The storylines in The Unexpected Arrivals of Winter follow those of my stories titled: Assumptions MotG Story #1 and A Thousand Miles MotG Story #2.

I do not own any of the characters in Monarch of the Glen or As Time Goes By or their respective worlds but have enjoyed creating this Fan Fiction.

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The Unexpected Arrivals of Winter

Winter in the Highlands of Scotland, though it be kissed with a frigid, lonely air is no less breathtaking then in any other season, especially on the environs of the Glenbogle Estate where the majestic purple mountains are capped with a thicker coating of crisp white snow and even the greyest of skies possesses a luminous quality.

Life at the estate over the past several months had been anything but uneventful. The tragic passing of Hector MacDonald—husband, father, brother and head of the household had certainly thrown the family into a tailspin. And in the midst of this shift, before all had fully recovered from Hector's loss, before his son Archie had completely come into his own as the newly-crowned Laird and they'd even had time to adjust to an existence without him, Hector's long-lost younger brother Donald had come knocking on their door.

Welcomed back to Glenbogle—though only marginally by some, the incorrigible Donald MacDonald, in an attempt to fit in, did his best to temper his scheming ways while still maintaining a certain sense of dignity and self-worth. But no one, not even the fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants Donald was prepared for the discovery that awaited them all. That Donald had sired a son, Paul Donald Bowman, of which no one was aware.

There had also been some surprising happy news as well; Archie and Lexie were expecting their first child. And although Molly MacDonald was thrilled for her son and daughter-and-law, the near-overwhelming grief and anger she felt towards her late husband had almost threatened to keep her happiness at bay. Molly knew what strength it would take to pull herself up from the depths of despair, for she had done so once before when her eldest son had an accident on the loch and had lost his life at the young age of 18. It was Molly who had rallied the family together back then, and so too, would she do it again.

Inviting a long-lost friend to Glenbogle for the holidays, someone whom Molly had shared a history and past with, did indeed seem exactly what she needed. And so it was that Jean and Lionel Hardcastle (characters from As Time Goes By) were presently journeying north.

Jean and Lionel's own story was a rocky but romantic tale. They had been young sweethearts, Jean a nurse and Lionel a soldier. Shipped off to war with his troops, the faithful Lionel wrote to Jean as promised, but his letter became lost in the post and they lost touch for some 40 years or so before fate eventually brought them together once again. Both having been previously married, the easy-going Jean Pargetter, widowed with one child—a daughter named Judy, ran a successful secretarial agency and had a penchant for innocently meddling in other people's affairs—which often times landed her in hot water. And the custard-tart-fancier Lionel Hardcastle, a cantankerous divorcé who'd owned and operated a coffee plantation in Kenya and had returned to England to write a book about his experiences. As older sweethearts, Jean and Lionel finally marry, choosing to reside in Jean's house in London (which she shared with her now-grown daughter) where, after some time, Jean's secretary from the agency, Sandy, also moves in.

Chapter1

As Time Goes By the Glen

"I just wish you'd phone for directions."

"Lionel, I have the directions." Jean Pargetter Hardcastle looked wide-eyed out the car window at the ever-increasing bucolic scenery whizzing by. An atlas opened to a map of Northern Scotland with various areas circled in red and flagged with bits of sticky paper was splayed out on her lap. In her left hand she clutched a few printed sheets the first of which was titled: Driving Route From: Kendal, Cumbria to Glenbogle Highland, Distance: Approx. 259 miles, Travel Time: Approx. 4 hours 51 mins. Several other pages detailing the route they had taken from their home in Holland Park, Kensington London to the quaint Bed & Breakfast in Kendal the day before were tucked into the auto's overhead visor.

"Yes, but a lot of good it's doing us." After driving for some time they'd finally passed over the Scottish border and Lionel was getting a bit antsy. Scratching irritatingly at the wiry gray hair of his sideburns he kept his watery eyes, which were wearied and dulled with age—the spark's gone right out of 'em, he was fond of saying—fixed on the roadway ahead. This look of deep concentration coupled with his air of ever-present direness made the good-hearted and mild-mannered man appear the tired, mean old soul. Some had been so bold as to openly wonder why Jean would put up with such a petulant bore, but Jean knew better. Because she had known him when.

