Page 22 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

I ate a slice of toast, glugged down a cup of peppermint tea and pulled my hair into a topknot after brushing my teeth. I then snatched up my sketchbook and pencils, stashed them in my rucksack and threw on my cosy cream fleece, before heading out the door.

Port Starr was just stirring when I walked down towards the harbour. I reached the end of the cobbles and headed for the harbour wall, perched myself on top of it and arranged my sketchpad.

The early-morning sky was a smudged concoction of apricot and steel, and there was a solitary fishing boat sliding out to sea. The water swirled behind it, the waves jostling and slapping against one another like kids in a playground trying to outdo each other for attention. The beach below was deserted, a pale-gold river of sand reaching from end to end.

I lifted a grey pencil and started to draw, the scooped silhouette of the boat emerging out of the blank, white paper. As the sea approached the shore, the little vessel was pushed and pummelled by the tide. The waves spread out across the sand like greedy cobalt tongues.

My right hand flicked and swished the coloured pencils, which I’d brought with me in my small, quilted pencil case while the smattering of grey-tinged clouds scudded above the boat’s cream-and-red wheelhouse. Then I stippled the sea with the tiniest flecks of deep green.

Satisfaction rippled through me as my drawing began to emerge, bringing life to the empty sheet of paper. It was as though my hand was dancing across the paper on its own. My artwork was improving here, taking on a life and energy that I hadn’t seen or felt for a long time.

Shit! Was that the time already?

This always happened when I got lost in what I was drawing or painting.

I scrambled down from the wall, gathering my pencils and pad, so that I could head back and get changed before speaking to Katie and Caleb about my ideas for a revamped website and promotional material. I was just about to slide my sketchbook inside my rucksack, when a sudden voice made me jump.

‘Good morning.’

Mason was striding towards me, his thick, dark hair ruffling in the breeze. Darwin was trotting by his heels. He was sporting dark combats and a chunky jumper in deep grey that made his eyes even more mirror-like than normal.

I bent over and patted Darwin on the top of his solid, fluffy head, trying not to freak out his handsome master by staring at him. ‘Good morning. I thought I’d grab the chance for a bit more art before getting distracted by the cottages.’

Mason pointed down at Darwin. ‘This one is the reason I’ve been out walking along the beach since early o’clock.’ He gestured at the sketchbook under my arm. ‘May I?’

I offered him the pad, and he flipped over the front cover. His thick lashes cast minute shadows on his face. ‘Wow! This is wonderful.’ He appreciated the view and then swung his attention back to my drawing. ‘You’ve got a real talent. Have you exhibited any of your work?’

‘Thank you. No, not yet. I’d love to do that,’ I admitted. ‘But what with taking on the cottages, and the Scarlet Highwayman…’

Darwin plonked his furry bottom down by my feet and gazed up at me with his spangly eyes. I rubbed behind his ears, before accepting my sketchpad back from Mason and putting it back in my rucksack. I hoisted it back over my shoulders.

He leaned against the harbour wall for a moment. He looked more like an aftershave model in one of those magazine adverts than a historian.

He grinned down at me and my stomach squirmed. ‘Time to go,’ I said in a rush, keen to put distance between us. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got lots to do.’

‘I’ll be in touch soon when I have some more information.’

I nodded and hurried back up the hill to the cottages, not daring to look back over my shoulder.

Chapter Twelve

‘Isee your man has been dropping by the local newspaper office. I think he’s been speaking to a lot of the townsfolk, too.’

I narrowed my eyes at Katie as she approached me, all windswept cheeks and teasing smile, just after I’d returned from my early-morning visit to the harbour. ‘He’s not mine,’ I replied curtly.

She fiddled with the dusty-pink scarf knotted around her neck and gave me a curious glance. ‘I love your brother to the moon and back, but I have to say I’d find it very difficult to say no if Mason Cooper wanted to interrogate me.’

I ushered Katie into the warmth of the annexe. ‘Yes, well, as long as he doesn’t do a carve-up job on the Scarlet Highwayman. We’ve had too many journalists trying to do that over the years as it is.’

Her brown curls fizzed around her face. ‘He’s not a journalist, Poppy.’

‘No, I know that. But he still wants to achieve the same sort of thing, doesn’t he?’

‘Which is?’

‘Find out something explosive or controversial.’ I folded my arms. ‘I bumped into him this morning down by the harbour. I think he thinks I’m some doe-eyed idiot, crushing on the Scarlet Highwayman.’

Katie shifted in her tall brown boots. ‘I think he just wants to get at the truth.’