Laird of Doorn

LAIRD OF DOORN Sue Peters

Sue Drummond was visiting her friend Meg at Castle Blair in Scotland while she recovered from an injury to her hand. At first she thought she would miss her job as violinist in an orchestra - but soon the peaceful Highland life began to weave its spell and she came to love it more and more. And far from disliking the imposing Duncan Blair the moment she met him, Sue felt an immediate feeling of friendship and warmth developing between them. So who could say what would have been the outcome of it all, had the jealous Fiona Redman not set about making all the mischief in her power

CHAPTER ONE 'HIMSELF couldn't come.' Sue eyed the apparition that faced them from the other side of the station platform, and crushed down a forsaken feeling as the express that had transported them from London gave a derisive whistle, and disappeared through the driving rain on the last leg of its journey through the Highlands before it turned back on its tracks and headed southwards again, meeting its fellow doing the outward trip somewhere before it reached the Border. The train doing the downward journey was practically the only sign of human life they had witnessed once they got into the mountains proper, she realised. When the better populated Border country had been left behind, with its comfortable villages, and rounder, greener hills, the straggling farmhouses had finally petered out into bleak, heather-clad moorlands that seemed to roll to the very ends of the. earth itself, clothing the hills that strained the climbing train to continuous effort. Now and then a crofter's cottage broke the eternal loneliness that seemed to pervade the very air in this high country, but. mostly even these signs of human habitation were in ruins, making desolation seem even more desolate, sad evidence of the time when the game that the moors bred became more important to the landowners than the human inhabitants, a situation which, though for more commendable reasons, is not without its parallel today in the game reserves of the world. 'You'll be Miss Drummond, I take it?' A pair of keen eyes regarded Sue from under an atrocious wool bonnet that was pulled well down over the owner's forehead, and only stopped from slipping over his eyes by the fierce jutting of a pair of ginger eyebrows, that by their aggressive protrusion warned the stranger that their wearer might not be a man to offend.

'And Master Drummond?' The eyes removed themselves from Sue, somewhat to her relief, though she felt them to be kindly, and took what information they sought from the face of her brother, who was half bent over their suitcases, intent on sliding them into what brief shelter the overhang to the stationmaster's office afforded. 'I'm Robert Drummond.' At nearly eighteen, Robert was tall, and his voice held all the strength and confidence of young manhood as he straightened up to his full height and gave his name forth- rightly, obviously wondering, like his sister, who this peculiar-looking stranger might be. It could be the station- master, of course, but from his dress it hardly seem likely. Surely a stationmaster, even in such an out-of-the-way spot as this, would be in uniform, not in the soft bonnet and shapeless tweed jacket that was only just visible under a sack—patently clean, but still a sack—that he held across his shoulders like a shawl as a protection against the driving rain. Further sacking was held by fine leather thongs round his trouser legs to the knees, which though doubtless functional as a protection against mud and wear on his more costly garment, added greatly to the incongruity of his appearance in the eyes of the two who huddled into their thin showerproofs, that had been adequate in the kinder air of the south, but suddenly seemed the wrong thing to wear even in mid-August in Scotland, particularly so far north as this. 'The Laird said to meet you, Miss Drummond.' His soft, Highland voice gave a sibilant hiss to the word ending, though Sue noticed that his speech was purer and infinitely more understandable than the thicker accent of the Border country where they had encountered locally embarking fellow passengers, and

found their dialect as incomprehensible as if they spoke a foreign tongue. 'I was expecting Margaret - Mrs Fraser, I mean.' Sue ground to a halt uncertainly, and wished more heartily than ever that she had not allowed herself to be persuaded by Robert's eager enthusiasm for every new experience. Sometimes a younger brother could be a pest, she thought feelingly, and chided herself for being unjust. Robert had been thinking as much of her as of himself when he overruled her demur, and accepted Meg's invitation to Castle Blair for them both. It had been a chance meeting—a one-in-a-thousand chance that had brought all three of them through the same door of an Oxford Street store at the same time, Meg in a swift shopping expedition sandwiched between the plane that had brought her back from Canada, and the one that was to take her to her brother's home in Scotland, there to await her husband's arrival in the due course, and Sue and Robert on a joint foray for a birthday gift for their father, always a test of ingenuity since Colonel Drummond lived for little other than his regiment and its attendant responsibilities, it being both his work and his hobby, and except for the company of his wife he seemed to desire nothing more—not even his children, thought Sue with an exasperation born of puzzlement as she shook her head to the umpteenth suggestion of a well-meaning assistant, and settled for a slender gold fountain pen—her father rejected ballpoint pens as modern laziness. 'This should travel well enough,' she remarked to her brother. 'It's got to go to Malgesh,' she explained to the helpful girl, refusing her offer to gift-wrap the box, and mentioning the hill station where her parents would remain for the next four years except for an occasional brief home leave, made briefer by her father's reluctance to leave his command for more than a token break.

'That's done for another year,' Robert's look added 'thank goodness!' and Margaret Fraser broke in cheerfully. 'Come and have a coffee and recover, it's ages since I've seen either of you. Sandy's almost eight now,' she voiced the incredulity of every parent who has watched a small boy turn into a gangling, adventurous lad. 'He'd only just started school when you saw him last,' she exclaimed. 'I've just left school.' There was undisguised glee in Robert's voice that brought a slight crease to his sister's forehead, which the observant eyes of her friend did not fail to notice. 'Have you decided what to do?' Margaret Fraser looked interested. 'Dad wants Robert to follow him into the regiment.' The reservation in Sue's voice told their companion more than she realised of the concern that lay behind her earlier frown. 'I'm not going into the Army.' The statement was flat, final, and spoke of long thought behind what must have been a difficult decision for a boy brought up in a tradition- and expected to carry it on. 'I can't live by a rule book, Sue. You know that.' His hazel eyes, mirrors of his sister's, begged her understanding. 'It's all right for Dad, he's cut out for the life. He doesn't mind putting his body and his mind in a uniform.' His young voice held unconscious scorn, and his onrush of words checked as he caught his sister's slight, warning shake of the head. 'Sorry, Sis, but I can't live my life to a set of Army orders. I've got to be free—to think for myself, steer my own course, if you like. You know what I mean,' he finished rather lamely, heeding her warning.

'I know,' Sue said quietly, glad of the approach of the waiter whose presence acted as an effective brake to her brother's unguarded words. She knew well enough, and her sympathies lay entirely with Robert. In his place she would have felt exactly the same, trapped in a strait jacket of tradition and a code of service that however honourable, by its very nature held a rigidity that his free-ranging mind could not accept. 'Sorry, Meg,' he smiled disarmingly at the dark-haired girl opposite, who was tactfully pouring coffee for the three of them, her attention seemingly on nothing but the cups. 'You must be longing to catch up on Sue's news, not to play referee to a family scrap!' 'It'll resolve itself, you'll see. Things usually do,' Margaret Fraser prophesied comfortably. Nothing ever seemed to worry Meg unduly, Sue thought enviously. Her friend's eyes, under the mantle of auburn hair , that swung loose to her shoulders, were as serene as they had always been. When you were with Meg you could really begin to believe that things would somehow turn out all right, a philosophy that had earned her the nickname 'Micawber' at school, and seemed to have remained with her through marriage to an out-of-doors type, globe-trotting Scot whom Sue had met a few times, and liked immensely; and then through motherhood of a son who even when she had seen him last showed every sign of taking after his father's fearless nature, a spirit of which his mother was obviously proud, but which must have cost her many an anxious moment, and a problem as to how far she should go in cautioning him against danger without stunting the very spirit that would stand him in such good stead in adulthood. Her own brother's spirit was another such, a source of pride to his parents, and its independence could be the cause of a clash between them when he let it be known that he intended to go his own way in life, and not follow the path expected of him. It wasn't as if he had got anything special in mind to dos it would have been easier if he had, at least he could have faced his father with a

fait accompli and the respectability of an apprenticeship to an established profession. 'I've got to work outside, Sue. I won't be stifled.' And that was that, so far as Robert was concerned. Sue felt a cup of coffee thrust into her hand, and brought her mind back to the table and what her friend was saying. 'Now Robert's free of school he's entitled to a holiday after getting through his finals.' Meg stirred her drink thoughtfully. 'Can't you take a week or two from your beloved orchestra, and keep me company at Castle Blair?' she begged. 'I see from the bills on the hoardings they're playing in the provinces for the next two months, so surely they can do without one violinist for a short period?' She paid scant regard to the balance of instrumentalists necessary to the correct functioning of an orchestra, though Sue had to admit the notices stated that a full orchestra would not be present at every performance over the next few weeks; necessary holiday breaks must be taken by even the most dedicated musicians, and the generally more restricted accommodation available in provincial halls allowed this to happen without too much inconvenience, and no lack of quality. 'Sue's free until next spring,' Robert said quietly, and Meg stared. 'Don't tell me you've left the orchestra? I don't believe it!' She sounded as shocked as she looked. 'She's on sick leave,' Robert retorted briefly, as his sister remained silent. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Sue, I didn't know you'd been ill,' Meg cried with ready sympathy.

'I haven't.' She swallowed the lump that came into her throat every time she thought of the orchestra. 'Some clot with more haste than sense shut her hand in a swivel door,' her brother rescued her, and his young voice was harsh with condemnation. 'Her fingers were badly crushed, and the guides were damaged,' he explained to Meg's dismayed exclamation, and demand for more details. 'Oh, she's still able to play,' he threw a reassuring smile at his sister's face that suddenly looked pinched and rather white under its long black hair. 'It's just that she can't sustain the pace for any length of time until her fingers get stronger. The surgeon told her to break her hand in gently, not play too much at a time, and she'll be ready for when the band goes abroad next spring.' He slandered the first-class orchestra with a youthful irreverence that brought the colour back to his sister's cheeks in an indignant rush. 'I see Robert hasn't changed,' Meg laughed, her eyes seeking Sue's hand that rested on the table beside her coffee cup, lying relaxed on the firm support in a way that had become a habit since the accident, to try and ease the almost perpetual ache that was a painful reminder that for a while at least the fingers of her left hand could no longer seek music from her beloved .violin, which she lived for with an addiction almost as strong as that of her father for his regiment. She didn't mind Meg's glance. Didn't draw her hand away to hide the scar that marred its back, as she had been wont to do when the accident first happened. She had learned to accept it, as she had had to learn, painfully, and at the cost of many fruitless hours of desperate practice that had more often than not ended in tears of despair, that what the surgeon had told her was the wisest course to follow. 'Gentle it into use again,' he advised. 'After all, what's a year away from your orchestra when you'll have a lifetime of playing ahead of you if you can only take care now.'

He was right, of course, and after the first brief outbursts, during which she was more than ever glad of Robert's company in the small flat she rented in London, as a base for when the orchestra played at home, and which she had shared with Robert in the few weeks since he left school, her natural common sense came to her aid, and she reluctantly had to take unpalatable advice, which she acknowledged to be sound. 'Give yourself a break, and let's go out and enjoy ourselves the same as we used to.' Robert's enthusiasm was infectious, and blessed by good weather they happily explored London with the same enjoyment as if they had never seen its fascinating nooks and corners before, discovering new places and rediscovering familiar ones, completely happy in one another's company, as they had been since they were small when, like so many children of soldiers serving in the tropics, they were sent home to be educated, and spent their school holidays in the dutiful but unloving care of a maiden aunt whose very lack of affection brought them closer than they might normally have been to one another. 'Come to Castle Blair,' urged Meg. 'You'll be doing me a favour,' she coaxed, 'it might be weeks before Andrew comes back from Canada. I'd love your company for a while...' She sounded suddenly wistful. 'Won't your brother mind?' Sue demurred. Castle Blair was, after all, her brother's home, not Meg's, and Sue felt more than doubtful of her friend's impulsive invitation to a home of which she was not the mistress. She had met Duncan Blair only once, when she went to the Castle for his sister's wedding. She had been the chief bridesmaid, and Duncan had given his sister away. Their parents were both dead, and young though he was then Duncan Blair was already Laird of Doorn, and looked more than capable of the responsibility, Sue thought at the time. That was nine years ago, and at twenty the dark, kilted figure of Meg's brother had looked older than his years. Sue remembered little else of him beyond the remoteness that seemed like

an aura about the serious-faced substitute for the bride's father, an aloof loneliness that seemed as much a part of the man as of the desolate hills that were his home. He was probably married by now. What would his wife say to a sister-in-law who calmly invited two adults to stay for an unspecified number of weeks? she wondered. She had a vague idea that the shooting season started some time in August, she could not remember the exact date, but she remembered that Meg had always resented returning to school after the summer holidays when, as she put it, 'the fun's just beginning at home.' Not that Meg ever did any shooting herself, but she delighted in the constant company that the sport attracted to her isolated home; the dancing, and the music, and—she was honest enough to admit it —the attentions that were showered on her loveliness that, despite her frank enjoyment of it, still had not managed to spoil her, thought Sue fondly. Meg had waited, and chosen well when she gave her heart to Andrew Fraser, rejecting the many offers that Sue knew she had received from other, eager suitors, some of whom could have given her the best that the capitals of the world had to offer. Andrew Fraser offered her his heart, and a place at his side among his beloved forests, wherever his much sought after expertise in the timbers of the world took him, and Meg happily exchanged one isolated existence for another, spurning the glitter for where she knew her real riches lay. 'Duncan would love you to come.' His sister had none of her friend's scruples. 'I'll tell him you'll be following me,' she remarked complacently. 'When shall I say?' She gathered her handbag and gloves, and rose with a dismayed look at her watch. 'I must fly, I didn't realise we'd talked for so long. Come and help me grab a taxi, Robert,' she caught his. arm distractedly, 'I simply daren't miss that plane, there isn't another until tomorrow and Sara Macintosh would never forgive me if I missed her good dinner. She still looks after Duncan, you know,' she threw the information at Sue over her shoulder as she ducked to get into the rear of the cab while Robert

held the door wide for her. It sounded as if Duncan was still single, thought Sue, the implications of her friend's words penetrating her consciousness. 'You will come, won't you?' Meg implored, sticking a beseeching face out of the cab window. 'Shall we say the end of next week?' she pressed for a promise. 'We'd love to,' Robert said firmly before his sister had a chance to speak. 'We'll be with you on Friday.' 'That'll be grand. I'll meet you off the evening train.' And now here they were, standing on the station platform enduring their first experience of Highland rain, and there was no Meg to meet them. 'Mistress Margaret couldn't come.' There was patience in the soft, lilting voice, as if its owner thought that fact should have been plain to his hearers, but was willing to concede that one couldn't expect the same understanding from folk south of the Border that he was used to from his own countrymen. He'd said that before. Travel fatigue and an aching hand sent a flash of irritation through Sue. No, she corrected herself, he'd said 'Himself couldn't come', Himself presumably being the Laird. So the man facing them must be one of the Castle staff. From his wizened appearance, what she could see of it under the bonnet and the sack, he was probably an old family retainer, she thought, with amusement replacing her vexation. She could not remember seeing him when she came to the Castle as a bridesmaid, but that was hardly surprising. Her one and only visit to Castle Blair had been brief, travelling up one day, performing her dudes as bridesmaid the next, and after a hectic, crowded day, followed by a ball that was a confusion of tartan, bagpipes, and reels that turned her head dizzy, she had been despatched home early the next morning in order to wave her parents off from the London docks on their return journey from leave. Small

wonder that after all this time she had little memory of either the Castle or the Laird; the only clear picture that had remained in her mind was of Meg, radiantly happy, in a long bridal gown of pale cream that she had chosen to match the priceless, handworked lace veil that had done duty to brides of many generations of her family, and had through the years mellowed to a soft shade of cream, that framed her face delicately as it must have framed all those others before her who had stood at the altar of the tiny stone-built parish church to pledge their vows. 'Lucky veil, it only sees the happy times.' A flash of memory that she had not realised had stayed with her brought back Duncan Blair's words, and the sight of him, nine years ago, as he came to Meg's room to collect her and hand her into the open carriage that had been drawn by horses as black as the jet of his own hair. Briefly he had held Meg to him, showing an emotion strange, Sue guessed, to an undemonstrative nature, and for a moment his long fingers had traced the delicate pattern of the lace across his sister's soft hair. 'Lucky veil...' A squall hit the station platform with sudden ferocity, blotting out the surrounding landscape, and shifting the three human beings back in haste against the wall of the stationmaster's office, an abortive move since the wind drove the rain horizontally under the overhang, flapping their macs open and wetting them as effectively as if they had remained out in the open. Sue began to see the reason for their companion's sacking shawl and leggings. 'Best get to the station wagon,' he advised them mildly, seemingly unperturbed by such a minor detail as the elements, and concerned only for their comfort. He bent to help Robert with the cases. 'Put your tickets through the letter box,' he advised, and jerked his head to

