Page 21 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

I shrugged and refused to maintain eye contact with her. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it.’

As an elderly gent moved past us to view the selection of freshly baked scones, Katie snorted. ‘Oh, come on! I’m an old married woman and I’ve noticed how delicious he is.’ Her chocolate eyes sparkled. ‘He’s got that dark, wolfish thing going on.’

‘You make him sound like a wild animal.’

She winked. ‘I bet he is too.’

I gave her an affectionate dig with my elbow. ‘Even if I was interested in Mason – which I’m not – he’s made it plain that relationships aren’t for him and after what Nick put me through, I agree with him.’

Katie considered what I’d just said. ‘Did he actually say that?’

‘Loud and clear.’ I explained to her about Mason’s forthright dismissal of relationships and mentioned him going out for dinner the other night. Goodness knows if that was with a woman or not. ‘He wasn’t forthcoming about it. In fact, he wasn’t forthcoming about very much,’ I summarised, shuffling by the counter as I tried to change the subject. ‘And anyway, a modern man couldn’t live up to the Scarlet Highwayman. He’s a tough act to follow.’

I tried to make it sound like I was making a joke, but underneath, my words rang true in my own ears.

‘Do you know what I think?’ interrupted Katie.

‘No, but I’ve got the feeling you’re just about to tell me.’

‘Too right I am.’ She moved forward and collected our order. ‘I think you do feel safer crushing on the Scarlet Highwayman – a guy who’s been dead for over two hundred years.’

Her words rattled through me, the truth of them bouncing around my head. I flicked one hand in a dismissive, embarrassed gesture. ‘Don’t be daft! I was only joking. Do you know how creepy that sounds?’

Katie’s open expression then caught my eye; with the way the light was casting artful shadows on her cheekbones through the bakery window. ‘I wish I had my sketchpad and pencils right now. The light is fantastic, the way it’s travelling down one side of your face.’

We emerged onto the street, clutching brown paper bags with our lunch and Liam’s roll. Katie jangled her car keys at me with a grin. ‘Poppy, you really do have changing the subject down to a fine art.’

We both let out a bark of laugher.

What Katie said, resonated. I’d grown accustomed to escaping questions about Nick and staying safe and protected.

‘Still working on your highwayman portrait?’ she asked.

‘I’m getting back to it.’

Despite the whirlwind of setting up a new business, I kept my promise to myself and continued my portrait of the Scarlet Highwayman in the evenings, as well as planning smaller sketches of Port Starr harbour and McKerron Castle. For my latest appreciation of the castle, I’d decided to use watercolours in a full range of warmer tonal values, such as amber and raspberry, to capture it at sunset.

There had been an evening just recently, when the shadows had stretched languidly over Port Starr in an early, almost spring-like halo, and they had cast an intriguing array of shades across the castle and the clifftops. I’d used the lightest, palest gold on my palette to achieve the glint of the light sparkling g off the granite walls and turrets.

However, being a somewhat highly strung artist, I was never satisfied with my efforts. Katie did the same with her ceramics, ringing me on a couple of occasions to moan that the crackles or crazing effect she was trying to achieve on her latest creations hadn’t turned out as well as she’d hoped.

‘I’m sure you’re just being overly self-critical,’ I assured her.

‘Huh!’ snorted Katie with derision. ‘That’s so hypocritical, coming from you!’

We both knew it was all well and good to turn the cottages into irresistible tourist accommodation, but we also wanted to try to sell our paintings and ceramics. If we could feature varied examples of those in each cottage and attract interest from the visitors, all the better.

Katie suggested we channel inspiration from Scotland, McKerron Castle and our surroundings, so we decided to focus on locally themed artwork and ceramics, to tie in with the Scottish themes in each of the cottages. She enthused about crafting bespoke mugs, featuring wild Scottish birds and images of McKerron Castle.

Thursday morning saw me lying in bed exasperated, unable to sleep. I thrashed around under the covers, trying to fight the temptation to look at my alarm clock.

The alarm clock won.

Bugger!

Five o’clock in the morning flashed neon red on my bedside table.

Nerves and apprehension clawed at me as I sighed out loud. Was I doing the right thing? There was no point in being spread-eagled in bed and overthinking everything. Knowing I couldn’t continue to lie there in a tangled heap under my duvet, I headed into the shower and then threw on my jeans and my pink checked shirt.