His three dogs were darting about, bounding over granite boulders, sniffing the undergrowth and the bank of the nearby stream. A crow cawed from somewhere. Clem straightened up and looked in all directions but saw nothing except the wild landscape, its dips and tors. He’d slice the bastard-thing in half if he could.

This made him think of Oliver Pengarron. What was happening between that hated man and Kerensa? Being so far away, with no way of knowing, was eating into his guts. If only he and Kerensa had thought of a way to keep in touch.

She loves him more than me, he told the silent moor, miserably. If I could make her turn to me then he can do the same. He’d felt she had been turning back to her husband before he’d left her in the Tolwithrick cottage – her love for Pengarron had always been hopelessly strong. Like his own for her, sadly it didn’t just go away. How much more bearable his life would have been if it had been otherwise.

Sighing, he attacked a ridge of fern with fierce, sweeping strokes. He worked on until sweat stung his eyes and ran in rivers down his back. He went to the stream for a drink of water, skirting a patch of peat bog, wide and deep enough to drown a beast, the fate of one of his straying bullocks last winter.

Gawen barked and Halwyn joined in and then Gracie. Clem took no notice, the dogs often took issue with a hare or some other creature, or were startled by the sudden flight of a grouse or pheasant, or just played noisily together.

Gracie, the most faithful of the three, was suddenly beside him, her hackles raised, growling, showing her teeth.

Snatching up his scythe, Clem straightened his back and swung round. ‘Who the hell are you?’

The stranger, standing up on a boulder, said nothing, just smirked.

Clem recognized the tall, dark-haired man with Pengarron looks. He was dressed, not like the gentleman he had become, but in the clothes of a gipsy. His deep tan and an earring made the effect complete. Clem was on guard, all his dogs lined up with him now.

‘Bartholomew Drannock. I’d heard you were back in Mount’s Bay. What ill wind blows you this way?’

‘I’ve come with some news for you, Trenchard. News you’re going to hate.’

Clem met the haughty gaze with one of equal contempt. ‘Get back to where you came from. You’ve got nothing to say I want to hear.’

‘I know that, Trenchard. You skulked about my aunt to try to get her to turn against my uncle, but it didn’t work. You might have won a battle or two but you didn’t win the war. They’ve made up their differences and are happier than ever. She wouldn’t have looked at you if not for Kane’s accident.’