"Look Lionel, I told you, I want to surprise Molly." Jean adjusted the cashmere shawl she had draped across her shoulders and ran a set of burgundy varnished nails through her head of cropped, neat hair. Although most women could not carry it off, Jean had been blessed with a near perfectly-shaped head which took quite well to very short hairstyles. She'd never had the courage to shear off all of her locks in her youth when stick-thin models slunk round London sporting such dos, but in her older years she was much more inclined. With age came a sense of understanding and wisdom and even more importantly the chutzpah to say damn it all, I shall do as I like!

"Surprise her," Lionel exasperatingly insisted, his voice raising an octave, "but Molly knows you're coming!"

"I know, I know but she doesn't know exactly when. Why must everything be planned with you?"

"Argh," Lionel grumbled, "it just makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Yes, like loading the dishwasher from the back," Jean chided. Lionel, a stickler for this logical method of stacking items in the washing appliance, had asserted his position so many times as a guest in Jean's kitchen and then later as a member of the family he was given exclusive rein over this tedious chore.

"Mmm-hmm! It's just common sense is all."

"Oh! Look! I can see it! I can see it!"

"You can see what, the house?" Lionel bent his head to get a better look out the auto's front windscreen. "Or perhaps a clearer road sign?"

"No, it's something entirely better. I see a Scots Pine—well several, actually. Oh, Lionel," Jean took a deep breath, quite content, "they're just beautiful, aren't they?"

"You know we do have pines in England, Jean."

"Yes, but these, these are in Scotland!"

Lionel grumbled again, "Stopping over in Cumbria yesterday," he mumbled to himself, "We should have just stayed seaside in that nice, warm B & B in Kendal where I could still be in bed right now ringing up for a hot cuppa."

Glenbogle Estate

Donald MacDonald's Attic Bedroom

Donald was a comical sight standing as he was with his hulking frame hunched over his little porcelain-basined attic bedroom sink. Clumsily he turned off the taps then felt around for a towel to dry his face, pressing a deep purple terry cloth into his closed eyes and around his jowls before draping it, bunched, on a worn circle of brass which was affixed to the attic's slanted stone wall with some sort of light gray mastic. His mind was elsewhere, thinking about what his son Paul Bowman had written in his letter from a few months prior which Donald had re-read earlier that morning. Though it had taken some time for him to respond, Donald knew Paul would eventually write him. After all, as hard a life as the boy had had Paul's late mother Megan raised him to have good manners and also, it seemed, with a fairly decent work ethic, too.

With their second visit—this time planned—a mere few days away, Donald had to figure out how he was going to tell the rest of the MacDonald family that they were to be expecting a visitor. Since the Laird of Glenbogle, his very own nephew Archie had put him on a sort of hands-off probation after the salmon-smoking fiasco Donald had been maintaining a very low profile. This wasn't to say however that he was keeping his nose entirely clean. As he paced along the creaking floorboards of his modest attic bedroom, pondering with rapt consternation his situation he peered out one of the windows that overlooked the front landscape and watched as a single flake of snow, seeming to appear from nowhere, drifted slowly past view, dissolving instantly as it hit the rippled-glass pane. Though unseasonably late, it was the first ground-level snowfall of the winter.

En Route to Glenbogle Estate

Jean and Lionel Hardcastle

"I just don't understand why you didn't want to spend Christmas at home this year." Lionel headed into a roundabout, searching for the second exit which would lead them to the A9 heading to Perth. "I mean what about Judy and Sandy?"

"It's not that I didn't want to spend the holidays at home, Lionel. Both Judy and Sandy had already made plans of their own, it was just to be you and I spending the holiday together and," Jean raised her voice, anticipating a flippant remark from her husband, "before you make some other wisecrack, I honestly would have enjoyed spending the holiday alone with you. It's just that, well I don't know. Look, Lionel why are you being so obstinate about this, hmm? We're here now and besides, we were both invited."

"Yes but why now, after all these years?"

"Why not now? It was such a fluke in the first place, Judy and Alistair meeting Molly at the art installation in Edinburgh as they did. I mean what were the odds? It's such a small world really! When Molly phoned to catch us up, telling me about Hector's tragic passing and her youngest child's marriage oh, I don't know. It seemed so much time had slipped away, yet there we were on the line still laughing at the same jokes still saying the same sentences simultaneously as if we were twins. We just had to see each other again to rekindle an old, dear friendship. Oh Lionel," becoming more nostalgic, Jean's voice softened, "don't you ever wish you could ring up some old chap and relive the past?"

"No, no I don't—I have a hard enough time remembering the present!"

