“An American travelling as far North as possible,” the man finally spoke, “a remarkable journey for one who has no goal whatsoever.” The expressionless face slightly turned into a more friendly face. “Tell me, what’s your name son?”
“Jack Gordon sir,” and while jack heard the words leave his mouth he noticed the man looking strangely surprised. “Gordon you say? You don’t happen to be of Scottish descent?”
Jack frowned and thought for a moment. He knew vaguely that his great grandfather could trace some of his ancestry back to Scotland. “I think my family used to be, but that’s past history now.”
The man relaxed and began to smile. “If we are dealing here with Scottish blood who carries the name of Gordon, I think we just stumbled on your goal here, lad.” Jack looked puzzled. “Not far from here, six miles outside Alford lies Craigievar Castle which I believe will be of special interest to you. Legend has it that a member of the Gordon clan fell from the tower after he was forced to his death. Folk say that even to this day his footsteps can be heard walking up the stairs of the tower.”
The man rose from the table and walked away. Jack was left in confusion, while looking at his maps he figured that he indeed had a new goal, but he wasn’t sure how satisfying it would be.