It was an overnight flight but with the time change, I did my best to stay awake while I was in the air. It didn’t work. I was squeezed in next to a salesman who spent the first hour trying to convince me that what I really needed in life was a new kitchen.

In the end I pretended to fall asleep. It was that or risk him battering me into submission and getting to Scotland to find I’d bought ten thousand dollars worth of kitchen on the way.

Pretending to fall asleep ended with me actually asleep, waking up confused as the seatbelt light came on above me. We were starting to descend.

Looking out of the window, I could see the first light of the day. There was Scotland below me. I’d slept through crossing the Atlantic. Somewhere down there was the perfect castle. If only I could get permission to film inside it.

It shouldn’t be too tricky. Eli had authorised me to make any payment I deemed necessary. I could offer up to half a million for one week of filming. If they were letting guests book vacations there, they obviously needed money.

But before I could speak to the owner I needed to get to the castle and that turned into a far more difficult journey than I expected.

The first hurdle was the email that came through to my phone as I walked through the airport terminal to collect my bag.

 

We regret to inform you that your booking for Doon Castle has been cancelled by the co-ordinator for the location. There are four alternative Regal Rental destinations within a fifty mile radius of your chosen location and we will pay the difference between your chosen location and one of equivalent standing…

 

The email went on in increasingly formal language but the crux of the matter was the booking was gone. A refund would be issued ‘in due course,’ unless I chose to move my booking elsewhere. Which would have been fine if I was on vacation. But I was here to speak to Robert King, owner of the castle, get in his good books.

I could picture him cackling over his computer as he cancelled bookings for fun, ginger hair under a tartan cap, two hundred years old, kilt blowing in the wind. “We don’t need your business, Yank.” Then clicking cancel.

I couldn’t just turn around and go back. I had no alternative plan. I needed to get permission. I decided to just pretend I’d not seen the email. If I could get as much as get a foot in their door, I had a shot.

Once I’d picked up my bag, I followed the signs to the cab rank.

“Where to?” the driver asked when I reached the front of the queue.

“Doon.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s an island. Loch Doon, north of Loch Leven.”

“I don’t go that far, love. There’s a train goes Loch Leven way. That any good for you?”

“Yes, fine. The train station then.”

“In you get.”

It took twenty minutes to get there and then I had to spend an hour waiting for the train to arrive. I hadn’t planned for things to go this way. I felt sure the cab would jump at the chance for a fare that length.

It wasn’t so bad on the train when it finally got moving. The city suburbs fell away, revealing snow capped mountains and lush green forests, all passing by in a blur as we picked up speed.

At one point, the tracks ran alongside a river and I was able to follow the flight of a pair of swans. They kept pace with the train for a spell before swooping down and skidding into the water.

After three hours on the train, we came to a halt. “Alight here for Doon,” the automated voice said through the speakers above my head. I still had more than fifty miles to go.

The train station was just a single uncovered platform. At the end was a noticeboard and attached was a faded bus timetable. The next bus towards Doon was in forty minutes.

I could do nothing but wait. Next time, I’d hire a car from the airport. If I’d known what a trek this would turn out to be, I’d have done it this time.

Forty-five bone chilling minutes later, the bus rattled into view and I climbed onboard, handing over bank notes that looked like monopoly money to pay for my trip.

The bus took two hours to get to Doon. From what I’d been able to work out from the timetable I’d been lucky, it only ran twice a day.

It crested a final hill and then began to descend and as it did so, I got my first sight of the lake, the island, and the castle.

It was surrounded by mountains, the sun bright enough to make the water sparkle, the wind creating waves that splashed into the shore down by the village. The lake was much bigger than I expected, the island seemed tiny but it grew larger as the bus crashed through its gears, descending the steep hillside into Doon village.

We came to a halt next to the village hall. Beside it houses dotted along the roadside, all thatched roofs and smoke drifting upwards from squat chimneys.

The door opened and I stepped down. I could see the dock at the edge of the lake so I headed towards it, hoping there was an easy way of getting across to the castle. A couple of fishing boats were tied up. So far I had seen no one, the village no more than a ghost.

There was a sign pinned to the low wall at the edge of the dock, I squatted to read it.

Ferries to Doon island - Good rates - Enquire at Hedley’s Cafe.

I turned around and saw the cafe next to the village shop. I walked in, finding what looked like the entire population of the village in there, a dozen people sitting at tiny wooden tables, all of them looking up as I entered. “Hi,” I said, giving them my most winning smile. “I’m looking to get the ferry to Doon.”

From behind the counter, a white haired man in an apron looked at me from under thick eyebrows. “I’ll take ye when ahm ready. Sit yessen doon and lemme finish ma brew.”

It took a few seconds for my brain to translate what he was saying. “Right, thanks. I’ll wait here.”

I took a seat by the window, looking outside at the bay. My eye moved to the castle. Even without being a potential film location, it looked beautiful. There was a wistful romance to the turrets and light stone walls, a hint of green ivy climbing towards the tiny windows high up above the door. From where I was sitting, it looked like a model, too perfect to be real. I only hoped it looked as good close up and that Robert King would grant me the permission.

“Robert.”