Glasgow, Scotland

University

Jessica MacKenzie's Journal Entry

23 December 2002

I must be daft! I'm sitting outside right now on one of the benches—my favorite bench actually—the one furthest away from the campus library's main door—and it's freezing out! It's Sunday and really quiet—everyone must either be sleeping in or sleeping off an all-night bender. Though most have probably left already travelling for the holiday break. Which is fine with me—it's a wonder I was able to snatch this time for myself—alone! Everything around me seems amplified. These leaves keep falling—they're feather-light but when they hit the overhang above me the impact sounds like someone's lobbing bricks at it. And the noise is continuous—I'm like jumping every 5 seconds! I don't know why I'm so agitated and anxious or why I'm even subjecting myself to this…I guess I'm just trying to feel something.

This just isn't working. School I mean. My spirit is much too restless to be cooped up here. All I do is meet the same people, in class, in the dining hall, in study group, in the dorms, hanging out…I mean they're great pals but…I don't know…I'll be graduating soon and it seems everyone else has a clear path planned out for them. I have no job prospects…I don't even know what I want to do with my life…and when someone asks me I don't have an answer for them it's like I become mute or something. I just shrug and hope the conversation turns to someone else. I can't stand feeling so invisible…

Christmas is in two days. I don't think I'm going home. I can't deal with my Mum and all of her questions and nagging…she means well, but…Nope. Right, I've decided I'm not going home for break—but I'm not staying here, either!! I'd better get moving!!

'Til next time—J

En Route to Glenbogle Estate

Jean and Lionel Hardcastle

"I feel hoodwinked."

"Hoodwinked?" Jean turned all the way round in her seat to face Lionel. "You feel hoodwinked? What on earth for?"

"Because, I agreed to accompany you on this trip without really thinking it through, that's why. You should have gone alone, you know, flown up or something."

"Flown up? Lionel, if you weren't driving I'd punch you on the nose! Why would I have wanted to come alone?"

"Well what am I going to do while you and Molly are snickering in the corner like two schoolgirls?"

"We're not going to be snickering in the corner. It's not as if we're going to leave you all alone, Lionel. Besides, there'll be other people there as well."

"How big is this house, anyway? Have you any idea? Have you ever been?"

"Yes, I have, in fact. David and I visited the MacDonald's once when Judy was very small. He and Hector got along famously which was really surprising because my late husband was a very serious person and Hector had a tendency to be rather silly at times. Maybe that's why he and David got along so well you know opposites attract or something like that." Jean laughed to herself then let the memories drift away from her. "The estate itself is huge, more like a castle, really with 43 or so odd rooms though I don't think all are still in use. You'll see, Lionel. It's a charming, magical place. Oh and Molly has a wonderful garden. Perhaps you might take a few turns round it? The fresh highland air will do you good, it'll help to clear out the cobwebs as they say."

"Okay, yes take a few turns round the garden. So that takes care of one afternoon, what shall I do for the rest of the time then, hmm? Take a dip in the frigid loch?"

"Ah well, I wouldn't advise that! Oh, I don't know Lionel perhaps you could go fishing or game hunting or, yes, that's it! I've got it!" Jean broke out in a fit of laughter. "You could use the time to write! Start work on your next book, the sequel to My Life in Kenya!"

Not amused, Lionel quipped, "Yes and I'd title it Why'd I Ever Leave My Life in Kenya?"

Glenbogle Estate

Great Entrance Hall

"Noooo, Arch, not like that." Lexie MacDonald sat comfortably in one of the upholstered chairs flanking the fireplace in Glenbogle's great entrance hall, patiently watching her husband as he tried in vain to trim a huge Christmas tree.

"I'm sorry Lexie, but hanging tinsel isn't exactly my forte you know!"

"Wait, I'll show you how to, oh! Ow!" Leaning slightly forward, Lexie placed a hand on her rounded stomach.

"Lex, are you all right?" With strands of static-charged tinsel clinging to his hair and various other body parts, Archie tried to free his hands from the silvery filament. "What's wrong? Is it the baby?" Quickly, he attempted to head down the ladder.

"No, no, I'm fine. She's just being a little feisty, is all. We'll make a footy player of her yet, 'eh?"

Archie stopped descending the rungs. "She?"

Lexie raised a hand to her forehead. "Och Archie, I'm sorry. We never did discuss whether or not we wanted to know the sex of the baby ahead of time. I found out myself by accident at my last doctor's visit."

