It's almost 8:00PM by the time we head out to dinner. We return to the King's Arms, home of Lemon Lush. This establishment is very different tonight, though; they're expecting a party of twelve and there's only one waitress. She hurriedly takes our orders, then disappears in something like a panic. It seems ages before she returns with our drink order; the large party has started arriving.
There are several generations in this group, from infant to grandparents; it's obviously a family celebration of some sort and there is much talking and laughter. Our meals finally arrive, with the waitress apologizing. Her face is flushed as she rushes away to tend to customers in the other room which has also filled up. We can't believe that the manager hasn't called in someone to help her and vow to leave her a good tip.
I've ordered Lasagna Bolognese - I still don't know what possessed me. I wasn't too terribly hungry to start with, this being one of the very few days that we stopped and had a proper lunch. The lasagna's hot and fresh, but seems to be missing several important herbs. I take a few bites and push the rest around my plate, thinking I should have just ordered a salad or a sweet.
Wondering what sort of decadence the specials board offers tonight, I take a look over my shoulder. Several tempting and mysteriously named items are listed. Robin and I decide to share a piece of excellent apple/black currant pie with cream. With my newfound penchant for black currant-anything I couldn't pass it up.
Back at Torwood, we head to our rooms to repack for our journey north tomorrow. Dana's brush with a migraine earlier in the day has wiped her out and she calls it an early night. By the time I've finished my journal writing, repacking and showering it's almost full dark. Robin has finished her packing too and is tucked into her bed, writing in her journal. The television provides background patter.
Standing by the window in my night clothes, drying my hair, I look out on the view, sighing and wishing we had more time in Melrose. I've enjoyed my stay at Torwood so much, I just don't want to leave.
The silhouetted hills against the sapphire blue sky are lovely and I notice a church in the distance, lit up for the night. "Do you think that's the abbey?" I ask Robin, realizing as soon as the words have left my mouth that it can't be. The abbey's in the other direction. Robin's already gotten out of bed to take a look. "No, that's not the abbey."
Back to her nest she goes and I can feel her eyes on my back. Mentally, then and there, I start getting my clothes back on. I know she's thinking the same thing I'm thinking and wonder just how long it will take for her to put voice to the words. I can't stand the suspense any more. "Do you think the abbey might be lit up too?"
I turn around and sparkling eyes meet mine. Robin grins mischievously at me. "You wanna go see?"
Eildon Hill lies just south of Melrose, Scotland in the Scottish Borders, overlooking the town. The name is usually pluralised into "the Eildons" or "Eildon Hills", because of its triple peak. The 1,385 foot high eminence overlooks Teviotdale to the South. The north hilltop, of three peaks, is surrounded by over 3.1 miles of ramparts, enclosing an area of about 40 acres in which at least 300 level platforms have been cut into the rock to provide bases for turf or timber-walled houses, forming one of the largest hill forts known in Scotland.
Eildon is said to be a "hollow hill", and is mentioned in the legend of Thomas the Rhymer. Some believe Thomas went under the hill itself, and certainly parts of the ballad occur in the vicinity. Sir Walter Scott tells the tale of a horse dealer who is paid in 'ancient coin' by an elderly buyer in old-fashioned dress and taken inside the hill at night. A host of armed knights lie asleep at their horses' feet; their sleeping leader is King Arthur.
Read more about Eildon Hill.