Bartholomew jumped down off the rock and leaned forward, mockingly. ‘Do you really think she’d prefer you in the end? Why do you think she married Sir Oliver in the first place? Because she liked what she saw, and she’s liked what she’s been getting from him all these years. She’s over her moments of foolishness. There won’t be a repetition. And my uncle is a changed man. If you had been in Pengarron Manor last night you would have seen exactly by how much. He’s lost the pride my aunt found so offensive. Face it, Trenchard, you lose again.’

With painful resignation Clem accepted he was being told the truth. He couldn’t offer Kerensa anything more than clandestine meetings, and even though she had been wonderfully happy to be with him, making love to him with joy and tenderness, it was so much less than what Pengarron could give her.

As long as Kerensa was happy it was all that mattered to him. ‘You’re enjoying this, Drannock. You always were a detestable wretch.’ Clem spat on the ground. ‘I curse the day you were born and the air you breathe.’

‘I’ve been cursed before, Trenchard, it doesn’t work.’ The sardonic amusement in Bartholomew was replaced by malevolent intent.

Clem saw it and weighed the razor-sharp scythe in his hand.

‘That’s right, dirt-farmer. I haven’t come here to order you to stay away from my aunt but to make sure you do. I won’t let you remain a bother to my uncle a moment longer.’

Clem braced himself for attack. Bartholomew drew out the pistol from his belt.

Clem was shocked. ‘You’re going to kill me? Are you capable of cold-blooded murder?’

A cold, chilling laugh. ‘In a word, yes.’

Gracie heard Clem’s gasp of horror and leapt towards her master’s enemy. Bartholomew fired and Gracie was dead before she hit the ground.

Letting out a cry of rage, Clem hurled himself forward, ready to cut the man down like a crop of brambles.

Bartholomew coolly stepped back and produced a second pistol. ‘You’re next, Trenchard. Oh, don’t look so taken aback. You don’t really mind dying, do you? You’ve said a thousand times since my uncle stole away your bride that you’ve nothing left to live for. So, I’d be doing you a favour really, don’t you agree?’

‘Drannock, I—’

‘You don’t want to die? You’ve changed your mind? Too bad. Too late. You shouldn’t have stayed on in Mount’s Bay and seduced my aunt, bedevilled my uncle, the man I admire above all others.’