the still closed door of the ticket office, making his woolly bonnet slide about in the most alarming fashion, but somehow it remained on its perch. 'He's away for the night by now, the guard sees to the last train.' He again had the air of one explaining the obvious, and Sue ducked her neck further down into the collar of her mac and followed him along the platform. He moved at a sprightly pace, despite being handicapped by two hefty cases, which revised her estimate of his possible age, a doubt that was confirmed when he slung the cases with scant effort into the back of the vehicle, opened the front door, and lent her a hand up with a strength in it that could only belong to a very fit man. As soon as his passengers were settled he swung into his own seat with the agility of long practice, and with a well directed aim tossed the sodden sack and his dripping bonnet against the steel grid that divided the passengers from the luggage compartment. The reason for the grid became apparent as two collies rose to their feet and gruffed a welcome to the driver, at the same time sliding guarded looks towards Sue and Robert. 'Doon!' Their master took no more notice of them, taking it for granted that they would obey him, which they instantly did, sinking on to the floor again and out of sight behind the back seat as the driver started the engine, with only the redolence of wet dog hair to betray their presence in the vehicle. The man's appearance was just as odd without his bonnet, thought Sue, her sense of humour returning now that she was out of range of the-outdoor bufferings, and catching the twinkly look Robert gave in her direction he obviously thought the same. Without his headgear he did not look nearly so fierce. A round pink expanse of cranium devoid of hair, but surrounded by a grizzled fringe further down, gave him a cherubic appearance that would have done justice to the serene countenance of a monk, and detracted a little from the threat of his eyebrows. Mild eyes, and a face wrinkled into a thousand tiny

creases by, Sue had no doubt, getting on for sixty years of the same sort of weather they had just been greeted by, completed a look that she took an instant liking to. 'Isn't Meg well?' She had no qualms about asking him questions now, and in the comparative peace of the vehicle she had time to collect her thoughts and her breath together again. 'Is there something wrong that she couldn't come, Mr—er -' 'Macintosh. Callum Macintosh,' he introduced himself. 'An' it's only a wee thing wrong,' he assured her comfortably. 'Mistress Margaret tripped on the hill. She came hurrying down and didn't mind where she was going.' That was just like Meg, Sue thought; despite her serene outlook she was quick and impulsive in her movements, and it would not be the first time she had suffered as a result. 'Has it broken anything?' She voiced her concern. 'No, not broken. Only a strain, but she found it was painful to stand on, and her brother thought it best to run her to the hospital to make sure. Mistress Margaret wanted to come and meet you and then go there later, but Himself said no.' And that sounded as if it was that. What 'Himself' said appeared to be law, even unto his married sister, Sue could imagine her high-spirited friend acquiescing to no one else's orders. All her former doubts returned in a rush, but Meg had said she wanted their company, had indeed begged them to come with a sincerity there was no mistaking, and if she was to be immobilised by a crocked ankle she would surely need them more than ever now. She fought down her reluctance to continue on to Castle Blair, there was still a considerable journey by road to be accomplished yet, since the railway did not penetrate anywhere near to Dunbyne, which was the nearest village to the Castle, an area being served by roads which were surprisingly good; hill tracks that during her last visit had

reminded Sue of some of the worst surfaces she had encountered anywhere along her travels with her parents, and water via the seagoing loch that crept like a steel grey ribbon among the high, frowning hills, and lapped round the small wooded peninsula on which stood Castle Blair. She did not relish the thought of being thrown on to the Laird's hands for company, any more than he would probably relish the thought of taking over Meg's duties of entertaining them, and the possibility that he might regard them as a time-wasting nuisance— Meg had said how busy he was, out most of the day attending to the demands of his estate—gave her qualms that she would rather have been without as a guest who was speeding in the direction of his home on a visit that promised to be of several weeks' duration. It was warm in the car. There were compensations to everything, thought Sue thankfully, and snuggled down between her two companions with the cosy feeling that comes from sitting safely behind a pair of hardworking windscreen wipers and watching the rain stream impotently down the other side of the glass while their mackintoshes steamed dry beside Callum's sack on the steel grid behind them. 'You've got a good engine under the bonnet.' Robert rested his arm on the back of the seat and eyed the awe- inspiring rise confronting them with a calculating eye. 'Aye, it doesn't pay to stint on horsepower out here. We depend too much on these things.' Callum slapped the steering wheel with a gnarled hand, much as he would slap a mare's flank, thought Sue amusedly. 'I can't look!' She turned back hastily from her over the shoulder glance at the station they had just left, or the blur that was all she could see through the obliterating rain. The back of the long vehicle

seemed to have disappeared below them. 'Ugh! It looks as if we're stood on the back window,' she shuddered. 'It's a wee bit steep,' agreed the driver complacently, 'but it straightens out some when we get to the top.' — 'Castle Blair is at sea level, isn't it?' Robert had never been there, but the implication of his casual question was obvious, and his sister's eyes grew wide with dismay. 'I'd forgotten we've got to go down again.' Her horrified tone hoped that the brake power of their transport matched its horsepower, with the reservation that mechanical failure was a horrid possibility. 'I'm sure the hills weren't so steep as this when I came for Meg's wedding. You've done something to make them grow,' she accused Callum. 'You were too excited to notice the scenery when you came before, miss,' he replied, and Sue twisted round in her seat and stared at him in undisguised surprise. 'Do you remember me from all that time ago?' she asked incredulously. 'I don't ...' She checked herself hastily, unwilling to offend their companion by betraying her own poor recollection. 'An' what would a bunch of young lassies want with remembering a ghillie?' he demanded of her, in no wise put out. 'You were too intent on the gay time you were having,' he gave a deep chuckle, and Sue relaxed, liking him more than ever. 'Robert never forgave his headmaster for not allowing him to come to the wedding as well,' she steered away from delicate ground. 'Lessons is more important for a boy.' Callum saw no reason to be ashamed of his old-fashioned point of view.

'I was looking forward to the scenery, it was magnificent from the train window, but now...' Robert gestured to their restricted vision, down to a few yards on either side of the car. 'We'll come out of the rain when we near the top,' their driver assured them confidently, his eyes on the road that disappeared into the mist in a lack of distance too short for Sue's peace of mind. 'See, it's beginning to clear already.' There seemed to be no noticeable difference to her inexperienced eyes, unless one could say that the volume of water pouring down the screen had slightly lessened in quantity, although it was still raining very hard. It was like travelling through wet cotton wool, she thought, the high whine of the labouring engine and the swish-flap of the windscreen wipers describing a mesmeric arc in front of them, the only sounds that broke the otherwise claustrophobic silence of their surroundings. Suddenly Callum changed into a higher gear, and Sue realised that the back of their vehicle had risen again until it was now more on a - level with its front, though still inclined upwards. A squeak of rubber on glass protested that the wipers had no more water to deal with, and without warning they were through the cloud, as if they had stepped through a curtain, and into another world, a wet one underfoot it was true, but overhead the sun shone from a clear sky. The cloud they had just emerged from lay below them in the valley, covering its secrets in a grey white blanket. 'It's like being in a plane.' Robert opened the window on his side and stuck his head out as Callum eased the car to a reasonable pace to let the engine cool, which at the same time allowed his passengers to drink in the wine-clear air, and the sights and sounds around them. 'I must have been blind, not to have remembered scenery like this.' Hilltop on hilltop ran in an endless line away from them, lightened by the welcome sun, and dipping into deep shadow where the cloud penetrated the valleys. Through the open window Sue saw a lark rise,

its tinny chatter sounding clear across the still air. Ahead of them, startled by the car, a pair of birds rose, flying low with a whirring of wings across the top of the heather, their harsh call protesting at the invasion of their lonely territory. 'Goback, goback,' Robert mocked the call. 'We've only just come,' he joked. 'Red grouse,' Callum identified them briefly. 'They call them the goback birds,' he paid an oblique compliment to Robert's interpretation. 'I don't call them very hospitable,' Robert retorted ruefully, rolling the window shut against a light spit of rain that passed almost before it had time to register the stray feather of cloud from which it fell. 'The wind's getting up, it'll be clear before we get home,' Callum prophesied, and once again he was proved correct. Long before the car's nose dipped away from the seemingly endless plateau of road that had followed the ridge of the hills in undulating line for many miles, until the sun dipped tiredly over the horizon and they turned towards the rim of shimmering water that showed far below them, the last vestiges of mist had disappeared, and opened up a vista in the clear evening light that could not have disappointed even Robert's expectations. 'Inch Blair,' Callum waved his hand at a dark circle of trees visible some way out in the loch waters. 'Island of the Blairs,' Robert construed, thoughtfully. 'I thought you said it was on a sort of peninsula, not an island?' he asked his sister. In some ways, his liking for exactness followed that of their parent, she thought.

'It was an island once, Master Robert.' Callum seemed to have taken a liking to the boy, and conversed happily as he took the precaution of engaging a lower gear as the road snaked downwards to water level at the same alarming rate that it had ascended before. 'I reckon there must always have been a sort of shallow path that was fordable while the tide was low,' he went on, 'but on top of that there was a big landslide—oh, way back,' he said vaguely, with the casual acceptance of long spans of years that comes to those who live with history. Meg had mentioned the landslide once, Sue recalled, only she had been slightly more specific. 'A couple of hundred years or so ago,' had been her description, but from what she knew of her friend's head for figures, Sue had added on half as much again, which made it a very long time since Castle Blair had stood on an island proper, although it still had the air of holding itself aloof from the mainland, as if its austere walls chose to ignore the impertinent roadway of hard rock that had been beaten down over the centuries to make a useful route of access, its disadvantages no longer apparent to the modern incumbents since the days of the necessity for a moat and drawbridge to ensure the safety of the occupants had long since passed. Callum slowed the vehicle still further to take a sharp bend on the edge of the hillside, which brought them practically above the grey, turreted building that stood foursquare with the dark woods behind it, and green lawns dipping their feet in the loch. The spiralling road gave them an excellent temporary view, and Sue tugged at her brother's sleeve. 'Look, there's the Castle, below us.' 'Gosh, it looks grim! I'll bet there's been some doughty fighting over those battlements,' he enthused boyishly, and she laughed. 'There must have been more peaceful times,' she retorted. 'Not everyone who came to the Castle in the old days would be unwelcome.' There must have been many more who would approach

it as a friend, and to whom the grey walls would rise as a symbol of shelter instead of as a fortress, its lights beckoning to the warmth and hospitality that lay within. 'At least we know we're welcome,' she teased him. Meg would welcome them, she knew, but now her friend had a damaged ankle, and might not be able to do her duty as hostess, what of her brother? Would his welcome be as warm? she wondered. The bend of the hill faded behind them, and Callum let the car have its head again as the road stretched out in a straight run towards the Castle. The high, rolling moor petered out behind them, and from the wild stretch of heather and rock Sue heard again the harsh call of the red grouse, made eerily threatening by the desolation of its surroundings, and the near approach of night. 'Goback,' it bade them warningly, 'goback, goback!'

CHAPTER TWO SUE wondered where she was when she awoke the next morning. Bright sunshine streamed through the leaded windows, and from somewhere below came the clatter of a feeding bucket, and the hullabaloo of hungry hens, mercifully subdued by distance. 'It's a lovely morning, miss,' a cheerful Scots voice roused her from the last remnants of drowsiness, and she raised herself on her elbow to face the bearer of the tea tray that clinked invitingly in her ear. 'Good morning, Sara.' She pushed fine strands of hair back from her eyes and greeted the round-cheeked wife of Callum Macintosh. 'Drink your tea and get up when you like,' that good lady told her. 'No, Mistress Margaret isn't doon yet. Another half hour,' she forestalled Sue's second question. 'I've persuaded her to rest her ankle for a wee while longer. Master Robert's out with Callum and the Master,' she gossiped on while she poured out, 'they're along the loch a way with the field glasses to see if they can place that stag they're after.' 'The old beast they've been stalking?* Sue sat upright, fully awake now and interested. 'Duncan said something about pulling a stag, or something or other, last night,' she remembered vaguely. She had been too tired from the journey to take in much of the conversation, but bits of it began to come back now to her refreshed mind. 'Culling the stag, not pulling it,' laughed Meg when they stood in the window of the dining room later, watching the loch water for signs of the returning men. 'They shoot off the stags that are old or sick before the rut sets in during October. If the old beasts survive and manage to keep a parcel of hinds, it usually means poor calves or barren hinds later on, which isn't good for the herd,' she said practically.

'It sounds a bit hard on the stags.' Sue's sympathies were always with the underdog. 'It's often kinder that way ... oh, here they come.' Meg pointed to where a bright spray of water dropped from strongly wielded oars, the even rise and dip of them driving the small boat towards the landing stage at the end of the long lawns under their window, the droplets of water shining like jewels in the early sunshine as they fell from the blades to join the sheet from which they came. 'Duncan's doing all the work.' The brown arms providing the power paused in their labours, and Sue watched fascinated as with one deft movement they swung the craft out of the mainstream and into the shallower cutaway that provided a miniature harbour for the boats from the Castle. 'He let Robert row going out,' Meg placated her unspoken criticism of the other men. 'The tide was ebbing, and they were moving the same way, so it was easier for him taking the first turn at the oars. But don't let Robert know I said so,' she smiled. 'Duncan's used to rowing, and he's stronger, Robert's got a bit of filling out to do yet.' She indicated the slender figure of the boy as the three men jumped from the small craft and bent as one to tow it ashore. Duncan paused with the boat's coil of rope in his hand, and gestured to Robert as if to show him where to tie it to, so that the craft would ride easily when the tide rose again in the evening. He let the boy run it through the ring in the post that was there for the purpose, and tie the thick hempen strand, nevertheless checking it himself with a good hard tug when Robert had finished, and then the three of them turned and strolled towards the house, Callum making off at a tangent towards the kitchen quarters, while the others headed straight on towards the front door. Robert was in jeans and an open-necked shirt, though Sue noticed that he had had the sense to slip a light sweater over his head; despite

the sunshine it would be cold out on the loch waters at this time in the morning. The clock struck eight, and she checked it against her watch, adjusting the hands slightly to coincide. It did not matter which timepiece was the accurate one, she would go by the house clock rather than transgress by being unpunctual at meals. Duncan Blair had treated them with the utmost courtesy when they arrived the night before, and Sue guessed he would expect the same standard of manners from his guests. Indeed, he had put himself out to be pleasant, considerately giving his sister the opportunity to be quiet if she wanted to, since her foot was evidently painful despite its professional strapping, and in no time he had Robert chatting as if they were old friends. He spoke less to herself, Sue noticed, though whether this was from consideration of their long journey, and her admitted tiredness, or whether from a natural reserve she could not tell. Certainly he left the initiative to break up the evening to his guests, which, catching a hastily stifled yawn from their host, she did as the clock struck ten. 'But it's early yet,' protested her brother, with a youthful obtuseness. 'We've had a long day,' Sue insisted, 'and so have Meg and Duncan,' she told him firmly, stemming his eager questions about fishing in the loch. 'We keep early hours here, I'm afraid - at both ends of the day,' Duncan excused himself, and Sue smiled. 'So do we at home, unless there's something special on,' she said, and shepherded her brother upstairs, with a stern homily in his ear as soon as the drawing room door shut behind them. The fact that he was up in time to go out with Duncan and Callum on the loch showed that he had heeded what she said. A pair of powerful field glasses swung from Duncan's hand, and Sue noticed that he, too, had taken the precaution of wearing a sweater. It was black to match his slacks, and the sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, revealing arms

