Page 77 of The Secret Castle in the Highlands

I toyed with the strap of my rose-gold watch. ‘I don’t know. I should have done and I’m sorry.’ I let my shoulders fall. ‘I suppose I wanted to be seen to be dealing with things on my own, to seem capable, you know?’

Mason raised his eyes to the pub’s wooden-beamed ceiling. ‘Stubborn doesn’t even begin to describe you.’

‘Don’t even go there,’ I threatened. ‘You can talk.’ I felt myself go rigid, thinking about Alex Lapley. ‘It’s all too convenient. We start digging around these diaries and the Scarlet Highwayman, and the next thing I know, he’s brandishing his lawyer’s letter at me.’ I scrambled for the right words. ‘I know you think I’m a bit obsessed with conspiracy theories, but I’m growing more and more convinced that is the reason. He’s worried we’re going to discover something.’

Mason picked up his glass again and took a mouthful. ‘You’re not going to lose your business,’ he assured me. ‘And if you’re right and there is something he’s trying to hide – believe me, we’ll get to the bottom of it.’

Chapter Thirty-Four

‘Mason, I’ve been giving this a lot more thought and I think this a bad idea.’

Mason’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, please don’t do this to me now, Poppy. You promised.’

We were in his apartment, waiting for his parents to arrive from the airport in their hire car. Mason was temptation enough, without me being thrust into this fake relationship scenario with him.

‘Look,’ he assured me, ‘I told you. It’ll only be for a couple of nights. I’ve got enough to concentrate on without my mother trying to set me up with every woman within a five-mile radius.’

I patted Darwin, who was lacing between my legs. ‘But what if they see through us and realise we’ve been lying to them?’

‘How could you lie about not falling for me?’ Mason grinned.

‘That’s what I like about you – your sheer lack of confidence.’

He afforded me a wink. ‘Just humour my parents and smile sweetly when my mum starts going on about how desperate she is to become a grandma.’

My eyes popped and he let out a bark of laughter. ‘Just kidding. I think.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad you think this is funny,’ I snapped. ‘It hasn’t been a picnic this last week, you know. Composing this charade of our relationship has been almost as intense as studying for my sodding art degree.’ I strode over to Mason’s apartment window, taking in the dashes of rain on the glass. Brilliant. It couldn’t have been a sun-drenched summer day when they arrived, could it?

I’d envisaged taking some of the pressure off by suggesting a visit to the grounds of McKerron Castle and a coffee by the harbour. Instead, the likelihood of Mason and me perched side by side on his sofa, being interrogated about our ‘romance’, made my stomach roll.

‘I’ll need to go to work for a bit today,’ I insisted. ‘I can’t neglect the cottages, especially when Alex Lapley is plotting and planning.’

Mason nodded, his smoky-grey shirt competing with the colour of his eyes. ‘Of course. I’ve told Mum and Dad you have your own business and you’ve got commitments.’ A lazy smile crossed his face. ‘They were very impressed.’

I spun around, my French plait swinging down my back. ‘Don’t push it.’

‘Or what?’ Mason waggled his eyebrows. ‘This is a mutual arrangement. You promised you would do this, Poppy, and I’ll return the favour.’

‘I know. I know. And I will.’ I let out a tired sigh. ‘Thank goodness your parents aren’t staying here. We were so lucky that one of the holiday cottages was available.’

‘Yes,’ carried his voice from beside me. ‘We couldn’t have them thinking that we were sleeping together.’

I could feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was enjoying this charade.

After a few moments, I snuck a glance at him, but Mason just returned my stare with an indecipherable one of his own.

The sooner all this was over, the better.

‘This is lovely, son.’ Orla Cooper smiled appreciatively at the plush surroundings of Osprey Cottage, with its swathes of pale-grey-and-lemon interior. ‘But you really didn’t need to spend your money on us.’

‘No,’ added Mason’s dad, Jack, with what I thought was a degree of suspicion. ‘We could easily have just stayed over at your place.’

I mentally appealed to Mason to provide a good reply and he did. ‘Nonsense,’ he dismissed. ‘I remembered it’s your anniversary soon and I wanted to treat you both.’

I watched Orla and Jack admire the sweeping belt of gold sand from the sitting-room windows. The grey, squashy sofa looked so inviting, dotted with yellow fabric cushions, and one of my paintings of a wind-lashed fishing boat hung over the square limestone fireplace.

Orla’s dark eyes danced out of her inquisitive face. She had the same intensity around her mouth as her eldest son. ‘Maybe you could take us on a little guided tour of Port Starr later, Poppy,’ she suggested. ‘Mason has told us so much about all the hard work you’ve put into your business and how you were born and bred here.’