Eleanor Morgan Dunwythe, a 30-something year old lady, five feet seven inches tall, a few extra pounds, with hazel eyes, auburn hair, fair skin, dressed in a burgundy skirt with a white peasant blouse, and a burgundy vest, walks through the local annual Scottish festival, filled with all different colour tents: white, blue and white striped, brown and white, canvas. The sounds of laughter, negotiating of purchases, tempting offers, and celtic music float on the slight breeze. She is perusing the items for sale or display in the various booths and tents: small statues, incense burners, candle holders, wooden signs, leather goods, bustiers, corsets, skirts, overdresses, children’s items, British food items such as vegemite, marmalade, Yorkshire tea, irn-bru, sgian dubh knives and swords. In one of the tents, she spies a handmade handbag, with a silk daisy on it, and purchases it. In another booth, she is drawn to a silver celtic triquetra necklace and matching bracelet, which she immediately purchases and puts on. As she’s leaving the booth, a six foot tall Scotsman with dark hair, ice blue eyes, and wearing a kilt comes running by and bumps into her, almost knocking her over, but catches her. Their eyes meet and they both feel an almost electric connection. He profusely apologizes and invites her out to dinner. She accepts his invitation and he explains he must first go to his Clan’s tent for a meeting and a commencement dance and would she mind coming along. She agrees, he takes her hand, and she matches his quick pace on the way to his Clan’s tent. People that they pass by look at them curiously and then resume their browsing.