of a whipcord toughness, hardened, to steel strength by the work of his extensive estate, each task on which he looked as capable of doing as any of his most skilled employees. 'They'll be hungry, I expect.' Meg nodded to Sara to leave the porridge tureen on the sideboard. 'Treat it cautiously,' she advised Sue, 'taste it before you put sugar on—we salt ours up here,' she warned. 'That sounds like Sandy.' She spooned a bowlful out for her son, whose treble chatter could be heard demanding why his uncle had left him behind when he went stalking from the loch. 'He'll be put out to have missed the trip,' his mother smiled, 'but first thing in the morning especially, he will chatter. I suppose you can't expect silence from a seven-year-old when he's just got up,' she said tolerantly, 'but when the air's still it's surprising how far sound will carry across the water, and Duncan didn't want to disturb the stag if he once placed it. Later in the day he'll want to go out and track him down, and when he's got a job like that he likes if done with one quick, clean shot,' she explained. 'If the stag's disturbed, it means a long trek after an alerted animal, and he wanted to avoid that if possible.' Sue could see the Laird's point. Stalking would be an exacting task when the end result was so important, she conceded, and however fond he was of his small nephew, a childish whoop at the wrong time could easily be the means of destroying a day's hard slog across the heather, which would not place Sandy very high in the popularity stakes, she thought with a smile. 'They went without me.' Indignant blue eyes under a tousled mop of sandy hair showed their owner's feelings at such cavalier treatment. 'They went without me, too,' retorted Sue, hiding her smile with difficulty. Andrew Fraser junior was a miniature of his father, the likeness had struck her forcibly last night when they arrived at the Castle, and the sleepy child, in dressing gown and pyjamas because

he had been allowed to wait up to see them before Sara carried him off upstairs, had hugged her with the same happy friendliness that he had always shown. Sue had wondered if he might have grown shy, it was so long since she had seen him, but Sandy's memory was longer than she had given it credit for, and his small loyalties happily unwavering. 'I suppose I ought to call you Andrew now, not Sandy.' She eyed him gravely across the breakfast table. 'Andrew's all right for school,' he responded, equally grave, 'but it's no good calling me that at home,' he explained, ' 'cept when Daddy's not here,' he amended carefully. 'When we're both at home and someone shouts "Andrew", we both come running,' he grinned engagingly, 'so it's best to call me Sandy.' 'Now you know.' Amusement made Duncan's black eyes gleam, with just the hint of a grateful look in Sue's direction that thanked her for providing a red herring. She guessed the boy had given his uncle a hard time explaining why he had been left behind that morning, and her timely intervention had been welcome. 'Eat up and stop chattering,' his mother bade him, 'or you'll not be ready in time to help with the guns.' Her threat had the desired effect, and her small son gave earnest attention to his breakfast, determined not to be left out of the next stage of preparation for stalking the stag. 'Is Robert going with you?' Was there just the faint hint of jealousy in the youngster's voice as he questioned the Laird? Duncan evidently thought so, and responded carefully. 'Best not, I think. He's not used to stalking, and there's no sense in him tiring himself out at the start of his holiday.' He begged Robert's forgiveness with a look.

'I'd rather break myself in gently,' Robert responded readily, interpreting his host's plea for help and meeting it gallantly. 'Town life has made me soft,' he lied. 'I thought we'd all go as far as the Peel Tower in the Land Rover, then Meg can come too without putting any strain on her foot,' Duncan suggested. 'How about it?' he asked his sister. 'The track to the tower is reasonable for the vehicle, and then if Sandy will show Sue and Robert the tower—he knows more about it than the rest of us, it's a haunt of jackdaws, and Sandy knows all the nooks and crannies where they nest,' he added slyly. 'I can go on across the top of the hill on my own, and into the washout on the other side of the ridge. That's where I reckon I shall find the stag. I doubt he'll have moved far from where we sighted him this morning.' 'You'll need the garron to bring it in.' The child evidently knew the lie of the land his uncle referred to, and was aware of the need of the hardy mountain pony, capable of travelling across terrain that would defeat even the sturdy structure of the Land Rover, and carry back the carcase of their quarry, a dead weight that would be more than the men themselves could manage. 'I hoped you'd help Callum bring the pony up, that is if you don't mind the extra walk?' Duncan added a further inducement. 'I'll do that,' Sandy agreed readily enough. 'Mummy can look after Sue and Robert till I get there.' He slid from the table and took his dish to the sideboard, where he proceeded to help himself sparingly from the hotplate. Robert followed, and Meg turned to Sue. 'Make a good breakfast,' she advised. 'The air's keen on the hill, and we'll be gone all morning. Robert, fill a plate for Sue,' she commanded.

'Make it a small one,' Sue protested, 'I'm not used to a big meal this early in the day.' 'You wouldn't need one when you're working with an orchestra, you'd be sat down most of the time,' Duncan commented, and Sue flinched. She was aware of the logic of his remark, but she wished he hadn't brought the subject up. For the first time in months—it seemed more like years—she had temporarily forgotten her damaged hand, and the orchestra, amid the interest of new surroundings, and the pleasure of seeing her friend again. If only Duncan had not spoken, she might have got through the day with something approaching peace of mind, although he could not have known how much his casual remark hurt. She prodded the mixed fry her brother placed before her with a suddenly reluctant fork, biting into the crisp bacon rolls and the thinly sliced, dark mixture of meat something like black pudding, she thought curiously, tasting it and finding it rich and good. She finished her meal with returned relish, and looked up to meet Sandy's blue eyes fixed on her with a serious stare. 'You like haggis.' It was more of a statement than a question, and it caught Sue by surprise. 'Was that haggis? I didn't know, but you're right, I do like it,' she assured him. 'An' me,' he retorted with satisfaction. 'I helped Sara make this one,' he informed her proudly. 'We minced it all up and put it in a sheep's...' 'Sandy!' The Laird spoke sharply from his seat at the head of the table, and the boy subsided into silence instantly. Sue was reminded of Callum's

remark on the way from the station. 'Himself said no.' Himself had said 'no' again, she thought, though not in so many words, and had obtained the same immediate obedience. Whatever interesting item of culinary mystery that Sandy was about to expound was evidently not for her ears. Thinking it over later, she wondered perhaps if it were better for her own peace of mind that she remained ignorant of the origin of haggis; it might blunt her future enjoyment of the dish, which would be a pity since she had taken a liking to the savoury addition to her breakfast. 'Eat up now, or you'll make yourself late.' The Laird's voice was back to its former gentle tone, his reprimand heeded, and consequently forgotten by him, and Sue noticed that Sandy, to his credit, reflected his uncle's manner, cheerfully joining him as he made his excuses and left the table to go to the gun room and search out the weapon he needed. 'Ask Robert if he'd like to come too,' Duncan suggested, checking the child with a hand on his shoulder as he headed for the door. 'May I?' Robert's face lit up with undisguised delight that brought a smile to his host's face, that had momentarily looked so stern when he chided Sandy at the table, reminding Sue of her memory of him nine years ago, and the lonely aloofness that had clung about him then like a cloud. A good deal of that had disappeared from the older Duncan, the confidence of maturity giving him a more relaxed manner, but even this could not quite eradicate the natural reserve of .the man that his life among these isolated hills only served to accentuate. 'A rifle's best...' He passed out of the room, explaining his intended method of hunting to his guest. 'It's got a telescope on the top,' Sandy added, eager not to be outdone.

'Telescopic sights.' A chuckle sounded in the quiet voice as they passed out of hearing, leaving Sue and Meg to follow at their leisure. 'Put on some stout shoes, it's rough walking on the hill,' Meg told her. 'I hope you brought some with you? I don't think mine would fit.' She took a broader fitting than Sue, and a size larger. 'I've got some flat-heeled lace-ups,' Sue answered. 'I hoped we might do some walking while we were here. I'll put on some slacks, I think.' She copied the menfolk and reappeared, dressed in mink-coloured slacks and a high-necked, ribbed sweater of the same soft shade, the outfit toning with her silky hair as did Duncan's with his own dark good looks. He glanced up at her when she reappeared, pausing in his manipulating of the weapon in his hand, and smiled an invitation for her to join him on the lawn as he saw her hesitate at the door. A large black labrador retriever sat patiently beside him, its dense coat matching its master's jet clothing, so that the two looked like silhouettes outlined against the short emerald grass and the clear loch water behind. 'Are you going to take Don with you?' Sandy ran up and fondled the big dog, who thumped a friendly tail in response, but remained where he had evidently been bidden to sit. Another instance of 'Himself said no', thought Sue with a flash of amusement, in which there mingled some irritation. The discipline Duncan Blair exerted over his household was almost feudal, although to be fair the only instances of it that she had seen had made sense,, and were what she would have done herself in his place. Meg's foot had needed instant medical attention, and he had been right to assume that an old friend of his sister would understand a deputy calling to collect her from the station in such an emergency. A child's somewhat lurid imagination might have brought gastronomic protests from a stranger unused to the various rites associated with the making of haggis, and she guessed Duncan had only checked Sandy to spare her feelings. And

so far as Don, the dog, was concerned, it was no use having a working animal that did not give instant obedience, particularly one that was used in the field, she conceded, her irritation subsiding, but leaving a doubt behind as to her own reaction if circumstances should ever arise that made Duncan include her in an order with which she might not agree. 'Yes, I might want him to take the stag's attention.' Sue noticed that the boy's uncle never let his questions go unanswered, however occupied he happened to be. 'But you can't bring Whisky and Soda.' He forestalled the one which he evidently guessed would follow, gesturing in the direction of the two small dogs that Callum had just loosed through a side door, and who tore across the lawn in the direction of their young playmate as if they had not seen him for a month. The cairn must be Whisky, Sue surmised, and the West Highland white must be Soda. 'Why...?' There was the beginning of a wail in Sandy's voice, and his lower lip dropped. 'Because they chatter too much,' Duncan returned gravely. 'You know we must have quiet when we're stalking,' he included the boy among the men, which straightened his lip and his shoulders at the same time, 'and those two give tongue about everything they see,' he smiled. The truth of his words became apparent as the two terriers, who had already fussed their way through the small group of people, inquiring into a gamebag which Callum had dropped at his feet on the grass, standing on tiptoes and investigating Duncan's pockets— not without success, Sue did not see what he gave them, but it must have been what they were looking for, and he fed the same to the big black dog, whose thumping tail gave the two small fry a diversion to pounce on when their titbit had gone—now tore off in the direction of a small shrubbery that acted as a windbreak on the edge of the lawn, from where they could be heard giving each other vocal

encouragement as they followed up some trail or other interesting to the noses of small dogs. 'I suppose not.' Sandy was sensible, if reluctant. 'Nor ...?' 'Nor Points,' Duncan said firmly. 'By the way, where is Points?' he inquired. 'Do Sue and Robert know about him?' Was there a hidden warning in his question? Sue wondered. It sounded like it, and it irked her curiosity. 'We-ell, no...' Sandy hesitated, torn between loyalty to whoever Points happened to be—a pet, Sue guessed accurately—and whatever it was that Duncan thought they should know. 'He's a baby roe deer, his mother was killed and we bottle-fed him.' Sandy turned to her eagerly. 'He's mine now—until he takes to the hill when he's older. He's bound to, one day.' He put aside the evil time, while facing its eventual necessity, which indicated sensible training of a child to whom his animals must mean a great deal, living so far away from what many people choose to call civilisation. 'How sweet!' Sue was immediately charmed. A small roe deer would make a most attractive pet, like a little Bambi, she thought, a smile making her eyes soft. 'He's anything but!' Duncan disillusioned her. 'For one thing, he's a roe buck, not a doe. The does are gentle enough, but the bucks—well, they're like all small boys for mischief,' he added, with a quick rub of his hand across Sandy's tousled mop to take the sting from his words. 'That buck's a wee limb of Satan,' Callum put in feelingly, 'an' he's not called Points for nothing, either,' he warned. 'He's grown some points of his own, and well he's learned how to use them.' A gnarled hand rubbed thoughtfully at the seat of his trousers, and Sue and Robert laughed but loud.

'We'll keep a watch out for his tricks,' they promised. 'You won't see him this morning, I've locked the wee beast in the stable yard,' announced Callum with a satisfaction in his voice that redoubled Robert's mirth, and reflected Sandy's grin on his uncle's face. 'Off you go and get the garron ready.' Duncan brought the conversation to an end and adroitly sent his nephew on his way. The ghillie followed him, and the two terriers bundled about their feet in a toe-tripping manner that brought a rapidly smothered exclamation from Callum's lips that Sue felt sure Meg would not have approved Sandy hearing. 'Aren't you lot ready yet?' Meg evidently believed that attack was the surest means of defence, and blatantly walked towards them blaming her companions for being late. 'Come on,' Duncan sounded resigned. 'Are you sure your foot's all right in those shoes?' He cast a searching glance at her footwear. 'It's fine, they're old and loose.' Meg flapped her damaged foot clad in a comfortably disreputable slip-on. 'The doctor said I've got to use it, so long as I do it in moderation.' Familiar enough advice, thought Sue ruefully, but not so easy to carry out. She swung herself up into the back of the Land Rover alongside her friend, glad that she had put on slacks and not a tight skirt, which would have made the ascent hazardous or undignified, and she relished neither under Duncan's keen eye. It was pleasant in the open vehicle, the canvas hood had been rolled down and stowed away, and the sun was strong enough to make the slight breeze of their going welcome to the occupants. The hill was just as steep as the one they had travelled from the station, but the open vehicle, and the ability to see round them that the mist had denied them on the

earlier journey, made the rise seem less alarming despite the atrocious surface which their sturdy vehicle took in its stride. A small herd of Highland cattle with shaggy hair hanging like a curtain about them, and wide sweeping horns, moved slowly away at their approach, gazing at them with gentle eyes at variance with their ferocious appearance. 'Duncan runs a small herd,' Meg told them, seeing their interest, 'but since he took over the estate he's concentrated more on building up the red deer herds.' 'I thought the deer were wild?' Sue voiced her surprise. 'They are,' Duncan spoke over his shoulder from the driving seat, slowing the vehicle down to avoid a deeper than usual rut, and to enable his passengers to obtain a good view of the shaggy cattle. 'They were always fairly plentiful on the hills around here, and except for the needs of the local people in the way of venison, they were allowed to go their own way without interference. The natural hazards of their environment were enough to keep the deer population in check, but beyond that nobody bothered much with them.' 'Duncan changed all that.' There was pride in Meg's voice. 'He realised there was a market for venison that could be fostered if it could be supplied with top quality meat, so he put his ideas into practice, and now the herds that live on the Castle land are some of the finest in the country.' 'But they're still wild?' Sue was puzzled to know how the deer could be persuaded to stay in the area and be managed, as Duncan evidently managed them. It would be impossible to fence these wild heights, the Blair lands were far too extensive; Meg had given her some idea of the distance they covered when they were waiting for

the men to come in from the loch that morning, and her mind baulked at the immensity of such a task. 'We don't fence, it would be impossible.' Duncan sensed the way her thoughts were running. 'We feed them,' he said simply. Like all problems, the simplest answer was the most effective. 'Not long after I finally took over the running of the estate,' he had been under age when his parents died, and Meg told Sue at the time that a factor ran the place until he finally attained his majority, 'we had a dreadful winter. Doorn Moor, and Ben Rhu,' he gestured towards the dark hump of mountain that gave its name as well as its shadow to the loch that surrounded Castle Blair, 'were under deep snow for nearly three months. It was the worst blizzard in living memory,' he said reflectively, 'some said the worst on record in this part of the Highlands, and of course the deer were starving. Whole herds of them came down from the moors and raided the village gardens and fields for food—there wasn't a turnip or an acre of kale left in the place. In Dunbyne I remember the villagers feeding them loaves of bread one dreadful Sunday when about twenty red deer staggered into the middle of the village for shelter from the blizzard, and were too weak to go any further.' His face was dark with brooding; the suffering of that winter had left its mark on the Laird as well as his herds, Sue realised, confirming a sensitive nature behind his habitual cloak of reserve, that despite his friendly manner would make it difficult to be accepted as his friend, she guessed. One would have to earn Duncan Blair's respect before one earned his love, she thought, but the reward would amply justify the effort. She turned her attention back to what he was saying, wondering why her mind had strayed when she was eager to hear what he had to say about the deer. The beauty of these high slopes, with the early heather a purple sheen on every hand, and the clear, crisp air that held a silence that could be felt, was making her fey. 'The roe deer