"Lexie?" Archie's voice had gone all tender. "We're going to have a daughter?"

"Yes, Archie MacDonald, Laird of Glenbogle we are going to have our very own wee Princess." Lexie joined her husband, the soon-to-be parents holding fast together in a contented embrace.

"Well, I guess that cuts the baby names list in half doesn't it?"

"Actually I think I know what name I'd like to give our daughter. It's an old family name that I've always liked."

"No, Archie, not like that!" Molly MacDonald breezed into the entrance area squinting up at the tree. A long, faux-holly garland trailing behind her bouncing this way and that depositing red plastic berries along the ancient, intricately-patterned oriental carpets. As she approached the pair she stopped short. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"No," responded the young couple in unison, a silent signal issued between them; they would keep the baby's gender their secret for now.

"Lexie, you should be sitting with your feet up."

"Aw, I'm okay, Molly my ankles aren't swollen yet. I was just trying to give your son here some instruction." As she spoke, Lexie ran her fingers lightly across Archie's chest. The rough fibers of his knitted wool jumper felt so good beneath the smooth pads of skin on her fingertips, she allowed her hand to linger there for a moment before slowly tracing it across and down his upper torso.

"Oh, don't bother. I love my family dearly but they've always been completely useless in the decorating department." Teasing, Archie's expression turned to one of exaggerated hurt. "Yes, I'm sorry Archie, but it's the truth! That's why, Dear," Molly smiled sweetly and then nodded toward Lexie, "it's a good thing you married someone with talent!"

Graciously accepting the compliment, Lexie turned back toward her husband. Pulling a few more strands of tinsel from the ruffled locks of his dark brown hair she placed her arms around his waist and whispered in his ear, "That's okay Sweetheart, you excel in other more important departments." As she rose up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss, she glanced out the front windows, "Look, it's snowing!!"

"Oh splendid," exclaimed Molly, "a good snowfall is just what we need right now! Archie, do be a dear and fetch us a cup of tea while we finish this last tree, will you? I still have the stair rails to trim, then the chandeliers and some of the doorways need mistletoe and, oh, my. Why did I allow myself to wait so long to decorate this year?"

"Now don't be so hard on yourself, Molly," Lexie put a reassuring arm around her mother-in-law, "it has been a tough year."

"You are right, Lexie. But it does feel good to decorate this hall again, doesn't it?"

"Oh aye."

Molly did indeed take pride in decorating the Christmas trees each year but with three larger ones downstairs and a few smaller ones tucked here and there it was an enormous task. Lexie, however, had proven to be quite the qualified apprentice, placing the bulbs in such a way that each swung freely from its designated branch—Molly was a perfectionist and task master when it came to this. In previous years she had stuck by the motto if she wanted it done right she had to do it herself but honestly, there really wasn't a right way she'd finally conceded. Molly simply savored the time spent alone allowing her creativity to flourish, much like she did with her paintings. During the winter holiday breaks from school her daughter Lizzie was always more preoccupied with discovering new ways of escaping from the house and finding the best places to smoke without getting caught, while her sons were more useful transporting all of the many boxes from the attic to the lower floors—though if left unsupervised even that task could have had disastrous results. And, with a husband who deemed decorating as solely ladies work, Molly was gladly left to her own devices.

To Hector's credit however, when all of the adornments were set in place he always did admire her hard work, showing his appreciation by preparing a batch of his special homemade brandy-laden eggnog, then taking his bride on what he'd call a Nog and Snog tour of the trees.

Given Hector's fairly recent passing it was expected that many time-honed traditions, like the huge blue-green spruce always reserved for the main entry hall and generally dripping with crimson ribbons, twinkling lights and shiny silver and gold bulbs, would be omitted this year, Molly having thought twice about displaying such grandeur. But it was the estate's trusted ghillie Golly MacKenzie, who for years had taken it upon himself to hand-pick the most handsome tree who was able to change Molly's mind. This year's offering, he'd gently explained to Molly, had already been eyed by Hector months before her husband's unfortunate demise. It had seemed that one day while Hector had been walking his many dogs about the property he'd spotted the glorious tree and had tagged it with a muffler bearing the MacDonald clan's tartan, thus declaring it a worthy choice. Concurring, Golly had decided that when the time came he would abide by his boss's wishes.

