name of the converted hotel which their website indicated was built in 1835. Their website also indicated the hotel was located at a place called Latheronwheel. I looked it up on the map and found Latheronwheel was less than a mile away from Latheron and located at a fishing harbor. Since this was the best we could do without traveling a great distance, I told her to book a room for a week.

Brenda was still concerned about the air travel connections and the long layovers at London and Edinburgh. The one flight a week available from Edinburgh to Wick, aboard Logan Airlines, was scheduled to leave at 5:10 a.m. in the morning. She was worried there would be no car rental agents available upon my arrival at Wick at 6:20 a.m. From what she could tell from the information available to her, the office of the rental car company did not open until 9:00 a.m. She continued to worry even after I assured her, I had no problem with waiting.

You are going to be doing a lot of waiting. At London the layover is six hours and in order to catch the early morning flight to Wick you will need to stay two days in Edinburgh.

I do not mind. I would like the opportunity of sightseeing in Edinburgh. I bet it’s a great city to visit.

After Brenda and I checked my appointment calendar, we found only one appointment would need to be rescheduled in order for me to have the next ten days, if needed, free of conflicts. I contacted my credit card provider informing them of my travel plans and received assurances any purchases made overseas would be cleared for payment. I checked my passport to make sure I had at least six months remaining before being required to renew. Brenda doubled checked to make sure a visa was not needed to travel to Scotland.

After doing a limited search, Brenda booked me into the Double Tree hotel on Bread Street in Edinburgh. She told me she picked that hotel because it was located in the center of the city close to shopping and restaurants. It was a modern hotel, even though it was originally built in 1892. Obviously, extensive renovations had been needed to bring the historic hotel up to modern day standards. She assured me the hotel provided all the necessary and some un-necessary amenities. Besides, I could use my Hilton Honors Points to help pay for the lodging.

When I made an off-hand remark that I did not care if it was near shopping because I didn’t plan on purchasing any souvenirs, I could tell by the expression on her face I had better bring back a small gift for her or I would never hear the end of it.

I spent the following Saturday shopping for new clothes and hiking boots. The evening was spent organizing and packing. With nothing further to do before a Monday morning departure, I relaxed on Sunday by reading and watching the final round of a PGA golf tournament.

My seven-and-a-half-hour flight from Detroit to London was scheduled to leave the gate at noon. Since London is five hours ahead of the eastern United States my flight would arrive after midnight. My connecting flight to Edinburgh was scheduled to leave six hours later. Because I had such a long layover, I really was not concerned if my flight from Detroit Metro left right on time.

Nevertheless, I arrived in Detroit two hours before my scheduled departure time. After Brenda dropped me off at the departure terminal, I checked my luggage, and cleared security. I arrived at the gate with some time to spare. So, when the attendant announced my United Airlines, flight was delayed for thirty minutes because the plane had been delayed leaving O’Hare, I was not concerned. Twenty minutes later when a second announcement was made adding another thirty minutes to the delay, I was annoyed but still not concerned. I knew on the other end of the flight, when the plane finally landed at Heathrow, I would not need to hurry to catch my connecting flight.

With time on my hands, I found a small bar just off the concourse and ordered a glass of Merlot. I relaxed and sat back and watched as throngs of people passed by. It amazed me how much carry-on luggage airline passengers dragged onto planes even though the bags were restricted by size. Many of the women’s purses were larger than my checked suitcase.

I returned to my gate just as the announcement was made for first-class passengers to board. The passengers took their time finding their seats and stowing their overhead baggage adding to the delayed take-off time.

An hour after the plane reached its cruising altitude, the flight attendants came down the aisle pushing the beverage cart. I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir and was handed a demi bottle which held two and a half glasses of wine. Since it was going to be a long flight. I guess the flight attendant thought I either looked thirsty or did not want to return and bring me another glass later. The wine was a premium quality and was particularly good so the attendant was probably right, I would have asked for a second glass.

Day had turned to night when dinner was served. The roast beef with boiled rustic herb potatoes and asparagus spears with hollandaise sauce, served to the first-class passengers, was tasty but the portions were small. A dinner roll with a pat of butter had been added to the plate along with a chocolate chip cookie to help fill the void in my stomach. I asked for-and promptly received-a cup of coffee with real cream.

For the moment, my appetite had been appeased. If I required additional nourishment later, I had now approximately five hours at the London airport to secure more food.

I had flown into London’s Heathrow International Airport on a couple of occasions in the past. I knew it was one of the busiest airports in Europe. I hoped by arriving in the early morning hours the crowds would be reduced. I also hoped there would be a decent restaurant open where I could order breakfast. With nothing to do but wait, I tilted my seat back and closed my eyes.