My ears pricked up as I heard his name mentioned. Slowly, I moved my head, listening to the talk around me. They were all talking about him, though there were several different conversations on the go at once.

“Angry enough.”

“Never got on wi’ ‘im.”

“Wouldn’t you be a bit pissed off after what happened?”

“To treat his own mother like that.”

“Back to lord it over the place.”

“Not even cold, she isn’t.”

“What was he like then?”

“Bitter.”

“I would be too.”

“Back for good?” I glanced across as one voice rose above the others. “What do you reckon, Hedley?”

The old man behind the counter was folding his apron neatly. Before answering, he pulled a woolly hat onto his head, almost covering his eyes. “Well, I'll put ten pound on him staying but I still say you should ask him yessen if you wanna know. Ahm no gossip.”

“Hedley,” the woman near me said. “Don’t be like that.”

“Come on,” he said, looking straight at me. “Let’s get gone.”

“Right,” I said. “Great.”

He held the door open for me, nodding as I passed him. Then we walked together down to the dock. He swung his leg over the boat, surprising me by how agile he was.

I threw my bag onboard, following it a second later, the boat rumbling to life. “Grab that rope,” he said, nodding past me.

I saw where he was looking and fumbled to untie the knot, getting it loose at last and then we were moving out onto the water.

I looked at my destination, seeing it grow larger as we crossed the expanse of grey blue, the boat rising, cresting over each wave.

The more I looked at it, the more I fell in love with the place. It was like something out of a fairytale, a formidable fortress. I could easily picture myself looking out from a high window, my endless hair dangling down as I awaited a knight due to rescue me at any moment.

The boat began to slow as the jetty appeared and we bumped up against it a minute later. “Out you get,” Hedley said, wrapping his rope around the pole, stopping the straining boat from drifting back out into open water.

“Thanks very much,” I replied as I clambered out onto the splintered planks.

It didn’t occur to me to ask about the return journey until he was already moving away. “How do I get back?”

“Get ‘em to ring,” he shouted, his voice fading in the distance.

I waved but he didn’t respond. Turning from the water, I looked up at the castle before me. A winding path cut through the grass, sheep nibbling nearby, seemingly completely indifferent to my presence. They didn’t even look up at me as I passed by.

I glanced around, trying to get my head into work mode, seeing the potential of the place, where the film crew could set up, how the light played on the stone, the angles of the mountains behind.

It wasn’t easy as I was overwhelmed by the sheer presence of the building, jutting up from the grass as if it was carved out of a mountain peak rather than laid stone by stone. With no sound other than the wind, it was easy to picture knights riding through into the courtyard as if they’d just gone past me, the years falling away in a moment.

I tried the door handle but it was locked. I tapped on the door but the wood was so thick it didn’t make a sound. I had to clench my fist and thud until my fingers hurt to make any noise at all.

I was just starting to wonder what I would do if there was no one there when the door creaked open. A woman in her fifties answered, her white hair tied severely back, eyes narrowing as she looked out at me. “Yes?”

“Hi, I’m Matilda Beal. I booked a stay for a couple of nights.”

“I see. I suppose you better come inside then.”

“Thank you, it’s freezing.” I said.

She stood back, watching me as I carried my bag in.

“Do you get many visitors?” The sound of my voice shrank to nothing in the vast space of the entrance hall.

“Your room is upstairs,” she replied, apparently not hearing my question. “Third door on the left. Dinner is at seven. Breakfast at eight.”

“Thank you. I wondered if…”

She’d already walked away, leaving me alone in the entrance hall. I got the feeling she would be much happier if I turned and left.

She had vanished through a door to the right. There were three other doors and then a broad flight of stairs that ascended in front of me. The walls were covered in huge oil paintings, portraits of castle residents from hundreds of years ago according to the labels underneath.

I walked up the stairs and stepped out onto a thick red carpet. I was in a wide hallway, closed doors lining the walls. The door to my room was unlocked and I walked inside to find myself in heaven.

As unfriendly as my host had been, the room couldn’t have been more welcoming. There was a four poster bed covered in blankets, a tall window with a view across the water to the far mountains. A footbridge crossed to the next island and I made a mental note to go across and explore once I’d settled in.

I was just unpacking my bag when the bedroom door burst open and a man strode inside, looming over me, scowling down as he opened his mouth to speak.

He said nothing for a long time, his eyes fixed on mine, holding me in his gaze.

He was about ten years older than me. He was handsome as hell but there was anger in his expression. High cheekbones, a mess of dark hair, stubble on his chin, dark eyes, wearing a checked shirt and plain brown cords. “What are you doing here?” he asked at last, his voice a deep rumble that made something inside me quiver.

“I booked a stay, I’m here for a couple of nights. Sorry, is there something wrong? Is this your room?”

Another long silence, me having the unnerving feeling he was examining me deeper than he should, seeing further into me than was possible from a glance. “I will see you at dinner.”

Then he was gone, slamming the door closed after him.

I found myself thinking about him after he’d gone. Was he another guest? One of the staff? Whoever he was, he had a haughty manner to him, a brooding anger that looked like it was on the verge of boiling over at any moment.

I wouldn’t have liked to have been around if he lost his temper. I could only hope that wasn’t Robert King.