She watched him as he carefully dabbed the wound. The sudden pain and shock had changed to a raw aching and she bit her lip to stop her tears. In the half light she saw his eyes smouldering in the shadowy whiteness of his face. Above the waist he was naked. What was it that made his shoulders look deformed? They were high, but were sound, though like the rest of his body, strangely taut and contracted. His chest was narrow and firm.

He removed a swab of cloth from her shoulder slowly and peered to see whether the blood would continue to flow.

‘Keep still,’ he said. ‘Keep your arm as still as you can. How’s the pain?’

‘I’m all right,’ said Fuchsia.

‘Don’t be heroic,’ he said, sitting back on his heels, ‘We’re not playing a game. I want to know exactly how much you’re in pain – not whether you are brave or not. I know that already. Which hurts you most?’

‘My leg,’ said Fuchsia. ‘It makes me want to be ill. And I’m cold. Now you know.’

Their eyes met in the half light.

Steerpike straightened himself, ‘I’m going to leave you,’ he said. ‘Otherwise the cold will gnaw you to bits, I can’t get you back to the castle alone. I’ll fetch the Prune and a stretcher. You’ll be all right here. I’ll go now, at once. We’ll be back within half an hour. I can move when I want to.’

‘Steerpike,’ said Fuchsia.

He knelt down at once. ‘What is it?’ he said, speaking very softly.

‘You’ve done quite a lot to help,’ she said.

‘Nothing much,’ he replied. His hand was close to hers.

The silence which followed became ludicrous and he got to his feet.

‘Mustn’t stay.’ He had sensed the beginning of something less frigid. He would leave things as they were. ‘You’ll be shaking like a leaf if I don’t hurry. Keep absolutely still.’

He laid his coat over her and then walked the few paces to the opening.

Fuchsia watched his hunched yet slender outline as he stood for a moment before plunging into the rain-swept gully. Then he had gone, and she remained quite still, as he had told her, and listened to the pounding of the rain.

Steerpike’s boast as to his fleetness was not an idle one. With incredible agility he leapt from boulder to boulder until he had reached the head of the gully and from there, down the long slopes of the escarpment, he sped like a Dervish. But he was not reckless. Every one of his steps was a calculated result of a decision taken at a swifter speed than his feet could travel.

At length the rocks were left behind and the castle emerged through a dull blanket.