Mhairi looked frantically between them, clearly not believing a word of it. ‘Effie? What’s going on?’

Effie’s mouth opened but no words came, for over Mhairi’s shoulder, she saw the factor glowering at her, threat still in his eyes. For as long as she and her father were in debt to him, he still had power over them. She understood nothing had been stopped here, only stalled, and she had to find a way back; she needed to calm him and not enrage him further. If this had all happened because he believed Sholto was ‘stealing’ her from him, then she had to make him believe otherwise. She had to convince him he was mistaken. ‘. . . There was a misunderstanding, that’s all. I was just about to head back.’ Her voice was quiet but firm; she kept her gaze steady.

Mhairi looked at her through narrowed eyes, seeing how she shook. ‘But why are you all the way up here?’

‘Why are you? I thought you were over the other side?’ Effie heard the question burst from her as though this was any normal conversation between two old friends. But her voice shook and her body trembled.

Mhairi tipped her head to the side, trying to understand what she had stumbled upon and why Poppit had attacked the factor. ‘Aye, I was,’ she said warily. ‘But David MacQueen came over to tell us the big news and I thought I should check how Ma and Da were taking it. Then Poppit tore past me at Am Blaid and shot up here like a rocket. It got me worried. She never leaves your side, but she looked like she was just going to race off the cliffs.’

Effie dropped her gaze, despairing at the sheer bad luck of it all. If Poppit had only come a minute earlier – thirty seconds! – she would still be free. Still Effie Gillies. She dropped her head in her hands, trembling violently and feeling the tears come. It was too much—

‘Effie, just tell me what’s happened.’ Mhairi placed her hands upon her shoulders. ‘Let me help.’

Effie looked up but there wasn’t time to scream. Everything happened at once. The factor, in those brief few moments of distraction, had managed to stand and – his face contorted with pain and rage – he lunged forward, catching Mhairi by her hair. He yanked her head backward, throwing her to the ground like she was a dirty sheet.

‘No!’ Effie cried, too late, as Poppit, her lips drawn back menacingly in readiness for round two, leapt at him.