‘Why not? It’s what you are.’ She felt the anger begin to overflow, finding leaks in her seams. She was eighteen years old but she felt ragged and worn. ‘You’re a lord and I’m just a wild thing. A wild rabbit.’

‘No—’

‘It’s what you just said.’

‘I know what I said,’ he cried, losing the composure that had marked his every movement, his every word since he’d set foot on this island. ‘But you must know there’s a difference between what I say and what I mean? That there are things I cannot say even though I . . . I would like to?’ He moved towards her but Poppit gave a low growl. He stopped and looked at the dog. Looked back at her. ‘But if . . .’

‘But if what?’ She stared back at him defiantly. She wanted him to say it, to make the words real and give shape to the void that existed between them. A chasm they could never cross. It had to be said and acknowledged. He had to go. He knew far better than she there was more that divided than united them. He came from a bigger world than hers.

‘But if I am to leave here tonight, then perhaps they should be said,’ he replied, watching her head snap up.

Effie felt her heart begin to pound, as though she was still striding the slope. Poppit growled and Sholto looked at her again warily – but the dog wasn’t looking at him.

‘Friend! Not foe!’ a voice called from below, making them both startle.

Sholto jumped to his feet. ‘What?’ he murmured incredulously as the sound of footsteps became distinct, laboured breathing marking a new arrival. Effie scrambled to her feet, trying to see further, better, sooner.

‘Who is it?’ she asked him.

‘Friend not foe,’ the voice said again, closer now, with a weary sigh; Sholto and Effie watched in silence as their unwelcome intruder finally crested the blind summit with a smile. ‘Well . . . Good morning!’

Chapter Nine

For several moments, no one spoke. They just watched the factor pant and sigh, his head bowed, hands on his thighs as he got his breath back. Effie wanted to cry. What . . .? What was he doing here?

‘I thought it was you, but I couldn’t be sure,’ the factor said, straightening up finally and directing his sole attention, as ever, to the guest. He frowned to see his dishevelled state – wet hair, a wrongly buttoned shirt. ‘Are you quite well, sir? It’s early for a walk.’

Sholto looked as baffled as she felt to find the factor standing there with them, in the half-light. ‘. . . I had gone for a swim when I saw Miss Gillies coming up here,’ he replied stiffly.

‘Early for a swim too, sir,’ the factor simply replied.

‘I’ve not been sleeping well.’