Today she hoped to find Stormeil. Earlier, she had tried to ask Gran more about it, but Elle hadn’t been able to hear her grandmother. She’d thought Gran’s silence was odd, since this was the main purpose of the trip—locating the mythical family castle—but decided she would just wing it. There was still so much to see, and Elle was happy to simply drive and explore this beautiful island.

Her plan was to head for Kilmuir, the closest village that still existed today to where Stormeil Castle was supposed to be. Gran’s description had given Elle a rough idea of the location of the castle ruins, but her googling hadn’t offered anything more specific. It didn’t help that many village names and places mentioned in research from the fourteenth century no longer existed. Back inside the warmth of her car, she set the GPS to take her towards Kilmuir and decided she would just have to start searching the old-fashioned way—with a little bit of detective work, which included asking locals.

‘You know, Gran,’ she said quietly, ‘I could really use some help.’

The narrow roads had taken some getting used to, but Elle was now quite proud of herself for having mastered the pull-off-to-one-side-and-let-an-approaching-vehicle-pass thing. She looked forward to a friendly wave from passing cars, feeling a kinship with fellow travellers. Once she got used to the fact that all the roads looked as though she had mistakenly turned onto a rarely used backroad, she felt a lot more comfortable. But they were incredibly narrow in places. She passed white stone houses, some with traditional thatched roofs, and a gazillion sheep, who, she discovered, were not frightened by cars approaching, and in fact tended to waddle along the road, with their long waggy tails, quite oblivious to the fact they were holding up traffic.

As Elle followed the narrow road, she saw on the map that she was almost at the northernmost tip of Skye, passing through a few tiny hamlets as she followed the coastline towards Uig.

‘Is any of this looking vaguely familiar, Gran?’ she asked, getting frustrated as a light drizzle started once more and she had to slow down.

Yes, it is, Gran finally announced, immediately lifting Elle’s spirits and making her tighten her hold on the steering wheel. I think this is the way.

‘I don’t know, I think we’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere,’ Elle said almost half an hour later, peering out to survey the landscape of flat, open paddocks around them.

Gran had instructed her to make a sharp left turn at a road sign about twenty minutes earlier and they hadn’t passed a single car or person since.

Hold on, dear, I’m listening, Gran said, sounding distracted.

‘Listening? To what?’

To whom, she corrected.

‘Whom?’ Elle started to get the feeling she should be concerned.

My great-grandmother.

‘Your great-grandmother?’