Page 32 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

He jerked his head towards me in momentary surprise. ‘Maybe I’ve got false teeth.’

‘Have you?’

‘No, I bloody well haven’t!’

‘Prove it, then.’

Mason looked confused. ‘By smiling, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

‘What the hell for?’

We were almost at the foot of the hill, where McKerron Castle fought its way to the ceiling of a twisted, cloudy sky. I never got tired of looking at it.

As we negotiated the final ribbon of road leading up to it, Mason turned to me and grimaced. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake. Okay. How’s this?’

I made sure I looked appalled at his Dick Dastardly gurn. ‘Please don’t do that again. It’s a good job there’s no small children around.’

Mason laughed.

‘Oh well. I suppose it’ll have to do.’

‘We’d better be quick,’ he said, pulling into a parking space and glancing at his digital car clock. ‘The castle closes to visitors in twenty minutes.’

We clambered out and he locked up the car. I hurried up behind him and pushed down the sleeves of my aubergine cardigan. Chilly air was skipping in from across the waves.

‘And remember, Watson,’ he warned as he swiped his sunglasses off his face, ‘let Sherlock do most of the talking.’

We entered the gravelled courtyard, our feet crunching over the chipped pink stones. Between the castle ruins and the gaping silhouettes where long, narrow windows once were, streaks of sunlight bounced off the watery horizon and fought their determined way through.

There was a chrome stand in the centre of the courtyard, on which sat a glass-fronted information board. Behind the pane was a welcome-to-visitors sign.

The people of Port Starr are proud to introduce you to the magnificent McKerron Castle.

Built in 1690, it was designed to aid the Port Starr authorities monitor the movement of pirates in and around the Scottish coastline. However, the castle’s haunting beauty did not go unnoticed and in 1710, the Earl of Strath Lee decided to buy McKerron Castle and make it his ancestral home.

I read on further, with an impatient Mason hovering beside me.

‘Despite the Earl turning the castle into his sumptuous retreat, he continued to allow the north-facing tower to be used by locals for monitoring the movement of pirates and illegal goods…’

‘Don’t you already know all this?’ asked an irritated Mason, as he checked the time on his watch. ‘I thought you were Port Starr born and bred.’

‘Yes, I am, but I haven’t been up to the castle for years. And anyway, I bet you don’t know everything about Australian history.’

Mason gave me a look. ‘Would you care to have a wager on that?’ He glanced at his chunky wristwatch yet again, before moving away and taking increasingly long strides towards the castle gift shop. ‘I’m sure you can reacquaint yourself with local history another time.’

‘Hang on!’ I started after him, my shoulder bag jostling against my side. ‘Are you always this bossy?’

He stopped short on the gravel and swung around. ‘I’m not bossy. Just assertive.’

‘Yeah. Right. That’s usually what bossy people say,’ I hissed under my breath.

I managed to catch up with him, just as a chunk of chipped pink stone decided to jump up and wedge itself inside the heel of my trainers. ‘Ouch!’

Mason stopped and glowered under his brows. ‘Don’t you have any awareness of time management? What is it now?’

‘Give me a second. I’ve got a stone caught in my shoe.’