Epilogue
Eight months later
The castle’s great hall was packed. Rocco hadn’t wanted to mark the occasion with a ceremony but Giselle had insisted, and as she stood at the front of the gathering, a glass of whisky in her hand, she was glad she had.
This was a historic moment for the castle, another chapter in its long and varied history.
She would have loved for her sister and her new husband, Edoardo, to be here, but with the very recent arrival of baby Alessandro, they were otherwise occupied.
Her parents were here, though, and she shot them a radiant smile.
Her dad raised his glass and winked at her.
He and Rocco had hit it off immediately, and Giselle’s mum thought he was lovely.
This was only going to be a flying visit, however, because tomorrow they were off to Milan to meet their tiny grandson.
Giselle and Rocco had planned their own trip to see him in a couple of weeks’ time.
Beverly was also here, and hers was a flying visit too, which Giselle was thankful for. Rocco and his mother had made their peace with each other, but Giselle didn’t think she and Beverly would ever be best friends. Still, the woman was here to support Rocco, and that was the important thing.
As for the rest of the people assembled today, everyone was thrilled that the castle would remain in Rocco’s capable hands, thanks to Historic Environment Scotland.
The documents (and there had been many of them, reams and reams) had all been signed, apart from one final set of signatures. And that’s what was happening today.
Giselle’s hand crept up to her throat, where the red sea glass heart hung on a silver chain. Rocco had arranged for it to be made into a necklace for her, and she wore it often.
Her gaze was on Rocco now. Looking incredibly handsome in his dark navy suit and the crispest of white shirts, he was standing behind an antique table.
His hair was longer, his face considerably more tanned than it had been when he’d first come to Duncoorie.
Despite the suit, he was more like the man she’d met in Venice, than the corporate version she’d locked eyes with in the graveyard on the day of Mhairi’s funeral.
She wished Mhairi was here to see this. The old lady would have been delighted that her beloved castle had survived its latest battle.
Cal, who was overseeing today’s proceedings, called for silence, standing in front of the table in his kilt, hose and sgian-dubh, only the hilt of the dagger visible since the blade was tucked into the hose on his right leg.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘Thank you for being here to witness this historic day for Coorie Castle, although I suspect most of you are here only for the whisky.’ He picked up one of the tumblers of amber liquid on the table and held it aloft before replacing it.
‘Your presence is still appreciated, as long as you don’t have too many drams. And don’t you dare drink yours yet, Mackenzie Burns – it’s for the toast.’
Laughter followed when Mack shouted, ‘Get on with it, man. I’m parched!’
Cal’s smile was wide as he turned to the four people standing behind the table. ‘Rocco, would you please sign on the dotted line?’
Giselle’s heart was full of love and pride as she watched Rocco pick up Mhairi’s fountain pen and sign his name with a flourish.
Cal said, ‘And now you, Mr Booth.’
Rocco passed the pen to the gentleman from Historic Environment Scotland, who duly signed.
‘Last, but definitely not least,’ Cal said, ‘I ask the legal representatives for both parties to sign as witnesses.’
A besuited man and a woman wearing a smart dress and jacket moved into position to sign the document that would enable Rocco to keep Coorie Castle.
Then Cal ceremoniously handed the sheet of paper to Mr Booth and faced the room once more. ‘I’m thrilled to announce that Coorie Castle has now been declared a site of Outstanding Historical and Architectural Interest.’
Applause, cheers and whistles drowned out his next words and he waved his arms in a pipe-down motion until calm was restored.
‘I was going to say,’ he ploughed on, ‘that the estate itself has also been designated by Historic Environment Scotland to be of Outstanding Natural Beauty and Scientific Interest.’ He grinned. ‘Now you can be rowdy.’
Giselle had tears in her eyes as she clapped, her hands stinging when the applause went on and on.
‘Speech!’ someone yelled, which quickly turned into a chant as people shouted, ‘Rocco! Rocco! Rocco!’
Rocco was beaming, his face flushed, as Cal yelled for everyone to ‘Hauld yer wheest and let yon chappie speak!’
The ruckus abated and Rocco cleared his throat and began. ‘So many people have been involved in this process and every one of them has my heartfelt thanks. However, there is one person in particular who— Oh, sod it. Giselle, come here.’ He held out a hand.
Giselle, blushing furiously, walked towards him and took it. His hand was firm and warm as he gave her a reassuring squeeze.
‘Without this wonderful woman,’ he continued, ‘we wouldn’t be standing here today. It was Giselle who discovered the castle might be exempt from the inheritance tax that was forcing me to sell, as long as certain criteria and conditions were met. And they have been!’
He turned to the man from Historic Environment Scotland and said, ‘I’ve made a solemn undertaking to care for Coorie Castle and preserve it for future generations to enjoy.
And with that in mind, I think this generation might appreciate getting stuck into the single malt.
A toast.’ He raised his glass. ‘To Coorie Castle.’
‘To Coorie Castle!’ The words rang out, filling the room, and as Giselle took the tiniest of sips of the mellow single malt, tears spilt over to trickle down her face.
Rocco was the next custodian of Coorie Castle, but not the last.
Giselle’s hand moved protectively to her stomach, and she smiled softly to herself. There would be time enough to share her news with Rocco.
Today was for celebrating the castle. Tomorrow was for the rest of their lives.