fared better, they're the little ones like Points—you'll see him later on,' Duncan promised with a smile. 'Sandy can't resist showing him off to his friends,' he classed Sue and Robert among them, which for some reason sent a small, warm glow through her that helped to take away, if only for a moment, the depression of the last few months, and stilled, too, her longing to be back with her orchestra. Momentarily she discovered that she did not want to be anywhere but where she was, in an open Land Rover on a hillside, driven by her host who expounded his hopes for his future herds. 'The roe are woodland deer,' Duncan went on, 'so they had more shelter and food right from the start, it was the red deer—the big ones—that suffered most. That winter decimated the herds,' his voice was grave, 'but feeding them gave me an idea. They came so readily,' he remembered. 'At first we fed them from pure compassion, just to save them. It was only afterwards that I realised if we fed them regularly, budgeted for it in the winter feed supplies for the ordinary stock we keep on the land we farm, we might entice them to remain within our boundaries where they knew they could get food easily in the hard weather, and at the same time prevent the yearly nuisance of them raiding the village gardens. Oh, occasionally we get a rogue who prefers the postmaster's sprouts to our good hay,' he smiled, 'but generally our strategy worked.' It must have taken years of patience to control the herds while still leaving them to roam wild, Sue thought, but this man would have that sort of patience, the kind that built for future generations, his own life span regarded in context with all those others who had gone before him, and would come after, viewed in proportion to the good he had received from the one, and what he in turn must leave to the other. 'We cull the old and the weak, and take so many of the strong ones every year for venison. The number we can take each season grows steadily, and in return the herds are strong and fit, and repay us with

first-class meat. It brings in a very welcome revenue to the estate,' he remarked frankly, and Sue realised with a flash of insight that he did not regard the income purely as his own, as money to be spent to gratify his own wishes, but rather as a useful addition to his income that could be put back into his land, into the upkeep of Castle Blair and their peaceful island home; into the home farm that served the Castle, and which Meg had told her the factor now ran for him; into the dark forest land that lay like shadows in the deep valleys, and the small but well worked crofts that they had passed on their way to the Castle yesterday, and which Callum had told her belonged to the estate. Duncan Blair would not regard all these things as his possessions, but rather as his responsibilities, she guessed, and would work as hard as any of his employees or tenants to ensure their continuing wellbeing. 'And today you're culling the old stag?' Culling meant killing, she knew, and she shrank from the fact, although she acknowledged its necessity - its sense, after what Duncan had just told her, but she was glad he had suggested leaving them at the Peel Tower, and going on alone. However practical the job might be, she was feminist enough to believe that this was men's work, and best left to them. The dark watch tower, covered in creeper that seemed to hold the crumbling walls together, loomed ahead of them, standing on a small flat plateau of short turf, and commanding a magnificent view across miles of hillside, the wide-ranging area of countryside it overlooked justifying the choice of site by the watchmen who originally built it. 'I'll park here, you can sit where you are if you like, or get out on the turf, it's bone dry.' Duncan braked and cut the engine-, then as an extra precaution he put the vehicle into gear. 'There, that's safe enough.' He reached for his rifle, and the dog, Don, joined him on the ground. 'What a wonderful view.' Robert's voice was hushed.

'Yes, isn't it?' Duncan paused good-humouredly, though Sue guessed he must be longing to go about his task, which she suspected was not much to his taste, and therefore best disposed of as soon as possible. 'It's one of my favourites. That's Ben Rhu, and Loch Rhu, of course. And all that,' he swept his hand in a wide arc that took in the expanse of moor to where the hills rose again as a barrier in the far distance, 'all that is Doorn Moor.' Laird of Doorn was his own tide, and some of the rugged strength of his high inheritance showed in the clear cut lines of his face, relaxed now as he talked amiably, to the younger man at his side. 'Well, I'll be on my way, or Callum and Sandy will be here before I'm through. Oh, by the way, don't be tempted to climb the tower, it won't support anything heavier than the creeper,' he warned. He shouldered his rifle, snapped his fingers to the dog, and left them, striding upwards with a lithe lack of effort that brought a gleam of envy to Robert's eye. 'It's grand up here.' He collapsed contentedly on the turf and Sue and Meg followed suit, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of idleness, made keener by the sight of Duncan heading towards the ridge above them, and Callum and Sandy toiling upwards with the pony from below. 'Phew, I'm hot!' Sandy gasped, his cheeks pink with effort when he reached them at last. 'Have you seen the daws' nests?' 'No, we haven't been inside the tower yet,' Robert confessed. 'We thought we'd wait for you,' he added hastily as Sandy's expression took on a look of incredulity. Evidently he found it difficult to believe that anyone, even a grownup, could lose the desire to explore such a fascinating place the very moment they arrived. 'How long's Himself been gone?' inquired Callum, his eyes searching the skyline, but the dark figures of the man and the dog had already disappeared over the ridge. 'There's time yet,' he nodded when Meg told him. 'I'll follow up gently. C'mup,' he urged the patient garron

into action again and headed in his master's wake with the same seemingly unhurried, but distance-consuming stride that took him towards the ridge at a speed calculated to join the Laird just as his help would, most be needed. 'Come and look inside the tower.' Sandy saw no point in wasting time regaining lost breath, and pulled Sue's hand imploringly. The inside of the building was cool and dim after the sunshine outside, the top of the tower, despite its ruined state, still high enough to deny the access of much light, although the roof had long since been brushed away by the hand of time. Rubble from dislodged stones lay in creeper- covered heaps on the floor, so that they walked cautiously, and a confused flapping arose as they crowded inside, but the jackdaws they disturbed did not trouble to go far, they merely lifted themselves out of immediate reach and gained convenient ledges above the visitors' heads, from where they peeped out with bright, inquisitive eyes at the unexpected influx of humanity into their quiet domain. 'I'd like a jackdaw as a pet,' Sandy confessed rather wistfully, 'but Uncle Duncan said...' 'Himself said no.' Here it was again, thought Sue, and here again was the flash of irritation the thought had brought with it before. 'Duncan wouldn't let him have one,' Meg confirmed. 'He had one himself when we were children, and you wouldn't credit the trouble it caused,' she exclaimed. 'It was a terrible thief. The worst of it was, it stole anything bright it could lay its beak on. The end came when one of our parents' guests lost a diamond ring. To our eternal shame we suspected a camper who had been allowed to pitch his tent beside the loch for a few days,' she remembered, 'and then we discovered the daw playing with the ring. Since then we've been careful not to make pets of them.' She sent a firm look in the direction of her son, hoping

he would see reason and not repeat what had evidently given rise to an embarrassing mistake. Crack! The sharp report of a rifle snapped across the hill, echoing with a mocking 'rack rack rack' from the slopes above, and a momentary silence dropped on the small group of people in the Peel Tower. 'That's that,' said Meg finally, breaking the hush. 'Duncan will be glad that's over,' she added quietly. 'Unless he's missed,' Robert qualified, his head cocked to one side listening for the sound of a second shot. 'Himself doesn't miss.' Unconsciously Sandy imitated Callum's mode of address, even to the sibilant hiss that marked the ghillie's soft Highland speech, and Meg put her hand down on her son's shoulder. 'We'll go outside and wait for him,' she suggested. She seemed as certain as her son that Duncan would only require one shot. Sue followed her out, glad to be back in the sunshine again. It had been cold in the tower, there could be no other explanation for the shiver that ran-through her at the sound of the shot. Perhaps it was as well it had disturbed them, and sent them out again into the bright normality of the morning, although the feeling of cold still lingered long after they sat on the grass talking together. Sandy sat with them, oddly subdued, although his eyes never left the ridge across which Duncan and Callum had disappeared earlier, and soon Sue saw him tense. 'They're coming.' He pointed, and she saw the two men, small at this distance, with the bulk of the pony behind them, making their way across the small

upland valley that separated their own high perch from the next ridge. She could make out the figure of the dog weaving ahead of them, free now to run where he would, although he never roamed more than a few feet away from his master. The tight group crossed the valley floor, and Sue could discern a dark outline across the garron's back, and occasionally, when the man leading it moved to one side or the other, she could see the tracery of what looked like antlers beside the pony's flank. The men moved slowly, and she realised why as they came nearer, the stag's body was slung across the garron's back, roped to a kind of harness evidently made for that purpose. The pony did not seem to mind its grisly load, no doubt it was used to such journeys and took them in its stride, but despite herself Sue felt her shiver return, coursing through her with an inward shudder that she could neither control nor suppress. The two men climbed on to the plateau where they sat, leaving their burden on its outer perimeter, regarding their feelings, Sue guessed, her eyes, whether she wanted them to or not, returning to the stag that lay limply now, and was such a short while ago a living, moving creature. Callum held the pony's head-rope, and Duncan cradled his rifle, riding it easily on his arm as he came towards them, with Don once again closely at his side. His face was set, giving him an air of grimness accentuated by his black clothing, and the black gun-dog beside him, a perfect picture of a hunter, she thought, looking up and meeting his dark eyes that she realised with a sense of shock were fixed on her as he approached. Testing her reaction? she wondered. Perhaps he was curious to know what her response would be to the tableau with which he confronted his guests—a hunter with his weapon and his dog, and in the background the burdened pony carrying the silent, lifeless figure of the quarry that he had stalked and defeated.

CHAPTER THREE 'WE'LL be going to the kirk in Dunbyne this morning,' Duncan remarked at breakfast. 'Would you like to come along with us? Or perhaps you've got other plans? Do just as you like,' he urged his guests, with the innate courtesy that Sue was to learn came naturally to the Highland people, who exhibited a gentle kindliness so much at variance with their turbulent history that it made her wonder if the recording scribes had exaggerated, until she remembered that here she was among a people who lived at peace, and who no longer needed to defend their land and their loved ones from an invader. Looking at the strong lines of her host's jaw, she had no doubt that he would be quite capable of such defence, with a ferocity equal to that of any of his forebears, she thought. This morning he was as she remembered him from Meg's wedding, kilted in the ancient tartan of his clan. Sandy had come down to breakfast similarly attired, evidently dressed in his best for attendance at the Sunday service. The dark green and black of the plaid, relieved by a pale stripe that was too narrow to be obtrusive, suited the Laird's dark colouring, his tall, slender figure lending itself to the wearing of his national dress. 'We'd like to come too!' The chorus from Sue and Robert was unanimous, and secured them a seat in Duncan's car, while Callum drove the station wagon with those of the Castle staff who had elected to go along as well. The factor and his wife from the home farm went with Callum and Sara, and Sue had the warm feeling of belonging to a happy family party, an experience she and her brother had missed during their nomad upbringing, and which she had never felt herself to be deprived of until now. It must be good to belong to a close family, she thought wistfully, suddenly envying Meg her more stable home background, a reversal of the days when they were both at school, and Meg was openly envious of Sue having parents abroad, and of her young globe-trotting which she herself had taken for

granted, having had to regard home as whatever army post her father happened to be stationed at in whatever country his duties took him to at the time. It was good to be sat in Duncan's car, with Meg and Sandy, and gaze out of the window at their glorious surroundings, to the background of the boy's eager chatter, and the deeper tones of the men discussing more earnest topics in the front. She settled back contentedly, interested as either their host or hostess pointed out various landmarks along the route, so that it seemed all too short a journey before the grey walls of the village rose before them, and they were filing into the tiny kirk that Sue had not seen since Meg had been married there, and Duncan stood in his father's place to give her away. Now he walked up the aisle beside Sue, while Robert escorted Meg, and Sandy walked for once peacefully between them, with none of the hop, skip and jump of his usual mode of progress evident in his serious bearing. The Laird's pew comfortably accommodated them all, Callum and his party filing in behind. The church was full, and Sue noticed that a lot of the men and boys wore kilts. It was a simple service, like the building itself it had none of the embellishments of the fashionable city churches she had been accustomed to during the last few years, but it possessed a fine musician in its organist, she thought appreciatively, her ears catching the sure touch of an artist's fingers on the singing keys. She stole a glance at Duncan, upright and still beside her, one hand resting on a knee bared by the fall of his kilt, his head slightly to one side and his eyes dreaming, caught as she was by the spell of the music until, sensing her glance, he looked down and met her eyes and smiled, and she rose with the others to join in the last hymn with the pain of longing to play again, that the unknown musician had aroused in her, stilled for a while. The cosy, safe feeling of being one of a family, if only for a short time, came back again to cosset and enclose her, and she relaxed in

its warmth, enjoying the moment while it lasted, for she knew it to be a temporary thing; their stay was but a brief interlude among the family at Castle Blair. Even Meg would soon be gone when her husband came to collect his wife and son and carry them away to whatever home he had prepared for them in the Canadian timberlands. But however far Meg and Sandy travelled from Castle Blair and its lands, they would still belong, Sue thought wistfully. Their roots would still be there, as unchanging as the soaring heights of Ben Rhu that rose above the Castle walls, and threw back its dark shadow on the surface of the loch, so that by its position on .the still waters one could tell where the sun had reached in its daily journey, and what time of day it was. 'Come for a glass before you go home,' a hearty voice invited them as they stepped out of the church into the sunshine. Sue's hand still tingled from the minister's firm grasp, which reinforced the sincerity of his 'Enjoy your stay among us.' That was all it was, a brief stay, an impermanent thing, although already the wild landscape had brought to her mind a calm that for so long had known nothing but restless uncertainty, and the welcome Duncan had given to them—how could she have doubted Meg's assurance that he would?—had made the promised weeks of her visit seem all too short, where before they had seemed to her to be unsuitably long. 'That's kind of you.' Duncan turned to the tweed-clad figure who had spoken, a tall, burly man in his late fifties, Sue judged, with a florid face that hinted at indulgence or a choleric temper, or both. 'Come and meet Mr and Mrs Redman.' Duncan drew her forward, and once more her hand was shaken, but this time neither of her new acquaintances ill-used it; their grips were loose, a polite touching of hands, no more. Despite bruised fingers, she preferred the minister's grip, she thought, and because of it made her smile extra warm towards the couple who confronted her, and who eyed her with a faint tinge of hostility in their glances, carefully veiled, but. she knew

she was not mistaken. A musical temperament is sensitive to atmospheres, and her own was no exception. Why should they be hostile? she wondered. She was unlikely to bother them during her stay. She found their over hearty manner towards Duncan and Meg somewhat off- putting, as was the aggressive tweediness of their attire. Transplants, she surmised shrewdly, city into country, and determined to become one of the natives in as short a time as possible. The familiar way in which they annexed Duncan jarred on her. Did she also detect a slight withdrawal by her host and his family? If she sensed it, it certainly did not show in Duncan's manner. His courtesy was as impregnable as ever, though she noticed Sandy kept well in the background, a sure guide to the feelings of a child, she thought, as was the reserved look on his small face when the newcomers greeted them. The woman was as florid as her husband, with expensively tinted hair that managed to make her face look hard. It was a pity she did not allow its natural colour to show, thought Sue; it was probably a pretty shade of silver under the unnatural rinse. 'So nice to meet you.' Her tone implied it was anything but, and Sue turned with relief when the man hailed a fair- haired girl who was ejecting herself from the seat of a sporty-looking saloon pulled up beside the kirk steps. 'Here's Fiona—come and meet my daughter.' The man took Sue's arm in a manner that made her wish he had not, though she had no real idea why except that she found it faintly unpleasant to be held in such a proprietorial manner. 'I see you've saved us a walk back home,' he greeted his offspring jovially, and was rewarded by a frown of impatience that was scarcely controlled even when she was being introduced to Sue and Robert. 'We've no need to introduce Duncan,' her father smiled significantly, 'they know one another—very well.'

'Sounded as if you were being warned off,' grinned Robert when he and Sue found themselves momentarily alone on the church path as they made their way to the car. 'Don't be silly,' his sister chided him, unwilling to admit that she herself had had the same feeling. She felt sure that if Meg and Duncan had been on their own they would have been pressed to remain for lunch. As it was... 'Stay and have another drink,' Charles Redman urged, as Meg murmured something about departure. 'It'll give your staff more time to prepare lunch,' his wife pressed them, but Duncan shook his head, refusing the. second sherry. 'We mustn't keep them waiting,' he demurred, with the consideration he always showed towards those who worked for him. Sue noticed that neither he nor Meg saw fit to explain to the Redmans that meals at the Castle on a Sunday were invariably taken cold. Meg had mentioned it to her, and asked if she minded, explaining that Duncan regarded the day of rest as applying to his staff as well as himself and the family. 'He only does necessary chores himself, and sees to it that the others have the same freedom,' she said frankly, a point of view with which Sue heartily agreed. It was a pity more people did not think in the same way, she thought; she would hate to have to work for people like the Redmans. Her new acquaintances did not look the type of employers who would recognise their workers as fellow human beings. From the general trend of talk, Sue gathered that Charles Redman owned a manufacturing concern somewhere in Glasgow, commuting by air in a smart executive jet about which he could not resist boasting. She pitied the people who earned their daily bread under his command.

