‘Do you have any plans?’ Stuart asked now as they sat together at the kitchen bench, eating pancakes.

Plans. She sighed. There was that ugly word again. ‘Not really. Why?’

‘I thought you might be having sketching withdrawals and you’d like to take a look at another old ruin not far from here.’

‘Really?’ Again with the whole intuitive thing. She had been feeling like she wanted to grab her pencils and draw something.

‘If you want to, that is,’ he added.

‘I would. That sounds great.’

The ruins of Duntulm Castle, perched on the edge of a cliffside overlooking the ocean, were barely more than a handful of rocks that only vaguely resembled what would have once been a very impressive, fortified castle. But the moment Elle saw the site, she was mesmerised.

Look at that, Gran, she said softly in her head, but there was no response. Elle liked to imagine Gran wandering aimlessly; exploring somewhere on her own whenever she went silent for long stretches, something that was becoming more and more frequent.

While there were countless beautiful, awe-inspiring castles scattered across Scotland, there was something about ruins that spoke to Elle. Maybe it was the way they made her use her imagination to conjure up an image of what it would have once looked like, or maybe it was the lingering ghosts that seemed to remain about the site. Not actual ghosts, more memories. Whatever it was, there was definitely something she could feel around ruins, and Duntulm Castle was no different.

‘This was once an early castle of the MacLeods,’ Stuart told her. ‘Until the castle was taken over by the MacDonalds of Sleat in the seventeenth century. Apparently it even had a royal visit from James the fifth in 1540.’

‘I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the history and age of everything over here.’

‘I guess we take it for granted; at least I always did when I was younger. It’s only been since my grandparents have both gone that I’ve really started to appreciate it.’

As they strolled along the narrow sheep track that led to the ruins, avoiding sheep poo as they went, Stuart held her hand securely and she felt an unexpected contentment settle inside her. The wind blew her hair around her face and stung her cheeks, but inside she felt as gooey and warm as melted chocolate. How had this man become so important to her in such a short time? Was it real? Maybe what she was feeling was just a trick, a happy afterglow of good sex. She didn’t have a great deal of experience in these kinds of things, so perhaps it was a completely normal side effect. But it felt like more. She knew enough to realise that a casual one-night stand didn’t make you want to spend the next day, and the next, with a person. It kind of defeated the point of having a one-night stand, if it went longer than one night.