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‘Hello,’ she said, waving her hand at him. Although whether he didn’t see or simply didn’t care, she didn’t know. He made no attempt to respond, other than by continuing to walk towards her.

His bedraggled hair was sticking out at odd angles beneath his flat cap, and his face wore the beard of a man who had simply lost any desire to shave. The laces of his boots were frayed and untied, and while she suspected it was a green wax jacket he was wearing, it was difficult to tell under the layers of mud. This was not the type of man who had decided to grow old with grace.

The groundskeeper, possibly? she thought. Or perhaps some local homeless man who had come to the castle looking for handouts? Although, his dogs looked remarkably healthy and well. Groundskeeper, then, most likely. She had seen enough period television programmes to know how wealthy families would keep on old and often incapable workers just because they felt guilty about letting them go. That was obviously the case here.

Bex stood up straight. Having given her a terrifying welcome, most of the dogs had disappeared, but one, a red Labrador, had sat down at her side and was continuing to beat its tail on the ground.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I’m Bex – Rebecca Barker. I’ve been told I need to find Fergus?’

‘Aye, I know who you are. Been expecting you.’

The man walked up to the large door, turned the handle and pushed it open. Bex raised an eyebrow. She’d never leave her London flat without checking the doors were double-locked, and yet this entire castle was open to walk into. Of course, there were probably plenty of people inside who would spot an intruder before they took too much, but it still seemed like an unnecessary risk to take.

‘Have you eaten?’ the man asked, standing at the open door.

‘Um, I had a sandwich a couple of hours ago.’

‘Aye or nae? Do you need food?’

Bex cleared her throat. ‘Um, no; to be honest, I’m pretty tired, actually. I could do with a bath and bed.’

‘All right, well, I’ll show you to your room then.’

NoHow was your journey?orHave you been here before?He clearly wasn’t one for small talk, although to be fair, she wasn’t much in the mood for it either. As the old man moved inside, Bex followed, and immediately, she felt all the air escape her lungs.

‘This place is huge,’ she said.

She’d seen it from the outside, of course, and already knew it was massive, but seeing it like this – the wide-open hall, the vaulted ceilings and the two staircases she could see from where she was standing – was giving her an entirely different perspective. It was colossal.

Bex took a second to look around her, casting her eyes over the heavy tapestries that hung from the walls, dulled with dust. She thought all buildings like this had been turned into hotels or opened to the public as stately homes to visit. But this place had none of the ambience of a hotel or a stately home.

That wasn’t to say it wasn’t stunning. It was absolutely beautiful, and she could only imagine how it would come to life when it was filled with people, those high-society functions of years gone by. But it felt like it was missing something now.

‘Don’t dilly-dally. Are you coming or not?’

The man was now over by one of the staircases, all but one of his pack of dogs close on his heels. That last one was that same red Labrador, and it was sticking unusually close to Bex, as if she, and not the man, were its owner.

‘Sorry,’ she said, picking up her pace to catch up with him. ‘How many people live in this house?’

‘Well, Horace still comes up twice a week, sometimes more. And young Duncan – well, it seems like he spends more time here than in his bloody lodge. But mostly, it’s just me.’

‘You?’

‘Aye. Me, and the dogs, of course.’

The entire situation was growing more and more confusing. So the groundskeeper lived in the main castle? Where the hell were the owners?

‘Sorry,’ Bex said, trying her best to sound polite, ‘but I didn’t even catch your name. Or your role here. Who are you?’

The old man frowned. His already crinkled face crumpled up like a piece of washing that had been forgotten at the bottom of the basket.

‘I’m Fergus, Laird of LochDarroch. Who the hell did you think I was?’

Bex swallowed a lump in her throat. There was no way she could answer that question. Telling the laird of this great Scottish castle, who also held all her future career prospects in his hands, that she’d thought he was a homeless person – or, at best, a very scruffy groundskeeper – didn’t seem like a great way to make an impression.

‘I was just confirming, that’s all. It’s been a long drive,’ she added, smiling broadly, though it did little to alleviate the glower on the old man’s face.

‘Harrumph,’ he grunted before turning around and making his way up the stairs. ‘Your room is just up here. And you’ll want a good night’s sleep. You got a fair heft o’ work ahead.’