'When shall I see you again?' Fiona Redman took Duncan's glass, her hand lingering on his for a long, significant moment, and her blue eyes holding his own. She did not include Meg and Sandy in her question. Sue did not expect that she would include herself and her brother—Fiona Redman did not strike her as a person who would be willing to share her belongings, and Charles Redman had implied that his daughter and Duncan were on more than friendly terms with one another. It seemed an unlikely coupling, but understandable in an isolated community, she thought. She had no idea what interests her host pursued outside the boundaries of his estate, from his conversation they seemed wide-ranging, and she judged him to be a well-read person with a keen perception where world affairs were concerned. He did not appear to bury himself on his estate, but the number of people of similar education in the area could not be many, she judged, and the Redmans could at least talk on his level, even if in her eyes they seemed unacceptably coarse. Isolation, and the need for mental stimulation, would probably throw Duncan into their company more than would otherwise be the case, she thought shrewdly, and an attraction between the Laird and Fiona could easily start from there. 'We're having a shoot across Doorn Moor on Tuesday,' Duncan responded easily. Sue noticed he made no move to take his hand away from Fiona's, which could have been politeness, since he was in her father's house, but could have meant that Charles Redman's hints were based on fact. 'Why not come along?' he invited. 'We have a small shoot soon after the main one,' he explained to Robert, who commented that he thought his host had mentioned that a shoot had taken place a few weeks before. 'It's a small thank you, really, to the men who help with the first drive. This time we do the beating, and they carry the guns,' he said. 'I'm not beating for a crowd of farm hands and foresters,' Fiona pouted.

'They beat for you,' Duncan pointed out reasonably. 'Never mind,' he indulged her obvious discontent, 'come along anyway, there won't be many guns, and you and your father can make up the number. What about Mrs Redman?' he paused politely. 'Oh, my dear boy, can you imagine me with a gun?' the older woman cried. 'I'll join you for your picnic lunch.' She evidently had no intention of being left out of the party, even if she did not shoot. 'Maybe she can't handle a real gun,' Robert murmured wickedly later, when he and his sister headed towards their rooms to change for the midday meal, 'but that lady's got her eyes fixed along some sights, and I reckon they're pointed straight at poor Duncan,' he voiced his sympathy. 'If they are it's none of our business,' Sue reminded him sharply. 'For goodness' sake don't say something silly and put your foot in it,' she warned him, uneasy that his youthful lack of tact might cause embarrassment. She and Meg were old friends, and could speak their minds frankly to another, but the same did not apply to Meg's brother, and she could not imagine him taking kindly to comment about his personal affairs, and it would be a brave person, she acknowledged, who would have the temerity to interfere. 'Did you see that eagle on the way back home?' Sandy provided a welcome diversion over Sara's cold bilberry tart and cream, served in a way that would do credit to a top quality chef. 'Our berries are nice,' the boy observed contentedly, with the smug satisfaction of one who has helped pick them from the moors the day before. Meg had raised despairing eyes over the juicy stains on his woolly when he returned with his basket from the hill. 'He was hovering over the deer road on the Ben.' Sandy returned to his former interest; he evidently had a conscience about depriving Sue and Robert of his services as a guide when he begged a ride back from the church in the station wagon.

'It's a fairly new acquisition,' Meg explained his desire to exchange transport, 'so it's still got the charm of novelty.' 'I didn't see an eagle. Did you, Robert?' Sue exaggerated her disappointment to add an inch to Sandy's height, but just the same she wished she had not missed the sight. She would dearly have liked a view of that most magnificent of birds, and her disappointment was not entirely play-acting. 'You and your bird-watching!' her brother scoffed good- humouredly. 'Why don't you try fishing instead? It's a lot more exciting.' 'Why not take the boat out on the loch this afternoon, and try your luck?' Duncan suggested. 'Everyone does as they like here on a Sunday afternoon, and you never know, you might provide us with tomorrow's breakfast,' he teased. 'Or a wet house guest,' Meg laughed. 'What are you going to do, Sue?' 'Come with me and I'll take you to where you can see the eagle's eyrie,' Duncan suggested generously. -'It's empty now, of course, the chicks have long since tried their wings. It might have been one of the young ones Sandy saw this morning.' On their return journey Duncan had kept his eyes on the steep, twisting road, and made no apology for having failed to spot the bird. 'It's a shame to take your afternoon.' Sue felt guilty, as it was probably the only afternoon in the week that Duncan had to himself, and he had probably got other plans. Fiona's blonde head and blue eyes rose before Sue's mental vision as being one of his possible plans. 'Duncan always goes for a walk on Sunday afternoons— don't deprive him of the chance to show off his beloved hills to someone

who appreciates them,' Meg smiled. 'My ankle won't stand the climb, so I'll go with Robert instead, I can fix his worms on his hook for him,' she dug slyly at the enthusiast. 'What are you planning to get up to, Sandy?' 'If you're going to look after Robert and Sue, I'll stay with Callum,' her son replied seriously. Sue had noticed he shared his family's instinctive politeness, and made sure she and Robert were being looked after before he departed upon his own errands. 'The handle of my skean dubh is worn thin,' he explained, 'and Callum said he'd carve me a new one from the antler of that stag you brought down yesterday.' 'It was an old beast, its antlers are going back,' his uncle warned. 'I know, but Callum said...' Evidently what Callum said was gospel in Sandy's young eyes, and all matters appertaining to the hill, and to the wildlife it contained, were referred to Callum as the expert. Duncan bowed gracefully to the ghillie's superior knowledge. 'Fair enough, but if you want your handle to be a good one, make sure you keep Points from under Callum's feet,' he warned, .with a glance towards the lawn outside, where a hectic game of catch-ascatch-can appeared to be in progress between Sandy's two small dogs, the black gun-dog that had cast aside its dignity and joined in with a laughing tongue and gruff voice, and something she could not see round a corner of the shrubbery. Duncan rose from the table with his coffee cup in his hand, and urged Sue towards the window. 'Take a good look from a place of safety,' he advised drily, 'and don't be misled by looks.' He pointed towards a thick bank of rhododendrons. 'Watch that corner, he'll come out of hiding the moment one of the dogs gets within range of attack.' He had no sooner spoken than a roe deer fawn hurled itself from the thicket at the cairn terrier that had been emboldened by the lengthy

silence from within the leaves, and unwisely came too close. The tiny buck catapulted at his playmate head down, and Sue could see the gleam of two nobbles of horn on his downbent head. 'They're not big enough to cause damage yet, but he's over-proud of them, and puts in a bit of practice on the dogs,' Duncan laughed. 'They won't hurt one another, don't worry,' as Sue gave a small gasp of concern. 'Don practically brought the little rascal up, and the two terriers have been his playmates for as long as he can remember.' He erased her worried frown as the dogs packed to present a half circle of growling faces around the intrepid roe, and scattered into a mad rugger scrum as their attacker tumbled into their midst and sent them rolling in all directions, himself included. Sue noticed the little buck shook himself in exactly the same manner as the three dogs when he regained his feet, and they all trotted amicably to the edge of the lawn to slake their thirst in the loch. 'We'll leave Don here,' Duncan told Meg. 'Let him enjoy himself while he's off duty.' He put down his coffee cup and made for the door. 'I'll look out a set of rods for you,' he promised Robert, 'and we'll take the binoculars with us,' he said with a smile in Sue's direction. 'Look, let me show you.' He took the powerful glasses from her hand and adjusted them for her, leaning back against a handy rock half way- up the hillside, and gave her a helping hand so that she could perch beside him. 'Take a breather while you can,' he advised, 'we've climbed a long way from the loch, and you're not used to it yet. Sit and admire the view.' He used every climber's excuse for a pause to regain lost breath. 'That should suit your sight better.' He handed the glasses back. 'Point them in that direction.' He raised a hand towards where Ben Rhu towered above them. 'D'you see that crag on the top? Look a bit to the right, and you'll see a lot of sticks and what looks like debris on a ledge. That's the eagle's nest,' he told her. 'It doesn't look a very cosy place to raise young.' Sue adjusted the glasses slightly, and the high ledge swung into clear view. 'Goodness,

it looks as close as you are! A bit deserted, though.' The untidy jumble of sticks and heather on the ledge had a forlorn, empty look that was somehow touching. 'It was home to two chicks while they needed it,' Duncan responded softly, understanding her feeling. 'Look, there's one of them now.' 'How do you know it's one of the chicks?' Sue glued her eyes on the high, soaring bird, its wings using the air currents to keep it aloft with an effortless ease that made a mockery of the long hours of learning necessary to pilots before they mastered the element that the young bird used to its own advantage without a second thought. 'If you look closely you can see a white band at the base of its tail.' Sue turned the glasses, following the bird's flight, and the lenses confirmed Duncan's words. 'Can you distinguish the difference in colour from this distance?' She removed the glasses from her eyes and swung round incredulously, and met her companion's mischievous grin. When he looked like that he was very like Sandy, she thought. 'You can't see the white band in its feathers,' she accused him, laughing too. 'But how can you tell...?' 'By its size,' Duncan confessed with a chuckle. 'Sorry, but I couldn't resist it,' he laughed, seeing that Sue was taking his teasing in good part. 'I've watched those two- chicks grow practically from the time they were hatched,' he told her. 'Look at him now, he's having a game all to himself.' He pointed, and Sue swung the glasses on to the immature bird again in time to see it drop something, and swoop to catch it before it had fallen many yards. It repeated its action several times before it tired of its play, and swung off along the ridge in search of something more interesting to do.

'It's Sunday afternoon for him, too,' Sue smiled, handing her companion back his binoculars, sure that her host would catch her meaning without explanation, which from the quick glance he gave her she knew he had. It was odd, she thought, she did not really know Duncan very well, although he was Meg's brother their paths had only crossed very infrequently, but alone with him on the mountainside she found herself completely at ease with him, probably linked by their mutual love of wild places which he had seemed to sense in her, and responded to. After the first evening together, when they had very little to say to each other beyond the polite exchanges between host and guest, he had treated her rather as he treated Meg, talking on any subject that came along, sure of her interest. Meg commented on it with some surprise. 'I've never known Duncan open out to anyone else like this before,' she told Sue. 'He's always friendly when we've got visitors, but he's a bit reserved.' It was a gross understatement, but Sue understood. 'I expect it's because Robert's here too,' she replied. 'He loves the outdoors as well—you know the difficulty he's in about choosing a career,' she referred to her brother's outburst at their earlier meeting. 'I gathered he'd got a problem,' Meg nodded, 'but it's one he'll have to resolve to his own satisfaction. It's no use him making the Army a career just to please your father, and then being miserable in it for the rest of his working life.' 'Ready to go on?' Duncan broke into her thoughts. 'Say When you've gone far enough.' He reached out a strong hand for her own, and pulled her towards him from the rock. 'I've got lots of steam left yet,' she assured him, gripping his fingers tight as she launched herself across the runnel of water that flowed from alongside the boulder to join a burn that drained into the loch far below them.

'We'll go as far as the deer path.' He kept hold of her hand, steadying her as the track narrowed and got progressively rougher as well as steeper. 'Sandy said the eyrie was by the deer path,' Sue remembered, glad of his firm hold upon her hand. 'I'd have thought there would be more than one deer road across the hills?' 'There are hundreds, but this particular one is notorious locally,' her host answered. 'You can see the line of it across the side of the Ben,' he indicated a faint scar running alongside the most precipitous edge of the mountain, with what appeared to be a very steep drop below it for some hundreds of feet. 'It looks dangerous.' 'Not if you're careful. It's wider than it looks from here, and the deer use it constantly. The big fellows with a wide spread of antlers take a lot more room than a human being,' he assured her. He climbed easily beside her, considerately matching his pace to hers, and quietly retaining her hand in his to lend her his strength, so that the rise of the hill presented little or no strain to her unaccustomed legs. For the first time in many years Sue realised how very, much alone she was, despite the constant company of her fellow musicians, and the wide travelling she did with the orchestra. With her parents abroad, and Robert at boarding school, she had had to learn to rely on her own resources, and provide a home for herself whenever she needed a base to come back to, hence her flat in London. She had friends in the orchestra, but none had come so close to her as Meg, and she had been married and gone her separate way for nine years now. In spite of several proposals Sue had remained heartwhole, always drawing back at the last moment, unwilling to commit the rest of her life while she remained even slightly unsure of her own feelings.

Duncan's warm grasp of her hand, and his sure guidance on the rough upward track, gave her a sudden, wistful longing that she had never experienced before, something like the feeling she had had on their way to church that morning, the realisation of what she had missed by not belonging to a close-knit family, only this feeling that had come to her now was somehow different, more personal. It struck deeper within her than just a casual wish, and refused to be analysed. She thrust it away from her, concentrating on gaining height without losing too much breath. Her feelings had been battered enough just lately, she thought ruefully, without them being disturbed now by longings for she knew not what, and doubted if she could satisfy if she did. The worry over her hand, and consequent concern for her musical future, and concern, too, over Robert's indecision as to his career, were more than enough to go on with, she decided, and turned her full attention to what Duncan was saying. 'Most of these places collect a mixture of truth and folklore over the years.' He still had his eyes on the deer road. 'It was probably always a deer path, the herds must have been here long before human habitation came, and men used the animal tracks because they always seek the easiest way. They're not like us,' he added thoughtfully. 'We always seem to try to climb obstacles just because they happen to be there. The deer are wiser, they go round.' 'Is it used by people now?' Sue looked her surprise; she could imagine no one except an occasional shepherd or a climber walking that high ledge, the drop across its lip, which she could see more clearly now as they advanced, would deter any but the most levelheaded lover of heights. 'Not any more,' Duncan smiled at her question. 'I go up there occasionally, when I want to think.' Meg had told Sue of her brother's love of the hills, and of his lonely climbing expeditions to appease the desire that rode him for the solitude the high slopes offered, and of the inner strength they seemed to bring to him when, refreshed by

his solitary wandering, he returned to the peopled valley and his daily round of responsibilities, which must lie heavily upon him, from time to time, she judged. She herself had been too much with people, she decided, and for too long. The still loch, and the wild moor across whose back they climbed, had already caught her in their spell. 'You get heather in your shoes,' Meg had once said, on being teased by a companion about her misty homeland when she returned from a holiday that had seen scarcely anything but rain. Without thinking, Sue bent and ran a finger round the heel of- her shoe. 'Has a pebble begged a lift?' Duncan stopped, and this time his hand helped her to balance on one leg while she investigated her footwear. 'A bit of heather in my shoe, I think.' She stood on it experimentally, wondering what had made her check it, for she had felt no discomfort. There must be something in thought transference, she thought amusedly. 'It's gone now, anyway.' 'Not altogether, I hope.' Duncan spoke quietly, so that for a moment she wondered if she had heard him, but she knew she was not mistaken. Among his attainments was the clear diction of a trained speaker, his educated voice only slightly touched by the' soft Highland accent that added a richness to his speech while detracting nothing from its clarity. Sue glanced at him, startled by this hint that he hoped she would visit them again, but his eyes were on the sky, and following them she saw the eagle again, gliding towards the deer path towards which they climbed., 'He'll see no regular traffic along that path now,' Duncan resumed speaking. 'It used to be a rievers' road when the raiders crossed the Border to steal cattle from the English. They drove their spoils home

across the hills, and many a stolen herd has crossed that way,' he told her. 'It's a long way from the Borders here,' Sue said doubtfully. The train journey had been a lengthy one from the Border country until they reached the station where Callum had met them. 'That's why the rievers could afford to travel openly across the face of the mountain,' her companion told her drily. 'They could be sure no retribution would follow them this far into hostile territory. And of course they were safe among their own people—rieving was regarded as a legitimate career in those days,' he quipped lightly. 'It was only translated into thieving if you lived on the other side of the Border. You never know,', he glanced at her teasingly, 'my ancestors might even have stolen a herd or two of good fat cattle from yours, way back,' he owned. 'From our surnames I should imagine we both hail from the same side of the Border,' Sue parried. 'What part of the country do you belong to?' Duncan looked interested, encouraging her to talk. 'Army camps all over the world,' Sue told him bluntly. 'Boarding school was the most permanent home I ever knew. For the rest of the time we practically lived out of suitcases. It was interesting, of course,' she acknowledged, 'the constant change and so on, but it destroyed the opportunity to make any real friends, or put down roots of any sort—there was always the feeling of impermanence about everything we did. Neither Robert nor I ever felt we really belonged anywhere in particular,' she confessed. Was there just a faint hint in her voice of that surge of longing she had felt earlier, when Duncan first took her hand in his? She followed the flight of the young eagle, her eyes taking in the easy glide of its strong wings, so that she did not see the sharp glance of the man beside her that rested on her face

