Seacliff

Chapter six: The chained unicorn

2019

Ahead of bringing a group of tourists into Edinburgh Castle, Aidan paused at the top of the Castlehill road to point out the whisky museum behind him.

"If you're a fan of spirits," he said, "that is one of the best experiences you can have in Edinburgh. Scotch is Scotland's national drink, after all, and they're offering a brilliant ride through the history of whisky. That's whisky without an E. It's how we spell it up here."

He cast a cursory glance over his shoulder at The Scotch Whisky Experience and adjusted his glasses.

"In case you're like me and have wondered why the spelling differs," he resumed, "I once walked in there and just straight up asked them, you know? Why do Scots spell whisky without the E? I was told it's because they hate the English."

Peals of laughter erupted across his audience. A rather small group this gloomy October morning, yet lively despite the thin drizzle that had begun to fall. Aidan couldn't help a smile. A laughing audience was always music to his ears.

"Though I'd take that with a grain of salt, because the Irish do spell it with an E and they have even more reason to hate the English. The same goes for the Americans."

The rain intensified and Aidan ushered his flock through the gates onto the esplanade, walking in big strides, so they could take shelter at the castle as soon as possible. He still managed to squeeze a story in.

"So, with Scotch being our national drink," he opened his ever-present umbrella and turned to face his audience, walking backwards, "it makes total sense that our national animal should be the unicorn, right?"

Disbelieving chuckles spread through the group.

"This time I'm really not joking! The unicorn represents Scotland on the royal coats of arms, I'll show you inside. You might have seen it on the gates of Holyrood Palace if you passed by it."

He twisted his torso to look behind him and make sure he wouldn't bump into anyone.

"What's always been really interesting to me is that the unicorn is portrayed with a crown around its neck, but chained to the ground, because, legend has it, a free unicorn is a very dangerous beast."

They reached the castle's entrance gate and crowded under the arched roof it provided.

"To be fair," Aidan continued, "the unicorn is chained in all its emblematic representations, even on Scotland's own coat of arms. Which I find very funny, since the unicorn was chosen because it's the only animal that can defeat England's national symbol, the lion. So, maybe they really do hate the English."

His punchline elicited a muted reaction this time around and he gave his group a break. They were busy digging out umbrellas or raincoats, pulling up hoods and zipping up jackets. The air had chilled considerably, but even in his kilt and T-shirt, Aidan relished the cool fragrance of the rain. He breathed it in, closing his eyes.

It reminded him of running through the wood behind the house as a kid, jumping into puddles and slipping on dewy moss. He didn't mind getting covered in mud – nor did his mum, thankfully – he'd wash it all off in the sea. The salty breeze blended with the musk of the wet earth as he approached the shore. But that gave way to painful memories of another sea, and the stink of trench mud –

"Aren't you cold?" one of the tourists asked, prompting him to open his eyes and return to reality.

Aidan gulped and rubbed at his cheek with his knuckles. Remnants of a raindrop, or perhaps a stray tear.

"No," he answered, smiling. "No, I'm never cold."