She smiled, hugging the warm, heavy body even closer and feeling something in her heal, a wound closing up. She looked back at him with a sigh. ‘So you’re really sure, then? I can’t talk you out of it?’

His smile grew, eyes sparkling. ‘Where’s your father?’ His eyes alighted from her, fixing upon the house.

Effie turned to see her father standing by the doorway, holding the other puppy – which had run through – with a look of bafflement.

‘She’s for you, Father,’ Effie said in Gaelic, walking over. ‘Huw’s going to train her up for you.’

‘For me?’ he asked. ‘Why?’

She swallowed. ‘For company.’

Her father stared at her, as if he’d heard something more in those two words.

Sholto stepped forward. ‘Mr Gillies, I love your daughter,’ he said. In Gaelic!

Effie’s mouth dropped open. Her father looked stunned, too.

‘Would you do me the honour of allowing me to ask for her hand in marriage?’

A stunned silence met the question.

‘Where . . . where did you learn to say that?’ she whispered.

‘Felton,’ he murmured, never taking his eyes off her father.

Effie looked at her father too. Well?

He held her gaze for several moments, the silence between them more profound than words could ever be. He had lost so much in his life and had precious few gains.

‘Did I not always tell you – go courting afar but marry next door?’ he said finally, sweeping his arm from the cottage garden towards the hulk of the great house across the fields.

She laughed. Technically, they were next door, albeit with three hundred sheep and eighty hectares between them. ‘You’re sure, Father?’

‘He loves you, and he has sheep,’ he shrugged.

‘An earldom too. But yes, sheep.’ With another laugh, Effie stepped into his embrace, smelling the peat fires of home still upon him as the two men shook hands solemnly.

‘I wonder . . .’ Sholto murmured, wandering over to the cottage.

‘What’s he doing? You’re not leaving me already, are you?’ her father asked, watching as Sholto disappeared inside.

‘No, but . . .’ She had no idea what he was doing – until Sholto emerged a moment later with the broomstick in his hand. With a smile, he laid it down upon the ground by her father’s feet, looking up questioningly at him.

Her father nodded his approval.

‘You know that’s not lawful,’ she laughed as Sholto took her by the hand and led her around.

‘It is if we both want it to be. I’ll marry you any and every way I can, Effie Gillies.’ His eyes shone and she knew what he was doing. This wasn’t just an homage to their island traditions, a nod of respect to the old ways. It was overwriting a terrible wrong.

‘Will you jump the broom with me?’ he asked.

She beamed. ‘As many times as you like.’

Chapter Thirty-One