THE INSPIRATION BEHIND CASTELL BONHOMME – Dunnottar Castle, Scotland
The path that led to the donjon wound along a narrow ridge edged by a low wall. As they got closer, Anne realised Jean’s home was a formidable fortress. Its white tuffeau stone shimmered in the fading sun. She imagined what it would look like in the burnished autumn light when the grapes hung heavy on the vines and wood smoke scented the air. Or in winter, lashed by the savage Atlantic winds and rainstorms. She understood at once Jean’s desire to restore it.
A sentry on the parapet saw them approaching and called down to the guards to open the great gate. Anne looked up. In the arched niche above the studded oak door a large stone B stood prominent. They rode in under the portcullis and made the steep climb up a narrow defile to emerge through two vaulted passage ways onto a grassy plateau.
A groom rushed from the stables to take their horses. ‘Welcome home, seigneur. Demoiselle.’ He bowed his head to Anne.
Jean sniffed the early evening air. ‘It’s a fine night.’ He swung from the saddle and tossed the reins to the groom, before taking Anne’s hand and helping her dismount.