for a long moment, though she felt the pressure about her hand increase, so that she looked down to see if there was a hazard in the path of her feet that he might be guarding her from, but there seemed to be none. 'We're at the start of the rievers' road now,' Duncan told her. 'How's your head for heights? Would you like to go along it for a little way?' 'Yes, if we've got time.' The afternoon was fairly well advanced, but going downhill would not take them so long. 'Then walk this side of me,' her companion loosed her hand and stepped behind her to her other side, exchanging the binoculars to his other hand so that he could reach down and take Sue's fingers again between his own. It was her injured hand he took this time, and as he took it he held it for a brief moment, glancing at the scar that marred its back, but he made no comment, merely putting her on the side of the path that butted against the face of the mountain, and himself on the side of the almost vertical drop that for a moment made Sue close her eyes at the thought of men and animals traversing such a pathway, particularly in darkness or in the mist that swirled about these high slopes and blotted out the sight of one's own feet, let alone the path they trod. 'Are you all right?' Duncan's voice was concerned. 'Would you rather go back?' 'No, let's go on a little way. I'm not bothered by heights,' she told him truthfully. 'I was just thinking of those cattle rievers...' Her vivid imagination made the difficulties and dangers of their journey too plain for comfort. 'The deer face the same sort of hazard, particularly the immature beasts. The old ones are too wily to be taken in.' Duncan indicated the young eagle that swooped continuously over the path, for no

apparent reason that Sue could see, its sharp yelp cutting the silence of the hill with shrill disharmony. 'He's practising,' the Laird answered her question. 'Look down there.' He tightened his hold as Sue bent over and followed his pointing finger across the lip of the drop. For a while she could see nothing but the coloured, heather-clad slopes, with here and there a patch of white—a boulder, perhaps, or ... She looked closer at the patch directly underneath them, and realised with a chill of dismay that she was looking directly at what must be the skeleton of a deer. 'It is,' her host confirmed her horrified whisper. 'And they're not all caused by accidental falls,' he enlightened her. 'Now and then a deer slips, maybe a bit of jostling goes on if a couple of animals meet on a narrow part of the track, but the eagles are responsible for a lot of the falls, and from this height any animal that goes over the edge has little hope of surviving.' 'But why the eagles?.' The young bird gave up its swooping and glided downward across the slope, seeking food, she guessed, but evidently finding none, for it turned away again, probably disturbed by their own nearness and the sound of their voices, which would carry on the still air. 'The old birds will pick on a young beast travelling along the ledge, perhaps a doe with her fawn. If the birds attack the older deer will rise on their hind legs and strike out with their forehooves, but if it's a young one, say the fawn, it will sometimes panic, and with the edge of the drop only inches away...' He left his sentence unfinished, and its significance widened Sue's eyes with horror. 'Eagles must feed themselves and their young,' he pointed out quietly. 'And they like meat ...' His eyes were on Sue's face, watching her expression as the significance of what he said sank in, her mobile features reflecting the swift reaction of her feelings.

'Come back from the edge.' He drew her away to the safe side of the track, so that she could no longer look down across the edge of the drop on to the pathetic evidence in the heather below. 'It's time we turned back.' He indicated the gleam of the loch far below them, on which the shadow of Ben Rhu lay longer than it had when they started out. 'That clock always tells the correct time,' he commented, turning in the direction from which they had come. 'Yes, let's go home.' Sue spoke naturally, not realising she had called the Castle home, as she turned with him downhill, glad of the secure feel of his grasp upon her, which he did not relinquish, and she discovered that she did not want him to. She felt thankful for the moment to turn her back upon the high slopes from which the warming sun had departed, slipping behind the heights of Ben Rhu and leaving their side of the mountain in shadow, that lay long across the loch like some omen of foreboding, darkening the waters in which the mountain dipped its feet.

CHAPTER FOUR 'ARE you shooting, or beating?' Sandy eyed Sue seriously. 'I'll help with the beating—that is, if I'm of any use,' Sue offered hastily. 'I can't shoot—I couldn't,' she realised with a shudder. A sudden misgiving assailed her. What if Duncan offered to teach her how? Fiona would be one of the number of guns, and the Laird might feel it his duty as host to give her the opportunity. 'Meg, you're not shooting, are you?' She turned to her friend with a hint of desperation in her voice. 'What, me? Goodness, no! I leave that to the men,' Meg returned decidedly, hardly pausing in her task of checking the contents of the hamper in front of her on the table, which she had already half filled from the pile of baking set ready wrapped on trays carried in from the kitchen. 'Those are the scones and the parkin, the sandwiches can go in the other hamper...' She ticked off on her fingers. 'There's Mr and Mrs Redman and Fiona, there'll be six of us, that includes Callum and the factor, and I'm counting Sandy as a grown-up,' she smiled. 'After a day on the hill he won't be far behind the men when it comes to appetite!' 'Who else will be coming?' Sue asked curiously. It looked like being a large party. 'There'll be one or two of the men from the crofts.' Those would be the tenant farmers, Callum had pointed out their holdings on their journey to the Castle on the first day. 'And Duncan said several of the foresters are coming, about a dozen all told, I imagine,' Meg replied cheerfully. 'It's like feeding a regiment,' Sue laughed, reaching out for a tray of wrapped and marked sandwiches, and beginning to pack the second hamper.

'I don't mind the work,' Meg smiled. 'After all, I benefit from the results, I'm glad enough to accept the game the men provide,' she pointed out. 'What'll you do with the bag from a day's shooting?' Robert wanted to know. 'With reasonable luck there'll be a lot of birds.' His mind refused to take in the disposal of such a number. 'Not all that many.' Meg looked faintly surprised at such a question. 'There'll be over twenty people coming that I know of, and there's bound to be one or two more turn up to help with the beating. It's the last week of the school holidays, and I expect a few of the older boys will come. They'll turn up just for the day out, but they'll expect a bird or two to go home with at the end of the day,' she smiled. 'There's not all that much meat on a grouse really, it isn't as if they were turkey-sized,' she pointed out. 'A lot of the men have got fairly big families, and three or four birds won't go far. As for the others— well, we're a long way from the shops here, so most of the houses have got a freezer, and for those who haven't the butcher will keep their surplus in his fridge until they're ready to use it,' she said easily. As an exercise in tolerant community living it sounded ideal, though Meg seemed to take it all for granted. 'This sounds as if the others are coming.' She cocked her head as the sound of a car engine penetrated the open windows. 'They're a bit early, but no matter... oh, it's Fiona and her parents,' she identified the car. 'They haven't brought their station wagon, it looks as if they want a lift up in ours. That'll make it a bit tight for room.' 'Never mind, I'll sit on top of the sandwiches,' Robert offered. 'Duncan said you were going to pile the hampers in the Land Rover along with the guns and ammunition.' 'An' me,' Sandy offered promptly, and his mother laughed.

'Trust you two boys to keep close to the food!' she retorted. 'It's a bit thoughtless of Charles, though,' and a slight frown crossed her forehead. 'I 'spect she wants to ride with Uncle Duncan.' Sandy eyed Fiona's approaching figure, happily oblivious of his mother's startled look, and Robert's dawning grin. 'She's got her gun,' the child observed with surprise. 'I thought we were beating for the others today?' he questioned his mother. 'We are, but there aren't many guns, so Fiona and her father are making up the number,' his mother explained hastily. 'Now don't ask any more questions,' she cautioned him, 'at least not until we're alone again afterwards,' she relented, patently afraid that he might make some unfortunate comment outside the hearing of his family.' 'They're dressed for the job, anyway.' Robert's grin broadened as he surveyed the party easing themselves out of the unsuitably low sports car. Fiona was first out, her younger, more slender figure bending with greater agility, and probably greater familiarity with the vehicle, than her parents. She was dressed in what could only be described as safari clothes. She only needs a topee, thought Sue, startled, though she had to admit that the cream-coloured denim was well cut, and suited the girl's tall slenderness to perfection, except that the effect was somewhat spoiled when she turned and her heavy make-up became evident, even with the distance of the windows between them. Her father was similarly clad, though in darker colouring. 'The great white hunter,' murmured Robert in his sister's ear, and nearly surprised her into a laugh that she only just managed to change into a scowl in his direction, that had the same effect on him that Meg's had had on Sandy. 'Just make sure you can shoot as well as they can,' she deflated him, ignoring the fact that he had eventual hopes of competing at Bisley,

his school encouraging a natural ability that he still did not choose to turn to advantage in an Army career. 'Callum says they're duff shots,' Sandy said nonchalantly. 'Callum says...' 'Never mind what Callum says,' his mother interrupted hastily. 'Here they come. Go and say hello,' she bestirred her reluctant offspring, though her own eyes widened as Mrs. Redman struggled into view from the back of the car, unaided by either her husband or her daughter, and resplendent in tweeds of a check and colour that could only be described as disastrous on her more than buxom figure, and of a hairy quality that Sue always avoided purchasing, Robert saying he half expected it to purr when stroked. 'At least there'll be someone else not carrying a gun,' was all she could manage, and Meg gave her a keen look. 'I never shoot,' she commented quietly, 'and it's from lack of inclination, not lack of opportunity,' she stated the obvious. 'Some women don't mind,' she gestured towards their visitors, whom Duncan had joined and was escorting in the direction of the front door, 'but—well, I can't,' she confessed. 'I'll cook what the men provide,' she acknowledged, 'but it's men's work to do the hunting,' she finished simply. It was neatly put, and coincided with her own feelings exactly, thought Sue, though from her behaviour Fiona did not seem to share their views. Beyond a brief 'Hi!' in response to their chorus of good mornings, she ignored the rest of the party and transferred her attentions solely to Duncan. She made no attempt to help carry the boxes of food to the Land Rover standing outside the door. Sue did not expect her to offer to help carry the hampers. Callum and Robert lent a hand to Duncan with those, but even Sandy trotted to and fro with the biscuit tins full of cake.

'He's got a vested interest in those,' laughed his mother, excusing their visitors' patent unhelpfulness, though even Meg raised an eyebrow when Charles Redman stood aside while she made her third journey out to the vehicle with a net of apples for afters. 'I'll take those.' Duncan came in and removed them from her hand. 'They're heavy, and you'll do enough walking on the hill,' he told his sister with a significant look at her bandaged ankle. 'I'll stay with the Land Rover,' Meg told him. 'I can drive it along slowly after you, so you won't have to backtrack so far when it comes to lunch time. Where are you planning to stop?' she questioned him. 'We'll beat as far as the fifth lot of butts up by the top tarn,' he told her. 'We shall want a breather by then, and it'll make a pleasant spot to have our food.' 'I should think you will want a breather!' Meg exclaimed. 'There's some compensation in having a crocked ankle,' she told Sue. 'It'll be rough walking, I'm afraid, Duncan's planning to beat the highest part of the moor first.' 'It's better that way,' her brother responded mildly. 'By the end of the afternoon everyone will be tired, and they won't want a slog from the tops before they reach their cars. The afternoon beat will be closer to the? valley,' he explained, and Sue nodded. 'I hope I shan't be a drag.' She was not used to hill walking, and did not want to hold the beaters back if she could not keep up with them. She eyed the party of men collected on the lawn with doubt clearly expressed on her face. 'They all look as if they tear up and down the hills umpteen times a day,' she worried. 'They probably do.' Meg gave her no comfort. 'Those two are shepherds,' she pointed out two men who were stood slightly apart

from the rest, talking quietly to each other. 'The men by the station wagon, with Callum and the factor, are all foresters,' she explained. A burst of laughter rose from the athletic-looking group, and the two shepherds strolled across to join them. They made no attempt to enter the house despite Duncan's invitation, instinctively shunning the enclosure of walls until the Laird and his family should choose to join them. 'If you get tired, just drop back and, I'll pick you up in the Land Rover,' Meg offered a way. /We shan't be far behind you. Mrs Redman and I are staying with the vehicle, and we'll be glad of your company,' she assured her, throwing a look in Sue's direction that emphasised the fact that she herself might be glad of relief from the tweedy companion with whom her uncertain ankle had condemned her to spend the day. 'You'll be all right, Sue.' Duncan made one last trip and rejoined them to shepherd his party out to their respective transport. 'Beating's slow work, you don't walk at any great pace, so the roughness of the ground won't make itself felt quite so much. Don't worry,' as Meg made cautious noises, 'I'll keep her with me, and if she shows signs of getting tired I promise to send her back to the vehicle,' he reassured his sister. 'I didn't know you were coming with us.' Fiona overheard the Laird's remark, and displeasure showed plain across her expression, which she smoothed into a smile as Duncan turned towards her. 'I thought as Meg's foot was bad she might be staying at home, and Sue would stay with her,' she explained sweetly. 'Surely that would be better? You could let one of the servants drive the Land Rover,' she said indifferently. 'The staff are doing the shooting today, I thought I'd explained that,' Duncan responded quietly. 'We're waiting on them, for once.' He

spoke patiently, almost indulgently, as if he was talking to a child who must be taught, but by example rather than precept. 'Oh—I'd forgotten.' Sue did not believe she had, merely that she had found it convenient to forget until now, but having discovered that Sue was to accompany the Laird during the day she no longer relished her own position as one of the guns some distance in front of her host, and consequently out of reach of his company. 'I don't think I'll bother to shoot, after all.' She could not quite keep the sulky expression from her tone, although she did her best. 'I'll walk along with you, and help with the beating,' she decided. 'Don't do that, you'll wreck all our arrangements.' Was there just a hint of impatience in Duncan's tone? Sue wondered. And a touch of firmness that she had heard him on occasion use with Sandy? 'I've stationed you and your father on the end butt, to cover the south side of the moor. You'll make the line lopsided if you opt out, it'll need two guns to cover the area, it's a wide sweep to the next butt,' he coaxed with a smile that Sue decided she would have found irresistible, but Fiona still hesitated. 'Oh well, if you say so,' she capitulated at last, and brushed against him, kitten-like, as he ushered her towards the door. 'I'll sit next to you going up,' she determined, and claimed her seat in the front of the station wagon beside the driver. 'Come on, Meg, Callum will drive the Land Rover up as far as the top.' Duncan helped his sister into the back and seated Sue beside her. 'Sandy, you come next to me where you won't get into mischief.' He pandered to the boy's love of travelling in the front seat, giving him a quick boost into the middle of the bench seat so that perforce Fiona had to move outwards towards the door. She threw Sandy a look almost as venomous as the one she had given Sue a few minutes earlier, her expression making Sue wonder briefly just how sure she was of Duncan's allegiance, if she had to battle so hard to keep his

attention solely on herself. Affection that was sure of a like response did not need to keep an anchor chain on the giver, she reasoned, but all people were not alike, and perhaps Fiona had a jealous nature; some were cursed with this burden, she knew, though she pitied the ones who were forced to carry it as much as those they enslaved. It even affected animals, she thought. Duncan's gun-dog flopped in the back beside them with a disgruntled look towards the occupants of the front seat who he evidently thought had usurped his rightful place beside his master, but he was at Duncan's heels again the moment the door opened and the car disgorged its occupants on to the high, windy moor after an exhilarating ride up from the level of the loch. They had come much further away from Castle Blair today, and the rise of Ben Rhu gloomed in the far distance, a seemingly endless expanse of undulating moor between them and it. The high, upland valley that held them was like some huge, colourful garden, thought Sue, entranced, momentarily forgetting the deadly nature of their errand that had spoiled the thought of the outing for her from the moment it had first been suggested. 'We'll wait here for the others.' Duncan leaned against the side of the vehicle easily, his eyes scanning the distance with a glance accustomed to unobstructed views. 'They're coming up the long way, it isn't quite so steep.' He had heeded Mrs Redman's squeaks of dismay at the prospect of the ride up. She had seemed so nervous that Sue wondered why she had come, but remembering her veiled hostility when they met after church on Sunday she decided the older woman probably felt it behoved her to be present in order to protect her daughter's interests. Sue smiled at the thought. Fiona had no need to fear her interference; she wouldn't dream of intruding on such a personal matter even with Robert, no matter how unsuitable she thought the engaged pair. Fiona and Duncan didn't seem to be engaged, it was true. The girl wore no ring, different from her mother whose plump hands were festooned, even today. Sue wondered if she had put all her jewellery on her hands rather than risk anything being

