‘You would be welcome, sir, but you should know there’s always a strong risk of the weather changing and us getting caught over there. If that happens we could easily be there for a week, ten days, and I’m afraid there’s none of the creature comforts there as here.’

Both visitors laughed – until they realized the man was completely serious; that supposedly there were creature comforts here. The earl cleared his throat. ‘Quite. Yes, I see. How long are you planning to be there for?’

Lord Sholto caught Effie’s eyes; she could see the laughter in his look, though he stood perfectly composed. He was wearing a light brown suit and, unlike his father, no tie.

‘Three or four days, most likely. It’s not comfortable when we have to fit in the Stalker’s House. All thirteen of us.’

‘Fourteen!’ Effie piped up.

‘. . . Fourteen, aye,’ Uncle Hamish confirmed, but with another of his stern looks.

She didn’t care. She’d caught him on the hop and secured her place. She beamed, feeling satisfied.

‘It sounds rather . . . crowded.’

‘It’s very rustic, Your Lordship,’ the factor replied, po-faced. ‘It’s an ancient souterrain. An underground dwelling. No more than a ditch walled with stone slabs, really.’

If he had been trying to put him off . . .

‘Good gracious. What a shame we can’t join you, I should have loved to see it!’ the earl exclaimed.

‘You still can, sir. We have a couple here on Hirta. The Fairy House is not far away. I’m sure we could find someone to show you.’ Uncle Hamish looked straight at her. ‘Effie, you could make yourself useful and take their lordships to Tigh Na Banaghaisgich.’

She looked back at him with pink-cheeked indignation. ‘But I’m going to Boreray!’

‘I just told you you’re not.’

‘No. You just said it – fourteen of us going over.’

‘Aye, the factor will want to come. That makes fourteen.’

The factor looked as surprised by his automatic admission to their party as she was to be excluded from it.

‘I trust you will want to make an inventory of the sheep numbers and check their condition for the laird?’ Uncle Hamish asked him.

There was a pause. ‘Indeed.’

‘But you all agreed it’s my right to do our share,’ Effie said, pushing her way forward and refusing to be ignored.

‘Effie,’ Finlay McKinnon said warningly, trying to pull her back as he always did, as if she was heading towards some danger only he could see.

‘On Hirta only. You know this.’ Uncle Hamish looked away, pointedly ending the discussion. ‘It’s agreed, then. Tell the women to pack the supplies. We’ll set off in the hour.’

The band of men turned to disperse.