The next five miles of twisting roads through verdant meadows and steep inclines were more reminiscent of the Peak District than the general rolling vistas of the Scottish Borders. Elise pressed her key fob when they arrived at the castle gates, and the electronic fencing, bearing the Roxbury crest, trundled open to admit the car.

Manicured lawns stretched on both sides of the drive as they meandered through parkland covered with wild cherry, silver birch, and rowan. Here and there, the blue-gray of the Gala Water wound through the trees, then emptied into a large freshwater loch.

One last turn, and the castle stood directly ahead.

“You really do live in a castle.” Sammy bounced in the back seat, his voice filled with awe.

“I live in London. My family lives here,” Elise corrected. Her father’s estate had not been her home for almost a decade.

“Does it have a ghost?”

“Sadly, no ghosts walk the halls of Torwoodlee Castle.” Her great-grandfather, the sixth Marquess of Roxbury, had commissioned the castle’s construction after a fire had destroyed the manor house during Queen Victoria’s reign.

“Can I fish in the lake?” Sammy asked, his attention pinging to the blue loch.

“We call them lochs in Scotland.” Elise overemphasized the guttural sound at the back of her throat. “Best remember that or Mr. Armstrong is liable to give you a scold.”

“Who’s Mr. Armstrong?” Sammy leaned against the glass, his eyes on the loch.

“He’s the groundskeeper, but I’m sure the ghillie will be happy to provide you with rods and show you all the best places to fish. He’s a friendly sort.”

“What’s a ghillie, and why is no one fishing?”

“A ghillie is a fishing expert. He can show you all the best places in the local rivers and lochs. But no one’s fishing today because it’s the Sabbath,” Elise said.

“So?”

“In Scotland, the Sabbath is observed. People generally attend church, the shops are closed, and parking is free.”

Sammy twisted his head toward Harry. “Why don’t we go to church, Dad?”

“Doesn’t Gran take you?” Harry asked, appearing a wee bit surprised.

“Not for ages. I don’t think she likes the reverend, Mr. Brown.”

Harry glanced briefly at his son before he stopped beside the castle’s front steps. “I’ll take you while we’re in Scotland.” He scanned the front elevation. “The place looks just the way I remember. Didn’t I park my motorbike here as well?”

Elise flushed bright pink—the curse of all redheads. She’d had high hopes that Harry’s memory of that dreadful night had faded.

“You’ve been here before?” Sammy asked.

“Once upon a time, I spent a noteworthy evening here with a beautiful lady.”

“With Mummy?” Sammy blinked owlishly at his father.