stolen while they were out of the house. Such people frequently mistrusted those who worked for them, she knew. 'I can't resist these.' She bent to a patch of harebells blowing at her feet, and Meg smiled. 'You've got plenty of time to pick a buttonhole,' she encouraged her. Did Meg suspect her distaste for the shoot, even her own share in it, although she knew the results would provide food? Sue used the harebells as an excuse to wander away, Duncan was leaning on the vehicle beside her, seemingly content with her company, and Fiona's expression was thunderous. 'I think I will, they're lovely.' The last thing she wanted to do was to cause trouble between the Laird and his lady, she thought feelingly. Their visit had only just begun, and she had no wish to spoil something that, she realised, she was enjoying far more than she had imagined she could. A slipping of heather added another colour to her delicate bells, and the sight of some stems bearing white tufts that blew like miniature flags in the wind tempted her to add these, too. They grew thickly on a green, mossy patch a couple of feet away. 'Don't walk there!' Duncan called to her sharply, but she had stepped out before he spoke, and could not stop herself. Before she could draw back, her foot had gone into bog water over the ankle, and as two hard arms grabbed her and pulled her away, her foot came out of her shoe, and she was hobbling unevenly on rough moorland with only the protection of a thin nylon sock. 'Now you'll have to come along with me,' Meg chuckled callously, but her brother shook his head. 'No, I think I can manage'...' He bent swiftly, his long reach enabling him to stand on ground that did not seep much above the thick soles of his own footwear, and grasp the back of Sue's shoe, the remainder

of which had already disappeared from sight. 'Got it!' He pulled, there was a loud squelching sound, and Sue's errant footwear returned to terra firma and its grateful owner intact, even if it was somewhat the worse for wear. 'I'll dry it out for you,' Duncan offered, turning it upside down and letting the water run out. 'It won't have soaked in, there hasn't been time.' He turned towards Sue with a grin. 'Lean on me and hop.' He put his arm about her waist and steered her in the direction of the vehicle. 'I've got a piece of rag I can use to clean it out for you, and Meg's bound to have some spare socks somewhere in the vehicle.' 'I have, I always keep a dry wardrobe when we come on the hill,' Meg said with the resignation of long experience. 'Try these for size.' She rummaged in the backhand produced a battered-looking holdall. 'It's our accident bag,' she smiled. 'You might not match, but you're bound to find a sock to fit you somewhere among this lot.' She dug one out from among the miscellaneous collection and held it up. 'It's the nearest brown one I can find in your size,' she offered. 'That'll do fine.' Sue stood on one leg and discarded her sopping sock, which she wrung out and draped over the top of the holdall. 'That'll dry by the time we get home again.' This time she knew she had called it home, did so deliberately, partly as a compliment to her friends, since both Meg and Duncan had insisted she so regard it during the period of her stay, and partly, she admitted to herself, because she was prompted by some imp of mischief that she knew she ought to subdue, but somehow couldn't quite find the strength. 'It'll be at least a week before you go home,' Fiona retorted sharply, her quick ears catching the word, her tongue as quick to deny its implication. 'It won't take that long to dry,' she jibed unnecessarily. That serves me right, thought Sue ruefully, already faintly ashamed of what she chastised herself as her own needless provocation of the other girl, so unlike her usually retiring nature as to be, and to feel,

alien. She bit back the information that it would be several weeks before their visit to Castle Blair ended; there was no point in adding to the other girl's discontent. It would be equally useless for her to tell Fiona she had nothing to fear from her own direction. She flinched inwardly at the thought of Fiona's reaction to such outspokenness. All that I really want, she thought, with a sudden return of her old depression, is to get back to the orchestra ... This visit was only an interlude, a pleasant one, certainly, but once she was immersed again in the exciting teamwork demanded by her profession, lost in the melodies that had become the pattern of her life until now, all this would fade into the background, insubstantial as a dream, and except for a few pleasant memories, as quickly forgotten. 'It was a stupid thing to do, anyway,' the cutting tones brought her back to reality, 'to step on a moss hag like that—it's asking for wet feet. I'd have thought anyone would know enough to watch out for boggy ground where the cotton grass grows,' Fiona said contemptuously. 'Oh well, there's no harm done, it looks as if your shoe's dry.' She changed her tone quickly as Duncan reappeared from the back of the vehicle with the shoe in his hand. He gave the fairhaired girl a keen look, and Sue wondered if he had heard what she said. It didn't matter, but it made her feel more than ever that she was a nuisance on such an outing. Her very lack of knowledge of her surroundings could cause delay, and so spoil the day for the others. It had been different when she was alone on the hill with Duncan on Sunday afternoon, she thought; they had not needed to watch the time then, having no object in view but a gentle stroll up the face of the mountain while the Laird pointed out his favourite landmarks to an appreciative audience. Today it was different. They had come with a set object in view, to shoot grouse, and Duncan had other guests to consider, not the least of these being Fiona. 'Here's Callum with the others.' Meg stepped in smoothly as Sue took her shoe from Duncan with a quiet 'thank you', shaking her head at

his offer of a steadying hand while she slipped it on. She bent, instead, hoping that having her head close to her toes would serve as an excuse for her flushed face. She had felt it change colour when Fiona spoke, and feared the Laird might notice. Sandy had, she knew, for his serious eyes went from her own face to Fiona's, but mercifully he obeyed his mother's injunction to remain silent, and Sue hoped fervently that by the time he returned home he would have forgotten all about it. A child's eyes could be too penetrating by half, she thought, and she did not relish the thought of the account he might be prevailed upon to give. 'Did you bring your skean dubh?' she sidetracked him quickly. 'You promised to let me see the new handle Callum carved for you.' Her ploy was successful, and soon the proud owner was showing off his prized knife. It seemed a dangerous thing for a boy of Sandy's age to carry, but as the passengers tumbled out of the second vehicle that came to a halt beside the one Callum drove, she noticed that there were several boys little older than Sandy among them, and they each carried a similar tool. The two in kilts had the handles sticking from their sock tops, the others, in jeans as was Sandy, kept them in a pocket of the leather belts about their waists that looked as if it was specially made for the purpose. Sandy joyfully joined the younger members of the party, who were soon admiring his new handle. There seemed to be a general exchange of knives, probably comparing the carving, thought Sue with amusement. It was good to see that the boy mixed easily among the others. The isolation of his normal existence had been a cause of concern to Meg, she knew, but it did not seem to have affected his ability to make friends. The Laird, she noticed, was equally at ease, having a word for everyone, even the children^ carefully thanking the young ones for troubling to come, and Sue suddenly knew the reason for the bars of

chocolate she had seen Duncan slide into the glove box of the vehicle they travelled up in. A couple of grouse each to take home at the end of the day was a proud reward for the boys, but a bar of chocolate as well, to nibble on the way, was a more personal, and probably more acceptable gift, she thought with a smile. 'Right, Callum, will you take over now?' Duncan gave pride of place as host for the day to his ghillie. 'Aye.' Callum had obviously given directions to his companions on the way up, including Charles Redman, who collected his pouting daughter and fanned out with the others, making their way to the butts which had been allotted to them some distance away. Sue was surprised how far they had to walk; their figures became quite small before they disappeared into the shelter of the shaped hollows that camouflaged them from their quarry. She looked at Duncan uncertainly, not quite knowing what was expected of her. The men and boys who had come along to help needed no telling what to do, neither did Sandy, who stationed himself on the other side of the Laird with the confidence of an old campaigner. 'You don't have to help drive the birds on to the guns.' Duncan paused for a moment and gave her a look that was both serious and penetrating. His dark eyes held hers, reading thoughts that she herself hardly knew she possessed, and she dropped her own, momentarily confused, unable to meet his look, and for the first time since she came, ill at ease with her host. 'Just stay by me and enjoy the walk,' he suggested at last, gently, as if his eyes had divined her feelings accurately enough, and instead of being upset by her distaste for the shoot, she felt he understood and—the conviction came despite her accompanying surprise— sympathised with her feelings: The conflict of her emotions showed clearly on her face, flitting across her mobile features like the cloud shadows that floated across the face of the mountain, one moment darkening the surface of the

heather, the next lighting the soft purple colouring about their feet with warming sunshine. 'Oh!' Sue jumped violently as from the heather, and practically from under her feet, a chestnut body barred with black exploded with whirring wings. Others followed, flying low across the face of the hill, away from the line of beaters and into the sights of the guns lying in wait for them. A shot rang out and a bird fell, others followed as one by one the line of guns opened up. 'I told you they were duff shots,' Sandy reminded Sue sotto voce, with one eye on his uncle who had forged slightly ahead of them, and who he must have hoped was out of earshot. 'They didn't stop a bird,' he condemned the aim of Charles Redman and Fiona with young scorn, but the truth of his words was self-evident in the number of birds that winged away untouched on the south side of the line of butts. 'Yon's no' much o' a hand wi' a gun.' The beater on Sue's left paused to put a match to an acrid-smelling pipe, and Sue fancied foiled Duncan's intended correction of Sandy's remark, which from the quick frown he threw over his shoulder at his nephew must have reached his ears clearly enough. 'There'll be more than enough birds from the other guns.' Duncan dropped back into line and paused as they closed in on the first line of butts and sent the dogs on ahead to retrieve the birds that had fallen. Despite her shuddering aversion to the shooting, Sue could not help being fascinated as Duncan's gun-dog quartered the ground in front of the butts, seeking and finding the grouse that he must earlier have marked where they fell,. because he homed to where they lay with unerring accuracy, as did the dogs with the other beaters, bearing the birds back in their soft mouths towards their masters, who placed them neatly into a pile to await collection by the Land Rover. One of the beaters remained beside the birds to load them into the

back of the vehicle, and so, Sue suspected, save Meg a task that she knew her friend would find distasteful. The limp, soft bodies, still warm with the life that had so lately left them, looked pathetic, the bright red comb above each eye mocking the orbs from which the light had fled. 'Come away.' Duncan was by her side, his hand on her arm. 'Bruce will catch us up after he's loaded the Land Rover,' he nodded to the beater, and pressed Sue into action again, and she went with him willingly, needing the effort of movement through the thick heather to distract the tumbled thoughts that winged like the grouse, one after the other in quick succession, across her troubled mind. Her jangled nerves set her heart beating at the unexpected touch of Duncan's hand, hammering as it had when the rising grouse startled her. But then it had as quickly quietened, not as it did now, seeming to rest in her throat, so that speech became impossible, and she could only nod and turn with him, and wait until the line of men spread out again to start beating to the next lot of butts, for him to loose her arm and allow her to walk free. She made her own way through the tangling growth about their feet, as he had to make his, so that sometimes they were confronted by an impassable mass and there might be several yards separating them, at others only a few feet. Sue kept her eyes cautiously on the ground, missing the Laird's guiding touch, and conscious of the feel of it on her arm that still tingled with the grip of his fingers. Did all Highlanders have this firm grasp? she wondered, remembering the preacher's handshake on Sunday morning. She veered to follow Duncan's lead that took them up as well as across the slope, and the steady climbing, slow though it was, made her heart beat harder, more so than it had done on their quiet walk on Sunday afternoon, she realised. She paused to gain breath, then almost immediately resumed her slow plod upwards, for Duncan instantly paused with her. Despite the fact that he was slightly ahead and had his back turned towards her, he must have been aware of how she fared. He held out his hand, but she shook her

head. They were nearing the next line of butts and she did not want Fiona to gain the wrong impression. There was no need to provoke a scene which she did not doubt the other girl would have no inhibitions about making. The disturbance of her own feelings was probably as much to blame for the breathlessness she was suffering as the steep track, she reasoned. The sight of the birds being shot, although she knew the reason was for food; the sharp exchange with Fiona, a brief unpleasantness that was an unusual happening in her normally peaceful relations with her fellow human beings; all these had combined to upset her normal calm, and she did not like the resulting emotional upheaval that somehow she could neither control nor subdue. I'll be able to think straighter in the morning, she consoled herself as the routine of the shoot repeated itself, resulting in yet another heap of birds for the Land Rover, and she felt her feet begin to drag wearily. 'Goodness, it's nearly lunch time!' She had not realised that the morning had fled so quickly—no wonder she was hungry. 'I suppose I ought to look at the shadow of the Ben on the loch, instead of my watch,' she smiled at the Laird who lagged behind, letting the beaters go on, and sending his dog with them to perform the task for which he had no need of orders. 'You'll get used to doing that, in time,' Duncan smiled. 'You must have enjoyed the morning—most of it,' he qualified thoughtfully, with the same serious glance at her face that he had thrown before, 'if you haven't noticed the time until now. The others will be ready for their lunch too,' he prophesied as the party of guns emerged from the butts and strolled back to join them. 'Let's follow the Land Rover, Meg's making for the tarn. It isn't far,' he encouraged her, 'just over the rise there.' He pointed to the. top of the hillock across whose back they walked. 'We'll be sheltered from the wind there, and the dogs can slake their thirst in the tarn.

'Wait for us, Fiona, we're puffed!' he called out to the fair-haired girl, who patently intended to join them anyway. She had stopped to fiddle with the fastening on her shoe, throwing back glances over her shoulder to see that Duncan was catching up on her. Sue caught one of the glances, aimed at herself, and it was the reverse of friendly. She felt grateful to Duncan for not laying the blame on her shoulders for their slow pace. She knew he could easily have outstripped her, but his natural consideration for other people kept him by her side when by rights, she acknowledged, he should really have been with Fiona. That the other girl's opinion coincided with this was obvious from her barbed look. She waited until Duncan and Sue drew level with her, and put a proprietorial hand through the Laird's arm. 'Come and have your lunch with me,' she invited him sweetly. 'You must be starving—I know I am.' Her look and tone made it plain that her invitation did not include Sue, and as they breasted the rise Sue deliberately moved away from them and sought out Meg, who was busy delving into the hampers she had so carefully packed that morning, and placing the food on trays that could be passed round easily among the party. The young boys made willing helpers, and were soon going off in different directions among the group with the sandwiches, while Duncan and Robert coped with the tea urn, capably assisted by Callum and the forester called Bruce. 'Can I do anything?' Sue offered, looking round for cups to carry, but Duncan shook his head firmly. 'Sit down and rest,' he insisted, 'you'll enjoy the afternoon much better then. Coming!' He raised a hand to acknowledge Fiona's call for more tea. Sue noticed the girl did not offer to get up and come to the urn in the back of the Land Rover, though she could easily have done so, and brought her parents' cups as well, for the refills required. The three had sat themselves apart from the rest of the party, and it

was obvious that Fiona expected Duncan to, join her, and was piqued that he had elected to stay and help instead. He strolled across with the three refilled cups, and Fiona seemed to be trying to coax him to remain with them. Her hand was on his arm and she looked up pleadingly into his face as he bent above her. She made a winsome picture, Sue admitted, her slight figure and blonde mane of hair outlined against the richly coloured carpet of heather. 'Let the servants do it!' The slightly too shrill voice, as much as the words themselves, spoiled the picture, revealing the crude canvas underneath, and for a moment Sue held her breath. Had she been in Fiona's shoes she would have feared the Laird's reaction to such an audible and unfortunate comment, but before he had time to respond one of the young foresters stood up easily. 'Let Don an' me take over for a wee while,' he said softly. Sue felt she could never listen enough to the fascinating inflection of these Highland voices, gentle yet strong, their clear lilting tongue making music of their most ordinary remark. 'We've finished eating,' he pressed his case, and his companion, who had risen with him, nodded confirmation. 'We can light up and hinder no one if we're over by the Land Rover.' He indicated the others who were still eating, and as if to emphasize what must have been only an excuse he produced a packet of cigarettes, though Sue noticed he made no attempt to light up until he was well away from the rest of the party. 'Come and sit down and have your lunch,' Meg steered Sue in the direction Duncan had taken, although she felt she would much rather have gone the opposite way, but without making a fuss she had little choice. Robert dropped to the ground beside his host, and Sue sat thankfully on the other side of her brother. At least Fiona could not

think she was deliberately claiming Duncan's attention now. She bit into her sandwich, glad for the moment to do as the Laird had bidden her, and rest. Idly she watched one of the dogs splashing in the shallows of the tarn where it had trotted to drink, and now paddled happily, intent on business of its own until it came to join the others who had decided to lie up by the row of guns stacked against a nearby rock, whose sloping side might have been made for that very purpose. It was a deadly-looking armoury, thought Sue, reminiscent of some of the rifle stacks she had seen in hastily made camps on distant frontiers. She turned her back on them, and her attention on what the others were discussing. '... not so steep as Ben Rhu,' Meg was saying. 'These slopes are longer and more gradual. How did you find the going today, Sue?' 'Not too bad.' She wouldn't admit in front of Fiona that she was tired. 'She had plenty of practice on Sunday,' Robert backed her up loyally, and immediately said the thing most calculated to disturb the peace. 'Duncan took her up Ben Rhu to see the eagle, and they climbed as far as the rievers' road,' he said casually. 'They were away all afternoon.. Sue heard Fiona's sharp intake of breath, and so, evidently, did Meg. 'It's got an interesting history,' her friend said swiftly, before Fiona could speak. 'Have you ever been up there, Charles?' She turned to Redman pere and took vocal pity on his puzzled look. Charles Redman had little interest or knowledge outside the confines of commerce, Sue suspected, but with a politeness not exhibited by his daughter he inclined his head in at least an outward show of interest. 'It's part of the old rievers' road, the trail the drovers took when they brought the cattle they'd raided from the English across the Borders,' Meg explained, sensing his difficulty as Sue had done, and talking, she guessed, from a feeling of desperation to prevent Fiona from

voicing the resentment that made itself felt in the sudden tension that electrified the atmosphere about them. She failed dismally. 'Times have changed,' remarked Charles Redman ban- ally, fishing out a packet of cigarettes himself, and feeling round for his lighter, without seeming to think it necessary to ask permission of the others, who were still eating. 'Times haven't changed at all,' his daughter snapped ill- humouredly. 'The only thing that's different now is that the raiders come from the other side of the Border to steal the things that belong to the Scots.'

