Page 39 of Vows of Revenge

Kassia couldn’t have agreed more. She wanted Damos all to herself as well.

The Highlands of Scotland fitted the bill perfectly. Here, standing on the stony little beach, with the dark water of the narrow loch lapping gently near their feet, the only dwelling for miles around was the place where they were staying.

A castle—a genuine Scottish castle. Theirs for a whole fortnight.

It was only a small one—a solid, stone-built keep, set back from the loch’s edge. It had an imposing entrance hall upon whose walls was a fearsome display of weaponry, a gracious drawing room with a cavernous fireplace and comfortable tartan sofas, an elegant panelled dining room with an oak table and furniture, and upstairs a bedroom with a four-poster bed with velvet hangings, and cosy sheepskins on the polished wooden floor.

The castle might be ancient, but it came with modern plumbing and central heating—and a married couple, the MacFadyens, to cater to their needs.

Kassia had texted Dr Michaelis from London, and told him she was going to take her annual leave after all, then headed north with Damos, on wings of wondrous happiness.

Was she wise to run off with him like this?

Her words to Valerie Cardman echoed in her head, after Valerie had asked her if she’d known Damos long.

‘Not very long...’

That first dinner with him on his yacht, for the sake of his funding next season’s excavation, then a day out at Blenheim, an evening dining at the Oxford college, and then the Art Deco dinner-dance at the Viscari.

That was all, really. Barely three days.

Yet here she was, plunging into a glorious, wonderful, ecstatic affair with him.

How well do I know him—I mean, really know him?

She heard the question in her head. Heard it and discarded it.

‘It’s an eagle—I’m sure of it!’ Damos exclaimed.

Kassia was glad of the diversion to her thoughts.

‘I think eagles keep to the high ground, don’t they?’ she said doubtfully.

‘Well, it’s swooped down from the ben, then,’ Damos persisted. He lowered his binoculars, turned towards Kassia. ‘WhyareScottish mountains called bens?’ he asked.

‘No idea,’ said Kassia. ‘We must look it up. It’s probably Gaelic. I do know what a Munro is, though.’

‘A Munro?’

‘Yes, they are the mountains that are over three thousand feet—around a thousand metres or so—named after the Victorian mountaineer who first climbed them all. It’s now a tradition—to bag a Munro!’

Damos looked interested. ‘Could we bag one?’

‘We’d need some decent kit,’ Kassia said. ‘I think there are plenty that don’t actually need to be climbed, as such, but even walking would require proper kit. Idiots still go up in trainers and tee shirts, and then slip and fall. And then the weather turns and Mountain Rescue has to be called out.’

‘We’ll buy all the right kit,’ Damos pronounced. ‘It must be sold everywhere in Scotland. Then we’ll drive to Inverlochry and load up with everything we’ll need. Are you up for it? Bagging a Munro?’

Kassia’s eyes rested on him. For Damos she would bag every Munro he set his sights on. Climbing them with him at her side would be bliss...

But then everything with Damos at her side was bliss.

‘But not today. Today is just a getting-to-know-this-place day,’ he said. He looked around him. ‘It really is pretty good,’ he said approvingly. ‘A loch all to ourselves...a castle all to ourselves. And sunshine too.’

‘And midges. The curse of the Scottish summer!’ Kassia laughed. ‘It’s better here by the loch, I think. The breeze is keeping them away.’

‘We can have a picnic lunch here,’ Damos said.

Kassia groaned. ‘How can you think of lunch already, after that gargantuan breakfast Mrs MacFadyen loaded us up with? Not so much a full English as a full Scottish. You put away at least two kippers and half a dozen Scotch pancakes—and that was even before you tackled the bacon and eggs and toast and marmalade!’

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