Page 37 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

‘No,’ I replied with a smile, ’I’d already intimated that about your car.’

From behind me, I became aware of figures hovering.

‘Ahem,’ Mason said. ‘It appears we have company.’

I whirled around just in time to spot my brother and Katie watching us. When they realised they’d been caught, Caleb developed a sudden fascination with his tie, while Katie broke into a wide grin that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a toothpaste advert.

I narrowed my eyes in a jokey way.

‘I’ll go and put out the complimentary drinks and canapes,’ said Caleb, smiling and nodding to Mason as he strode up to him to say hello.

Katie continued to linger at my shoulder. She waited until Mason had struck up a conversation with Caleb and then whispered. ‘You go for it, girl.’

‘Go for what?’

‘The hot historian.’

I shook my head hard. ‘I’m not intending to go for him.’ I struggled to find the right words and not look guilty.

‘He’s worth a million of Nick the Prick,’ Kate supplied. She continued studying Mason. ‘I mean, there’s no doubt that Mason is independent-minded, sure of himself, confident…’

‘Yes, he is,’ I mused, unable to stop myself admiring him.

She studied my expression. Then her brown eyes widened. ‘Oh, you liar! That’s why you’ve been focusing all your attention on the cottages and the Scarlet Highwayman, isn’t it? Oh my God! It’s because you do like Mason. You like him a lot.’

For the last few nights, I’d been struggling to get the highwayman’s jawline right on my portrait, and poring over my old research… Was this my way of trying to banish Mason from my head?

‘Rubbish!’ I snorted, fiddling with my hair and horrified by Katie’s perception. ‘Stop with the psychoanalysis babble.’

‘Oh, it isn’t babble,’ she hissed from out of the corner of her mouth. ‘You’re trying to occupy yourself and keep busy, so that you don’t have to confront how you feel about Mason.’

Good grief! Was she part witch? Psychic? I offered Katie one of my withering glares, but she ignored it. I started to walk away, protesting louder and louder over my shoulder. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’ My voice was struggling to sound convincing, even to my own ears.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Katie retorted at my retreating back.

I shook my head again, so hard I almost gave myself whiplash. I didn’t want to think too much about how I was starting to feel about Mason; how my emotions and body were responding whenever he was around. It was as though I were betraying a promise to myself, never to subject myself to pain like that again. ‘Come on. We’ve got lots to do before ten.’

I was too preoccupied to notice a shadowy figure lingering around the corner of the annexe.

Chapter Nineteen

It was just after nine-thirty and already locals were appearing either on foot or ferried by friends with cars.

Caleb had fetched the platters of delicious canapes from the deli: roast mackerel with creamy cabbage, Scottish smoked salmon and avocado fromage, and sweet-potato-and-ginger parcels. We set them out on the table, under elaborate-looking glass domes, which we’d hired from the deli too, and Katie had managed to persuade a friend who worked at the Starr Bar and was delivering the champagne to let us hire flutes at a nominal fee.

Although not baking hot, the first Saturday in May was proving to be very pleasant, with washes of sunshine parting the odd cloud.

A couple of inquisitive tourists materialised by the trestle table and picked up copies of our brochure. I was about to have a chat with them, when Mrs Archibald, who owned the local newsagents, Good News, came sidling up to me, champagne glass held in her manicured hands.

‘Poppy, isn’t that man over there the historian everyone has been talking about?’ She inclined her coiffed chestnut waves towards Mason, who was in an animated conversation with Joe. ‘He cuts a very dashing figure.’

‘Yes, that’s him,’ I commented lightly, registering again how handsome he looked. ‘His name is Mason Cooper.’

Mrs Archibald’s inquisitive gaze lit up like a firework. ‘Hang on! Isn’t he the one who uncovered the story of that ancient murder in the Scottish Borders?’

‘Oh, I read about that,’ I admitted, having Googled Mason on more than one occasion.

Mrs Archibald stretched her neck for a clearer view across the sea of heads in the courtyard. ‘Aye,’ she enthused, still observing Mason. ‘He was interviewed about it not that long ago on that UK history channel.’ She took a measured gulp of her champagne. ‘He’s even more gorgeous in the flesh.’ A mischievous sparkle glinted in her eyes. ‘When I saw him and that redhead together the other night, I couldn’t help thinking, what a lucky girl!’