Letting his feet choose their own path, he eventually found himself by the ancient tree where they’d replayed what he’d believed to be her fantasy. The dance they’d played out together, both in London and here in Blackrig, had been just that. A fantasy.

Why had he ever countenanced her coming here?

If he was ever to have another serious relationship, it could not be here among the secrets and horrors of the past few years. He’d thought he might start anew. How wrong had he been?

He reached out to touch the tree, as though in silent homage, then walked on, aware that the path his feet had chosen would inevitably take him to the cursed Party House and its grounds.

Despite the mind-numbing anger as he caught sight of the covered grave, his eyes were still drawn to the pale silver edifice that was the face of Lord Main’s dream, Ard Choille, together with the satin-green sheen of An Lochan Uaine.

Turning, he took the path that led along the shore to the old campsite. He now let his mind move to Finn and his obvious fury at finding Joanne with Caroline. He and Finn had got on well when he’d been officially seeing Caroline. A quiet lad, he’d never been part of Josh’s gang, although as far as he was aware, there had been no real animosity between them until the fight he’d witnessed in the village hall. As for Ailsa, Finn had, he thought, admired her from afar, with no hope of reciprocation.

He was fairly certain Finn had had no idea that they’d been conducting an affair, although near the end, when Ailsa realized all was not well, she may have made a point of telling Finn about them, knowing it would reach Caroline’s ears.

Yet the open animosity of tonight . . . the rage with which Finn had deposited Joanne at Beanach. His warning for them both to stay away from his sister or else suggested – what?

That he most likely wanted to protect Caroline from further trauma.

Reaching the jetty, Greg sat down to stare across the shining expanse of water. The far bank was lit up by the moon and, close to the water’s edge, stood a magnificent stag, head held high, its antlers a warning of what it might be capable of when the rutting season came and it fought to the death for its choice of female.

It made him wonder how far he was prepared to go to keep Joanne.

Greg quietly raised his rifle and got the big male within his sights, his finger poised on the trigger.

He felt the swift beat of his heart as the magnificent head turned as though drawn by his intent gaze.

Both the shot and subsequent death would be a clean one, as long as he didn’t hesitate.

Joanne