Page 23 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

‘Hmm.’

She gave a small smile. ‘That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That someone like Mason Cooper will uncover something about the Scarlet Highwayman that you don’t like; that it will shatter your perception of him.’

I wanted to deny it, but Katie raised her eyebrows and I clamped my mouth shut. I lifted a hand and tapped each finger. ‘That man has been blamed for everything, from burning down that orphanage to murder. I’m surprised some around here haven’t made him responsible for the cost-of-living crisis.’

She smiled but said nothing.

‘What is it?’ I pushed her. ‘I know you want to say something.’

Katie flicked me a look. ‘I know Nick was a tosser, but not every guy out there is like him.’

Heat shot up my neck. ‘I’ve already been bitten by a Great White and I’ve got no intention of dangling my leg in front of another one, thank you very much.’

She pressed her lips together. ‘So that’s it, is it? Just because Nick was a bastard, you’ve decided you’re going to live like a recluse for the rest of your life?’

I felt suddenly defensive. ‘I never said that.’

Katie’s dark eyes sparkled. ‘Well, it sure as hell sounds that way from where I’m standing.’

I shrugged off my rucksack and dumped it by my feet on the annexe sitting room carpet. I was eager to talk about something else. Anything would be preferable to Mason. ‘We’d better get on,’ I insisted. ‘These cottages won’t launch themselves.’

It was a day of making numerous phone calls to furniture suppliers, as well as composing copious notes about ideas for publicising the cottages, updating the website, launching X, Instagram and Facebook pages and getting the local paper, the Port Starr Press, on board to hold some sort of launch competition. They were more than happy to oblige, especially as the editor was a long-time friend of my dad. I also placed a job advert in the Press, for another cleaner to replace Katie.

The cottages were coming on at a rapid pace, thanks to Joe and his team, who were painstakingly working their way through each one, flicking their paintbrushes loaded with stardust.

Once Joe’s van had vanished for the day and Katie had gone home, I shuffled back to the annexe, bone weary but satisfied, and concocted a quick salad with baked potato, tuna and mayonnaise.

I just wanted to crash on the sofa with a glass of white wine and some mindless TV drama, but instead, I disappeared into my ‘art studio’ (the utility cupboard), where I summoned up as much energy as I could to make more progress with my sketches.

From over in the corner, my watercolour portrait of the Scarlet Highwayman smiled mysteriously at me from one of my three easels.

What if I was romanticising this infamous character from our local history after all? crawled a random thought. Maybe he was a ruthless sod who terrorised people and not the misunderstood man I thought him to be?

Maybe Katie was right, I thought with a sudden rush. Perhaps I was channelling a crush on the Scarlet Highwayman to stop me from suffering yet more disappointment with modern men. Deep down, I knew this was highly likely, but I refused to acknowledge it.

I took a step back to assess my work. My gold bangle rattled on my wrist.

Another thought stole over me as I continued to examine my brushstrokes on the canvas. There was something about the intensity in his eyes and the way his inky lashes thrust forwards… For a moment, it reminded me of someone else…

Mason.

Wrapping my arms tighter around myself, I decided to call it a night.

Chapter Thirteen

It was the first Friday in April and more tourists were evident as they meandered around Port Starr, savouring dripping ice creams, which I felt was brave of them in the rainy weather. Others clasped paper bags full of postcards or deliberated over boxes of McKerron Castle fudge.

Even under the gauzy grey skies, the castle never lost its magnetism or historical allure. It rose out of Port Starr, still commanding attention with its turrets and crenelations, carved by hands that had long since passed.

I was sitting in the annexe finishing my breakfast, when there was a boom of ‘Only me!’ and Caleb unlocked the door with his key and barrelled in, with his laptop tucked under his arm.

He opened it and crouched down beside me. ‘Good morning. Well, how is this for you, little sister?’

I gazed down at the screen and was surprised to see the new website he’d been working on for the holiday homes. ‘White Willow Cottages’ was scrolled along the top of the page in swirling bright-blue type, accompanied by a sun-yellow background.