Page 48 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

Yet everywhere I turn, I see his eyes, as dark as the sea-soaked rocks of Port Starr.

This man has ruined me, but it is the sweetest sensation I have ever experienced.

‘Strong stuff,’ I murmured.

‘Keep reading,’ Mason urged beside me.

I turned my attention back to the yellowing pages; their edges crumpled like discarded leaves.

Was it fate that brought us together? Was it destined that this wonderful man should be brought into my life? He makes my heart clench with hunger, even if it is just the mere mention of his name.

That particular entry ended there.

Mason had marked the next section he wanted me to read with a sheaf of white paper. ‘This one is very interesting. It’s two months on from the one I just showed you.’

7 March 1794

He remains in my dreams, his horse standing solid and black against a curtain of mist, the air from his steed’s nostrils twisting like a grey snake in the winter air.

I watch him dismount, his dark cloak like a black cloud billowing around him.

I cannot see his face. It is concealed by a scarlet Venetian mask.

I insist I have nothing about my person of any value, but he simply shakes his head. His mouth slips into the faintest smile, before he disagrees and tells me never to say such a thing.

Before I can stop myself, I am in his arms, and he is tasting my mouth.

‘She was having an affair with the Scarlet Highwayman!’ I erupted. ‘Oh my God!’

Mason looked thoughtful. ‘Not definitively, I would say. She mentions the word “dreams” here. The poor woman was fantasising about him. No wonder. She must have been desperate for escapism, after marrying that cretin Lapley.’

‘I wonder if she was just fantasising.’ I pointed at the earlier entry dated 3 January. ‘I mean, the poor woman was obviously miserable, married to a total bastard. Perhaps writing diary entries like this, was a form of escapism for her.’ Part of me hoped she was having some passionate, illicit affair with the Scarlet Highwayman, though. That would serve her obnoxious husband right.

I twisted round on the sofa. ‘Say she did meet our highwayman and they had an affair. It must have started towards the end of seventeen ninety-three.’

Mason picked up his coffee and cradled the mug again in his hands. ‘Maybe you’re right.’

I considered things for a moment. ‘I bet she was lovely but very lonely.’ I felt more bolts of sympathy for her. ‘I’ve always wondered how many highwaymen frequented these parts.’

Mason took another mouthful of his coffee. ‘Attacks by highwaymen took place all across the country and continued into the nineteenth century, but after about eighteen fifteen, their crimes became less frequent.’

I tucked my legs underneath me as I sat beside him. ‘Please tell me more about them.’

Mason gave an amused smile. ‘Okay. Well, there was one famous highwayman in particular called Claude Duval. He had a reputation for being a gallant and courteous rogue.’

‘Where?’

‘He used to haunt the roads of England.’

I rested my head on my hand, fascinated. ‘You describe him with a real sense of admiration.’

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ replied Mason. ‘He was the son of a French miller but gained employment as a footman to a nobleman when Charles II was restored to the throne.’

‘So, he learned to be a gentleman?’

‘Exactly.’ He drank some more of his coffee. ‘He was described as fashionably dressed, adored by women of all classes. He was also said to never use violence on his victims.’ Mason paused and regarded me with those mirror-like eyes of his. ‘Are you sure I’m not boring you?’

‘Certainly not!’