Leaning back against a boulder behind her, Kerensa closed her eyes to drink in the peacefulness. She opened them again at the sudden noisy flight of a pair of black-headed gulls and kept them open to study her surroundings. The cove had changed little in appearance since the cottage had been pulled down eight years before. Scrubby vegetation had sprung up to cover the building’s foundations and she was delighted to see the increase in the wildlife here. Gulls, rock pipits and oyster catchers had grown in number and last year she had seen a seal basking in the sun on an inaccessible ledge further along the cliff under the mythical Mother Clarry’s seat. She had stood for an age and watched as the tide had risen slowly until the grey creature with its wide black patches was lazily washed back into the sea and swam off.

Kerensa checked the sun to see how far it had travelled down the sky; good, she had time to climb across the rocks and look out over the sea from a different angle before she would have to leave.

She had hardly moved a step forward when a tall figure loomed up in front of her. Startled, she slipped backwards and for an instant the name Oliver was on her lips but it was ‘Bartholomew!’ she cried out.

The youth reached out instinctively and caught her arm, saving her from falling and possible injury. They both looked down as her shoes went clattering to the rocks below.

‘Lady Pengarron!’ Bartholomew Drannock exclaimed. ‘I am sorry. Are you all right?’

‘Yes… yes, Bartholomew. You certainly gave me a fright.’

‘Be best if you sit down again for a little while,’ he counselled.

Kerensa nodded and he held on gently to her arm until she was seated again. Then he hopped down, collected her dainty kid shoes and placed them beside her.

‘I didn’t know anyone but me came down into Trelynne Cove,’ she said, looking up at the young dark face and thinking how more and more like Oliver he was becoming. The same black hair and deep dark eyes, the same restlessness and arrogance, and on occasion the same impatient stance.

He was standing in that way now, hands on hips, his guilt at nearly sending her crashing to the rocks fully atoned for in the way he had addressed her and apologised. Before today he had never given her her title, perhaps believing her working-class parentage didn’t warrant it.

Staring straight at her he asked in an even tone, ‘Do you object to me being here, then?’

‘No,’ Kerensa replied, meeting his stare without wavering. ‘Sir Oliver might. This is his property.’

‘Tis yours more than his. You lived in the cove when it belonged to your family, the Trelynnes.’