As the flight approached London, the pilot made an announcement: we would be arriving at terminal two, gate six. The weather was overcast with light rain. The local time was 1:20 a.m. A strong tail wind had shortened our flight by several minutes. As expected, due to our delayed arrival, the pilot also asked those passengers who did not have immediate connecting flights, to please remain seated and allow those who had, to deplane first. Once the rush for the cabin door was over, I casually stood and walked off the plane.

I was one of the last passengers to exit the airplane. As I walked into the terminal, as anticipated, I encountered very few fellow travelers. The first person I saw was a custodian vacuuming the carpeting in the gate area. I inquired about a nearby restaurant and was informed the only chance of finding one open at this early hour would be in terminal five. He directed me to an area where I could catch an interterminal bus that would take me directly to terminal five.

This second terminal had more travelers milling around. When I checked the overhead departure screen, I discovered my flight to Edinburgh on British Airways left from that terminal. I also located a restaurant on one of the concourses.

I was directed to a table by a young waiter and handed a menu. The Perfectionist’s Café, as the restaurant was called, had a varied menu. Its breakfast offerings were extensive. I placed an order for Eggs Benedict and coffee. I noticed a copy of The London Times sitting on a nearby tabletop. I scanned the room to determine if the paper had an owner. Since there was no one in the immediate vicinity, I reached over and retrieved the copy. I reasoned if the owner should appear I would politely apologize for pilfering their copy and return it. No one had claimed it by the time my order arrived, so I continued reading. I stayed at the restaurant for as long as possible; drinking at least three cups of very strong coffee and reading several news articles.

I had three hours to go before my connecting flight to Edinburgh was scheduled to leave. I paid for my meal with a credit card and headed for the currency exchange counter. While I preferred to use a credit card while traveling, I did not want to rely on one exclusively. I was traveling to a remote area of Scotland and had no idea if a card would be accepted everywhere I needed to go. When I found the counter, a sign indicated the exchange would not open until 5:00 a.m. Since that was very close to my time of departure I decided to wait until I arrived at Edinburgh to transact my business. I had left the newspaper in the restaurant for the next layover passenger who needed to kill some time. So, I looked for a newsstand where I could purchase my own copy, forgetting-of course-the early hour, I found none open on my leisurely stroll to my gate.

I took a seat in one of the most uncomfortable chairs I had ever encountered. I scanned the entire expanse of the open terminal but saw no one. The silence was eerie. I could see a large portion of the airport from where I sat. Planes were steadily taking off and landing in a choregraphed procession. I wondered what the Wright Brothers would think of their invention if they could observe the spectacle of huge airplanes flying nearly effortlessly in and out of the airport.

Slowly the chairs around me began to fill up. Two sets of parents carrying their blurry-eyed offspring took a group of seats across from me and sat down holding the children on their laps; the parents themselves appearing exhausted.

My boring wait was over when I heard the announcement that British Airways Flight 214 was now boarding first-class passengers. I took a window seat two rows back from the bulkhead. Seats were arranged in the first-class section only two abreast. The seats were wide and comfortable. The space between the rows was ample. There was plenty of room to tilt the seats back without bothering the passenger behind. The plane filled quickly. After the doors were secured, the engines revved and we bumped along the approach ramp until we reached the top of the main runway.

We sat motionless on the runway waiting for our turn to take off. I looked up and made eye contact with a young female attendant sitting in a jump seat immediately to my right front. We both smiled. After a few minutes the engines roared and the cabin began to vibrate. When the pilot released the brakes, the plane shot down the runway and lifted off, quickly gaining altitude.

Upon reaching our cruising altitude, the bumping and jarring of the aircraft smoothed out and the calming hum of the engines could be heard. The flight attendants began taking drink orders. I indicated I didn’t care for any refreshments and then leaned back to relax. It seemed as if I had just closed my eyes when the pilot announced we were on approach to Turnhouse Airport in Edinburgh. We would be arriving at gate four.

As we approached the runway I looked out of the window and saw strong crosswinds blowing a foggy mist vertically across the airport. As the plane lost altitude, the winds began to buffet the aircraft requiring the pilot to repeatedly adjust the ailerons and rudder to stay aligned with the runway. Several jarring minutes passed before we landed with a heavy bump. The engines screamed as the pilot reversed thrust in an attempt to slow the large aircraft as its landing gear slid on a slippery runway.

As before, I waited until the cabin was nearly empty before exiting. The jetway swayed in the cross winds as I made my way to the terminal. It was a long walk down a wide concourse to the baggage claim. By the time I arrived, the luggage had been removed from the carousel and placed in neat rows on