Page 120 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

‘Are you really surprised?’ questioned Mason. ‘After all this, there’s no way they could return to the area. I think the locals would be waiting for them, armed with pitchforks.’

‘Yes, I agree. And we’re going to be busy with the Scarlet Highwayman display up at the castle.’

McKerron Castle was going to launch its first official tour of the tunnels, showing where the Scarlet Highwayman hid out and telling the story of a man branded a ruthless killer and murderer, only to be found to be Scotland’s answer to Robin Hood. A man who put his energies into helping the lost, the lonely and the despondent of the local community, at his own risk. It seemed only fitting that the castle should play its part, seeing as it had in effect protected him and Georgina’s love for so long.

‘It’s going to be a lovely homage to the story of Gideon, Georgina and Oscar.’

The beach breeze ruffled my hair, but I barely noticed. I was too busy conjuring up pictures in my head of tourists discovering the story of Gideon for the first time.

I glanced down at our wet footprints tapering along the shoreline.

‘I’ve decided I’m going to paint a portrait of what I think Linus looked like, and that could appear in the castle tour too – that is, if Historic Heritage like the idea.’

Mason gazed at me with admiration. ‘I don’t doubt that if you’ve got anything to do with it, it’ll happen.’

‘You think so?’

He kissed the tip of my nose. ‘I know so.’

We started walking again, with Darwin bounding ahead of us through the spools of waves that were creeping towards our trainers.

We meandered further, the sun weaving in and out of the specks of cloud. Mason had fallen silent again.

McKerron Castle was pushing its way out of the coastline as it always did, stoic and windswept, but with even more meaning for me now. It had protected Gideon and Georgina and the love they shared for so long; even now, it still held their secrets behind those resilient stone walls. I always knew it was a spectacular, special place but I never realised it possessed such a link to the Scarlet Highwayman. It had hidden its secrets well.

‘You’re still a bit quiet,’ I observed as we moved on up the beach. ‘Is there something wrong?’ A thought struck me. ‘There isn’t a problem with that TV production company, is there? I thought they were keen to get on board with this Scarlet Highwayman documentary.’

I turned to face the horizon, with its irregular skyline of water blending into a blanket of soft powder blue. ‘I know the last week or so has been really full on, but now that Alex Lapley is being charged with fraud, I think not only we, but the whole of Port Starr can move on.’

Darwin had stopped barking and wasn’t splashing seawater halfway up my jeans. Mason wasn’t saying anything, either.

From behind me, Mason sounded exasperated. ‘No, there isn’t a problem with my pitch for the TV documentary. I’m confident that it’s going to get the green light.’ I heard him take a deep breath. ‘Please, Poppy, can you stop talking for a moment and turn around? I’m getting bloody soaked here.’

Mason was down on one knee, which was being lapped at by the incoming tide, and beside him was Darwin, sitting upright with one paw held out as if begging.

My hand flew to my mouth. ‘Oh my God! What are you doing?’

Mason flinched as more water lapped at his denims. ‘Well, I’m not searching for a lost contact lens.’

I could feel my heart thumping as he fiddled about in his jacket pocket. He produced a dark-blue box. Darwin gave it a sniff. Mason offered the box to me.

I reached out, my eyes never leaving his face, and accepted it from him. Our fingertips brushed together as I eased it open. It was a rose-gold engagement ring, but the centrepiece was not a mirror-like jewel, a glinting sapphire or blood-red ruby.

It was a miniature horseshoe, also fashioned out of rose gold, but with three diamond chips.

Hot tears sprang from my eyes as I gazed down at the cream satin cushion and that beautiful ring protruding from its centre.

‘I know I’m not the Scarlet Highwayman,’ Mason said in a loud voice over the whoosh of the waves. ‘I don’t have a black steed called Linus and I don’t wear riding boots. I’m a grumpy historian with a mad dog, but I love you so much.’

A rush of emotion bubbled into my throat. All the hurt, all the disappointment of the past was dissolving in front of me, as though the tide was taking it far, far away.

I gave him a watery smile. ‘I don’t care. I love you too. And your mad dog.’

‘We both want each other for who we are, pure and simple,’ carried on Mason, before stopping to give Darwin a questioning look. ‘Hang on. Is that a yes?’

‘You bet!’ I cried, throwing myself at Mason, who sprang upright. Darwin jumped up against our legs as we stood kissing on the soggy sand.

Plucking the ring from the box, Mason slid it onto my finger.

‘Can I ask you one favour?’

‘Of course you can,’ I managed through happy tears.

‘Do you think we can forget a beach wedding?’

I pretended to deliberate the question. ‘Maybe … okay. On one condition. Well, two, actually.’

‘Anything.’

‘That you let me paint your portrait.’

‘It’s a deal.’

‘Now that my Scarlet Highwayman painting is to be displayed in the castle on the tour, I need a new subject.’ I grinned at him lasciviously. ‘And I see you in a pair of riding boots. I think you’d rock that tight-trousers highwayman look.’

Mason pressed his grinning mouth against mine, as Darwin pushed his way between and around our legs. ‘Ooh, kinky. Okay, it’s a deal. Now, Poppy, please will you stop talking for one second and give me another kiss?’