With a burst of power, she scaled the last stretch, heaving herself onto the grassy slopes of Ruival with a cry of effort. Poppit squealed and wriggled as Effie rolled onto her side, rejoicing as the strain and weight was immediately relinquished. Poppit squirmed, frantic to be released, her muzzle hitting the back of Effie’s head as her hands struggled to loosen the rope around them both. Her ribs felt bruised, her arms depleted from the strain. The collie broke free in the next instant, breaking into an excited, ungainly run as Effie shrugged off the makeshift harness.

On her hands and knees, she scuttled back and looked over the cliff. The men were fifty feet below and advancing quickly.

‘Stop there! I’ll make a deal with you!’

Both men stopped from sheer surprise rather than obedience, their sunburnt faces turning up to her.

‘If you let me bring Poppit, then whatever we get for the cow at auction – once we’ve bought the licence – we’ll give you both the rest to share.’

‘No, lass!’ her Uncle Hamish shouted back. ‘I’ll no’ allow that. Your father would never agree to it. You’ll need all the pennies you can get on th’ other side. I’ll not let you and your father starve on account of a dog.’

‘Then you’ll have to sail without us! By the time you get up here, I’ll have run and hidden somewhere you’ll not be able to find us.’

‘There’s nowhere to hide on this isle. We know all the spots,’ Angus said with his usual bombast.

‘Aye, but will you find us in time? Or will you have to go without us? The tide won’t wait. The skipper’s pacing the deck already. I can see him!’ The factor had drilled into them all week that there was a strict timetable for the crossing.

Both men’s eyes narrowed as they realized her plan.

‘Why, you devious . . .’ Angus began.

‘No,’ Uncle Hamish said, cutting him off. ‘. . . She’s right. We’ll no’ find her in time if she hides now – and it’s not worth delaying the departure on account of one cur.’

‘Then we’ll leave her here, just as she wishes!’ Angus snapped. ‘Give her what she wants.’

‘That’s not an option and you know it.’ Uncle Hamish looked up at her again, his black eye shining; he was angry at her game but he was also a rational man. Slowly he nodded. ‘Come on now, lass. We’ll do it. Bring the dog and we’ll find an arrangement for its licence till you can pay.’

‘You have to give me your word,’ she said fiercely, her hair hanging and framing her face as she looked down at them. A St Kildan’s word was equal to his handshake – much store was put by it.