She had a mental image of being thrust to the floor of the shed or up against the rifle rack, and the horror of it almost overwhelmed her.

Yet, if she could keep him talking, Greg might well arrive. That encouraging thought was quickly replaced by a much darker one.

What would he do if Greg did appear?

His eyes, having used up their friendly sparkle, had now grown cold.

‘You know what you deserve for running away and hiding from me?’ He adopted the look he used in court when he explained to the jury what was expected of them. A little dip of the head, then a straight look in the eye.

At this point she was supposed to plead, or become a vamp, encouraging him to move straight to sex.

When she did neither, he came determinedly towards her. Aware what would happen next, she turned and ordered her legs to walk. The time delay for her limbs to respond gave him the chance to catch her arm.

Swinging her round, he took aim at her stomach, a favourite punchbag of his.

‘Don’t,’ she screamed, ‘I’m pregnant.’

His fist halted as though in slow motion, while his left hand gripped her wrist even tighter.

‘What did you say?’ His voice dripped ice.

‘I said I was pregnant.’

He dropped his fist.

‘How pregnant?’ he said, no doubt calculating the days since they’d last had sex or, alternatively, the last time he’d raped her.

She’d counted the number so often, she could tell him without hesitation.

He considered this new development. One he’d wanted, and she’d tried secretly to avoid. Obviously not hard enough.

He gave the smile he used for a jury who’d agreed with his arguments and announced a not-guilty verdict. ‘That’s wonderful.’ He drew her into his arms, tilting her face so that he might kiss her long and penetratingly.

‘So, now we go home,’ he announced when his tongue had stopped its probing.

She had avoided his punches. Now how to prevent him taking her away?

‘My things,’ she said as he frogmarched her out of the shed.

‘You’ve plenty at home. Plus you’ll need new ones, now that you’re pregnant.’

Outside, the scent of smoke was clearly discernible.

‘The wildfire,’ she said. ‘It must have spread in this direction.’

As they crossed to the car, she could see the scattered outbreaks puncturing the woods around the green loch.

‘I have to find out what’s happening,’ she said. ‘Make sure they know it’s jumped the loch.’

When he ignored her protests, she tried another tack. ‘I have to let the dogs out. If the fire reaches Beanach . . .’

‘Let your gamekeeper worry about that.’