Though not the grandest by far, the second tree, a smaller fir set-up in the library was the one dearest to Molly because it was entirely devoted to the family. She had begun this tradition the year her son Jamie died; a year in which none of them felt especially like celebrating, let alone trimming the house and trees. In a heart-felt attempt to lift the pervasive melancholic mood that clung with determination to the very structure of Glenbogle like a darkened shroud, she managed—as only Molly could—to cajole everyone into being involved. Together they soothed their aching souls as a family through laughter and tears, sharing, remembering and enjoying the memories attached to every childhood Popsicle stick-and-glittered ornament, each telling in turn a specific bauble's unique story as it was lovingly placed on a bough.

The third tree was a very realistic yellowish-green fake which Molly had acquired years and years before when the colors of avocado and russet and mustard were all the rage and therefore was perfectly suitable to the deep apricot wallpaper of the drawing room. Its branches were always embellished with a vast collection of pears in sparkling crystals, burnished bronzes, and rich golds, though no one seemed to remember why or who had started the collection. Swathing it in a pretty plaid ribbon in tones of beige, brown and purple, Molly, a bit ahead of her time, liked to call it the naturaltree.

En Route to Glenbogle

Jean and Lionel

"Oh damn and blast! This is just what we needed!" As they reached the final stretch of highway leading to Glenbogle Lionel switched on the windscreen wipers. "At least it hasn't started sticking to the road yet!"

"It's snowing!" Jean didn't even try to conceal her enthusiasm at this latest weather-related development. "Oh how lovely!"

Lionel took a quick peek at the last page of directions, his eyes following the squiggly red line which indicated the long trek through the countryside that would eventually lead to the Estate's drive. "We should have stocked up on some of those Kendal Mint Cakes you saw in the confectioner's last night. If we run out of petrol there's no telling how long it would take for someone to find us!"

Glenbogle Estate

Glenbogle Estate's Head Ranger, Duncan McKay pushed a wheelbarrow full of gathered pine cones and greenery under the alcove of the house's outside entry, shaking the accumulated snow off his head and the collar and sleeves of his black leather jacket before opening the front door and entering. Always clad in a green and black plaid kilt, heavy socks and work boots, the few inches of bare skin left exposed on his legs had turned a bright red from being in contact with the elements and stung a little as the warmth of the MacDonald home enveloped him.

"Duncan? Come in, come in! It looks like you finished collecting the pine cones just in time."

"Aye Molly, the snowfall's really picking up." Stepping into the entrance hall, Duncan placed a basket of pine cones on a table in the corner before stopping to admire the tree. "You've really outdone yourselves this year, ladies it looks beautiful. Hector would have really been pleased, Molly." Duncan's sweet, kind and thoughtful demeanor—rare qualities to find in any lad were some of the traits the MacDonald family had found most endearing about him.

"Thank you, Duncan. So will you and your Aunt Liz be spending Christmas together?" An Aunt through marriage, Liz Logan McKay, the owner of a small B & B in the village was just about the only remaining relative of Duncan's.

"No, she left for Glasgow this past Friday, gone to visit a cousin of hers for a few weeks. This year she decided to take a proper vacation and close up her Bed & Breakfast. And I can't say I blame her, really. My Auntie never gets a break from her duties at the inn.

"All right then it's settled." Having had a soft-spot for the lad and never wanting him to feel as if he was all alone in the world—although Duncan himself had never once complained about his life or situation, Molly always made every effort to include him in their festivities.

"What's that then?"

"You will spend Christmas with us Duncan, unless you've made other plans?"

"Thanks, Molly. I mean I don't have any other plans but I don't want to intrude, what with your guests arriving and all."

"Nonsense, I would never consider having you join us as an intrusion! Duncan, you are just as much a part of this family as my own son and daughter. Besides, the more the merrier!"

"Okay," he said gratefully, "Then I'd love to! Now," Duncan reached for the ladder Archie had been using, "let's get all of this greenery hung, shall we?"

Progressing methodically around the entrance hall, Duncan draped strings of evergreens and lights over doorways and picture frames, winding them around the pink marble columns near the hall leading to the dining room while Lexie artfully nestled some of the huge pine cones and branches on the mantel.

Molly had just finished rearranging some of the holiday cards they had received, displaying them on a table in the library when upon leaving the room she practically collided with her brother-in-law.

Hector's imposing younger brother Donald MacDonald, thought himself to be the most suave of gentleman, asked expectantly of Molly, "Might I have a kiss?" Standing in the doorway, he pointed to a bunch of mistletoe hanging from the library door. "It's damn-near mandatory, isn't it?"

