“So, who are you?” she whispered, puzzled.

The inhabitants of Castle Mal and Castle Raven were preparing for the festival. For three days, Megan could not find peace. Every evening, from ten o'clock to three in the morning, she looked out the window every fifteen minutes, searching for Derek, but he never appeared. She asked Glenn and Warren about a neighbor named Derek, but they responded negatively – there were no neighbors by that name in their vicinity. During these three days, she covered many miles on foot, exploring the surroundings of both castles in hopes of encountering him somewhere. Now she could only hope for his presence at the festival, where she could ask him the questions that had been tormenting her lately.

Finally, the day of the fern festival arrived. Malcolm McKenzie's granddaughter, dressed in a kilt and cape, carefully examined every detail of her appearance in the mirror when Glenn knocked on the door.

“Megan, are you ready? Warren is waiting for us downstairs.”

“Yes, we can go. Glenn, did I fasten everything correctly?”

“Everything is fine, you look magnificent. If only your grandfather could see you now! Let's go, it’s time!”

The celebrations took place very close by. All over the field, there were preparations for bonfires. Bonfires had a dual significance in folk customs. They were associated with the sun and believed to have purifying properties. According to ancient beliefs, the flame protected a person from evil, witchcraft, and impure forces. It was precisely on this night that the boundaries between the world of humans and the supernatural realms blurred, allowing evil spirits to guard the magical fern flower.

Numerous tents stretched along the field, offering a variety of foods, while beer, ale, and whisky were sold in every third stall, attracting the longest queues. The aroma of hot stewed lamb and venison wafted from some tents and different types of sausages and frankfurters were grilled on coals right on the spot. Children's eyes widened at the sight of various sweets, cotton candy, and balloons. Opposite the tents, rows of wooden tables with benches were set up. Bagpipers played around other musicians and dancers in national costumes performed captivating folk dances. Voices buzzed and laughter rang out from all directions. The crowd mostly moved around the field; only a few sat at tables, everyone was eager to socialize. People walked towards each other, encountering familiar faces at every step, stopping to exchange a few words. Several tourists mingled with the locals, drinking ale and taking photos of everything that seemed interesting and engaging.

“It's such a nice atmosphere,” Megan remarked.

“I like it too! Warren, look, there's Alaric! Let's go say hello,” Glenn suggested.

The head of the McKenzie clan stood with a pint of ale among a group of adult males, engaging in a lively and cheerful discussion.

“Ah, here come the youngsters!” Alaric joyfully said, giving Warren a friendly slap on the shoulder.

“Friends, let me introduce you to Megan, Malcolm's granddaughter. She arrived here a few days ago.”

Megan greeted them. The new acquaintances were curious indeed; they asked her about life in London and her impressions of Scotland. She responded, but eagerly awaited the chance to leave the adult company. After twenty minutes, she took advantage of a brief pause to ask Alaric, “Have you seen Duncan? Is he at the festival?”

“Yes, we came together, but he opted for some younger companions; he’s here somewhere. I suggest you look for a group of young ladies, Duncan will surely be at the center,” he laughed.