Cheerfully, Molly unexpectedly obliged, giving Donald a warm peck on his cheek.

"Oh," he said, clearly delighted but surprised.

Molly had kept a firm hold on his arm. "I want you to behave around our guests, Donald."

"Guest?" Donald's eyes widened as he tried to comprehend how she had found out about Paul's imminent arrival.

"Guests, Donald, guests. Look, I told you about this. My friend Jean Pargetter, well she's Jean Hardcastle now—and her husband are visiting for a few days. They're due to arrive sometime today."

"Oh, yes, yes so you did, so you did." Donald felt Molly's gaze boring into him. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse and gentle as a lamb," he reassured her.

Though skeptical, Molly released the hold on his arm, "Good." Smiling, she shook her head, "I'm glad we understand each other, Donald."

Glenbogle Estate Kitchen

Once again Ewan Brodie, the young self-taught Chef extraordinaire had earned his place as a valuable asset to Glenbogle's meager staff when he offered—completely unprompted to pitch in where needed around the house given Lexie's current condition as he termed it. Though if asked he still maintained that feeding the MacDonald's and their extended family was definitely a full-time gig. Knowing Molly's guests would be arriving during the week he had consulted with both MacDonald women pen-in-hand, taking detailed notes on which rooms needed airing out and sprucing up, finalizing all of the pre-discussed menus and double-checking specific requests, one of which oddly, was plenty of custard tarts.

Thus, with the upstairs guest rooms and loos cleaned and set with fresh linens and towels Ewan began scouring the immense collection of cookbooks on the kitchen shelves in search of a good custard tart recipe. Though he could have simply conducted an internet search the tactile pleasure of opening actual books, some of which were practically as old as Glenbogle itself, held more allure than that of the ease and speed of modern technology.

"Ewan?" Donald rushed into the kitchen, "I need a room, dear boy!" Slightly out of breath, Donald approached the table where Ewan was sitting placing both of his rough, meaty hands on two low stacks of cookbooks. He leaned over the table panting small puffs of air.

"Hey, you got bats in the belfry or something, Donald?" Ewan screwed up his nose reacting either to the foul stench of Donald's breath or the overwhelming odor of musky cologne that clung like an aura in the air surrounding him.

"What? No, it's not for me, it's for my son!"

"Your son? Ah that would be that Paul guy who came charging up here a few months ago then, 'eh?" Ewan resumed his recipe search, "This isn't a bed and breakfast you know. There are rooms for let in the village."

Exasperated by his insolence Donald became more serious, raising his voice, "Now you listen to me, young man. My son, Paul Bowman, is coming for a visit and I need a guest room fixed for him! Did you hear me?"

"Aye I heard you but don't you be gettin' all hot under the collar with me," Ewan slammed the cookbook shut and grabbed the lined piece of paper with his notes, pointing to his scribbled hand-writing. "He's not on my list, ye hear? Does Molly even know he's coming? Wait, does Archie know?"

Resigned, Donald sat down heavily on one of the wooden stools. "No. And I'm sorry for taking it out on you, dear boy. But he's my son. Paul's my own flesh and blood and it's Christmas."

"So what, were you planning on sneaking him in, figurin' Molly wouldn't notice an extra guest?" Donald smiled at this statement as if thinking the idea not half-bad. "What's the big deal, anyway? Just tell them. Okay, he's only Molly's nephew through marriage, but like you said Paul is your son and he's Archie's first cousin. He is just coming for a visit, right?"

"Hmm? Ah, well, um yes." Donald stumbled over his words. "Yes, you've made some good points here." He slid Ewan's page of instructions closer to him. Perusing the list, Donald tried to make out the cryptic notes at the bottom that were labeled The Surprise and were surrounded by drawn stars.

"But, yeh," Ewan eyed Donald suspiciously, "I'll make sure one of the rooms is ready. When's he coming?"

"When? In a few days."

"Och," Ewan nearly blew a gasket. "You mean for Christmas, don't you?!"

"Well, just after, for Hogmanay."

"Whew! We're going to have a full house here then; there'll really be no room at the inn!"

Having found a suitable recipe, Ewan rose from the table and started amassing the ingredients he needed. Donald idly watched as eggs, sugar, double cream and salt were placed down on the table in front of him.

"Hmmm," thought Donald absently, "custard tarts."

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