CHAPTER FIVE EVEN Duncan looked embarrassed. If Fiona had said 'steal the people', instead of 'steal the things', she could not have made her meaning plainer, and Sue felt her face flame. Duncan went white under his tan, and his jaw took on an ominous set. 'Can I have another drink, Mummy? Please,' Sandy added belatedly, remembering his manners. 'Sit still, I'll get it.' Sue cut across Meg's automatic correction 'May I...' and she took the cup from the boy's hand. 'Have my parkin, I don't want any more to eat.' She divested herself of the generous slice which she had been about to enjoy, and now felt as if it would taste like ashes in her mouth. Somehow she stumbled to her feet, managing not to look again in Duncan's direction. The buzz of conversation from among the foresters and shepherds stopped as if it had been cut off, and an awkward silence hung over the group. Even the young boys ceased their chattering, aware of the sudden tension among the grown-ups even if they could not guess the cause. Quickly Sue slipped behind Meg and made for the two men looking after the tea urn. It was only a few feet away, but she felt she had to put some distance—any distance—no matter how short, between herself and her host. She would not lower herself to retort to Fiona's wholly uncalled-for comment, and with her back to the girl she could at least spare herself some embarrassment in that she did not have to meet Duncan's eyes, nor see his reaction to the situation that seemed to have blown up out of the blue between them, born of a jealous nature and a spiteful tongue. Despite her confusion Sue felt a tinge of regret that the easy friendliness between herself and the Laird should be so wantonly destroyed; they seemed to have so much in common, despite the

short time they had been together, that there had been a closeness between them that even Meg commented openly upon, an instant liking she had felt practically from the moment they arrived at the Castle, fostered and strengthened by their walk on the mountain on the Sunday afternoon. Such an instinctive reaching out of kindred spirits one to another is a rare and lovely thing, dependent neither upon age, sex nor nationality, and Sue felt as if something delicate and precious had been bruised by soiled fingers, a connoisseur's treasure roughly handled by the crudeness of the ignorant, so that the flawless beauty of it was marred, even if it was not altogether destroyed. The gun-dog that had been paddling in the water of the tarn saw her get up, and trotted towards her, his tail waving and one eye on the cup she carried in her hand, wondering, perhaps, if there might be a titbit forthcoming. 'Not this time,' she spoke softly to the animal, shaking her head, and the dog stopped as if it understood, and sat down to scratch one ear philosophically. The itch eradicated to its satisfaction, it rose to its feet again and shook itself vigorously. Tarn water flew in all directions, and Sue hastily sidestepped the unexpected showerbath before she got as wet as the dog. The rock against which the guns had been laid barred her way, and as she backed against it her foot caught on the butt of the end gun. The barrel slid with a scraping sound against the rock face, and Don, Duncan's dog, who lay nearest to her, moved out of the way of its falling. Sue grabbed at the weapon, missed it by a hair's breadth, and it slid the whole of the way to the ground, gaining momentum so that it hit the rock underneath with a hard crack. Bang! The twelve-bore exploded with a roar. Sue dropped the cup, which shattered into shards on the rock at her feet, unheeded as her hands

flew, nerveless, to her mouth. She had a brief, horrified impression of dogs darting out of the way; heard one cry out, she did not know which, and a man shouted. A tinny clang drowned his voice, and a small, dreadful silence followed, far more intense than the silence that had followed Fiona's unfortunate remark; that had been filled with feeling. This was empty of all but an awful dread. The wind crooned gently across the top of the tarn, ruffling the surface of the water, and making the reeds bend like debutantes curtsying to their gallants before performing the intricate movements of the dance. She had not noticed them before, why should she notice them now? Sue wondered. One part of her mind seemed to remain apart, able to regard what was happening with a clinical detachment that wondered at itself, even as the horror overcame her, and she felt herself sway dizzily. She was aware of running feet, of a sudden upheaval among the seated men, and then they were all on their feet, but Duncan and Robert reached her first. She could not see Duncan, he was behind her, but she knew that his were the hands that held her, even before he spoke. 'Are you all right? Sue...?' His voice was harsh, demanding, and it took every ounce of her strength to defy her failing senses and respond. She nodded. Speech was beyond her. 'The dog...' she managed at last, the reason for the yelp tearing at her bemused mind, 'Don?' It must not be Don, she could not bear it to be Duncan's dog that had been hurt—killed? She straightened, using the Laird as a prop to hold herself upright, performing the function that her knees refused to do. 'Dinna fear, lassie. It's my dog that's shot, and he's not all that badly damaged.' The forester called Bruce shouldered his way through the jumble of people about her, reassuring, and calm as Duncan was calm now, though his voice had held untold fear before. 'A wee pellet's gone through his shoulder, that's all. He'll limp a bit for a day or two, but he'll be as right as rain afterwards.' How soft his voice

sounded, how infinitely reassuring! The music of it reached her like a lullaby to her shattered nerves, and the colour began to return to her lips. 'There's no one hurt.' Duncan's voice came from above her head, equally calm, the strength of it completing the flow of strength to her knees, so that she drew away from him and stood unaided. 'Mercifully the charge blew sideways away from the party, Bruce's dog caught a stray pellet—but the box of biscuits suffered most,' he smiled, though his face was as grey as Sue's had been a moment before, his black eyes strained. The box of biscuits would be the tinny clang. Memory began to return with the rest of her shattered faculties, and Sue forced herself to look down at the gun on the ground. 'Who's...?' 'That's what I want to know.' Duncan's voice was grim, and Sue shivered. 'You're shocked,' he altered his tone immediately. 'Go and sit down,' he suggested. 'Robert,' he turned to her brother, 'take her to the Land Rover.' He didn't add 'out of the way', but to Sue's numbed faculties the omission didn't seem to matter. First she had nearly lost her shoe, now this ... Who else in the party would have been idiot enough to have blundered against the guns? Suppose more than one had gone off? She shivered again, and - felt slightly sick. 'I wonder who the chump was who left his gun loaded?' Robert's voice sounded a long way off, her heart thudded uncomfortably, not the quick patter of when she walked uphill, but slow, agonising thumps that brought the dizziness back, and made her glad to sink back on to the Land Rover seat and relieve her legs of the responsibility of supporting her. 'Dad would kill one of his men for that,' Robert marvelled. 'He'd be court-martialled and shot at dawn,' he claimed.

Sue wished hazily that her brother would be quiet. This was not the Army, and the rules of gun safety probably didn't apply in civilian life. Common-sensibly they should, but... Her stunned mind was in no condition to sort out the rights and wrongs of shooting behaviour; her ears still rang with the shrill yelp from the unfortunate gun-dog, which even now its master and another man were helping into the back of the Land Rover to lie alongside the pile of shot birds. Sue closed her eyes at the thought that the dog's body might well have been as limp as the feathered ones. It whined once as it moved its injured shoulder, then settled quietly awaiting its master's bidding, the strict discipline of its training standing it in good stead in the painful emergency. It was only self-discipline that kept the threatened tears at bay as reaction set in, and Sue-felt her earlier shiver grow into a violent trembling that was not helped by the memory of Duncan's harsh tone when he spoke her name. 'Sue...' He had stopped abruptly, checking himself with stern selfcontrol. From saying what? 'You little fool!' would have been a justifiable description, Sue thought miserably. She had succeeded in spoiling the shoot for everyone. Duncan was talking to Callum and the forester called Bruce, and Charles Redman was with them. The businessman had his back turned towards her, so that she could not see his face, but Callum's expression was grim and set, as was his master's. Duncan was talking in a low, controlled tone, she could not hear what he said. Apologising, no doubt, for her own witless behaviour, she surmised wretchedly, wanting to go and apologise herself, but fearing to leave her seat in case her trembling legs refused their burden, and afraid, too, to interrupt Duncan. He had told her to sit in the Land Rover, and despite her prickly reaction when Callum and the rest of the household meekly accepted the fact that 'Himself said no', she found herself obeying his instruction as meekly as they, glad enough to lean on his strength, and leave the sorting out to him.

The Laird stopped speaking, nodded curtly to his ghillie and the Redmans, smiled at Fiona, and made his way towards the Land Rover. On the way he paused briefly by the party of men who had collected their weapons and their jackets and were grouped uncertainly, evidently waiting for the opportunity of speaking to him. Whatever he said they must have been in agreement with, for there was a general nodding of heads, one or two 'Ayes', and all except the owner of the injured dog turned downhill, and began to make their way back to their transport, their day of sport ruined. The forester came with Duncan to the Land Rover. 'Bruce will take you down,' the Laird told Robert, speaking to her brother although his dark eyes raked Sue's face. She put up a hand to brush away the dampness that had strayed down her cheeks whether she would or not, and laid it hastily down again as she saw his lips compress. 'Drop them at home, will you, Bruce? Meg will follow with Sandy and Callum in the other vehicle, and I'll take the rest down.' That meant the Redmans, Sue guessed; no doubt Duncan felt obliged to look after them after their disappointing day. 'I'll drop the birds in one of the stables for you,' the forester offered, and Duncan looked at him gratefully. 'Thanks, Callum will see that they're distributed properly afterwards. When you've done that, keep the Land Rover and run your dog in to the vet—I'll see to the bill,' the Laird instructed, and waved aside the man's protest. 'It's not necessary. I can doctor him myself, he'll be as right as rain...' 'I'd feel happier if you would,' Duncan said firmly, the authority in his voice demanding compliance, and the man nodded. 'The accident wasn't your fault.' 'Right, I'll do that.'

The forester swung into the seat and started the engine, and Sue leaned her head against Robert's shoulder, closing her eyes so that she need not look at Duncan. The accident wasn't the forester's fault, it was hers, though Duncan with great self-restraint had not said so, which made her feel even worse when she thought how much everyone had looked forward to the day. 'You help unload the birds, I'll go upstairs to my room for a while until Meg comes in,' she told Robert when they arrived back at the Castle. 'If you're sure?' Her brother hesitated. 'Of course I'm sure, I'm not made of sugar,' Sue scolded him. 'Go along and help unload the birds—the quicker you get that done the quicker the dog will be at the vet's.' Her argument was unanswerable, and Robert turned after their driver, allowing her to reach the house and close the door thankfully behind her, and climb the stairs that suddenly seemed even steeper than the hills they had been on all the morning. She gained the blessed privacy of her own room and flung herself down on the bed, and let the burdens of the morning overflow. It was the reaction that had upset her so, it must be, she reasoned desperately, nothing -else could cause her to lose control like this, but the tears did nothing to wash away an ache that for some reason remained inside her, and that was not there when she came to Scotland. 'It's a shame to disturb you, but I thought a wee cup of tea...?' Callum's wife turned her back tactfully as Sue slid off, the bed, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and feeling suddenly, wonderfully refreshed. 'I must have dozed off.' The ache hadn't gone, she found time to wonder about that even as she held out her hand for the steaming cup

that Sara offered her. The sight of the cheerful little Scotswoman acted like a tonic, and she managed a smile. 'I'm being silly,' she confessed, and in response to a sympathetic look from the motherly housekeeper, the whole sorry tale of the morning came out. 'Oh, Sara, I feel such a fool,' she finished. 'If it hadn't been for me the others would still be enjoying their day. As it is...' She gulped a mouthful of tea hastily, her throat dry. 'Someone might have been killed,' she whispered. 'Someone might very well, at that,' Sara replied forth- rightly, 'and lucky someone wasn't. But it's no' your fault, lassie,' she forgot the formal 'Miss Sue' with which she had addressed her since she came to Castle Blair, becoming again the child's nurse she had been to Duncan, comforting her frightened charge. 'Whoever left a cartridge in that gun has shot his last shoot on Doorn Moor,' she prophesied. 'The Laird'll never forgive him. Whatever did Himself say?' Her horrified tones told Sue more clearly than anything else could have done the enormity of the breach of a safety code that she knew had been second nature in the Army, and now realised must be enforced just as rigidly in civilian life. She should have understood that, of course. Men who handle guns as part of their daily lives learn to treat them with respect, as the lethal tools they are, and mindful of the possible consequences do not encourage carelessness in themselves or others. 'Himself wouldn't blame you, though I wouldn't like to be in the shoes of the man responsible,' Sara said darkly. 'I should think he wouldn't blame you!' Meg appeared through the door, omitting to knock in her haste to see how Sue was. Her face relaxed as she saw that her guest was none the worse for her unpleasant experience except for damp-stained cheeks which her sharp eyes marked, and then ignored. 'And the man responsible was Charles Redman,' she told them bluntly. 'Of all the daft things to do!' she exploded, suddenly unable to contain herself any longer. 'To leave a charge of shot in a gun to save himself the trouble of having

to load again after lunch. That was the excuse he gave Duncan,' she marvelled. 'Anyone would think it was a week's work to load up again,' she bit scathingly. 'He might be a leading light in the City, but he doesn't shine too brightly in these parts right now,'. she finished grimly. 'All money and no class,' Sara muttered, overstepping her own selfimposed boundaries in the face of the present crisis. 'That's something his money can't buy,' she snorted, 'though I don't doubt he'd like to buy into it,' she added a parting shot as she collected the tea things and made for the door. It was clear that Sara's affections did not embrace the Redman family, thought Sue, beginning to feel better. 'You've been crying,' Meg accused her as soon as they were alone. 'Not much,' Sue denied, moving quickly to the pretty chicken yellow washbasin let in an alcove in the bedroom wall. 'I thought Duncan would blame me for the accident,' she confessed, her voice muffled by the flower-perfumed bubbles that laved her skin and freshened her eyes as if they had never overflowed. 'Oh, Sue, you are a goose!' Meg laughed outright, relief making her gay. 'As if Duncan would blame you—it wasn't your fault,' she exclaimed. 'I saw him talking to Charles Redman.' Sue came back and sat on the edge of the bed where Meg had perched herself, and towelled herself dry with a soft cloth the colour of the washbasin. 'I thought he was apologising for what I'd done,' she said simply. 'He was talking to Charles right enough,' Meg retorted, 'but he wasn't apologising,' she said significantly. 'I don't think I've ever seen Duncan so angry.' Her voice held awe. 'I moved Sandy out of earshot,' she added with a sudden impish grin. 'He was in more

danger from verbal shrapnel than from gun pellets,' she laughed, and was rewarded by a chuckle from Sue. 'That's better,' she approved. 'You can take your time,' as Sue glanced at her watch. 'There's nearly an hour before dinner yet, and we never change into evening clothes after a day on the moor. Just pop on something simple and come down when you're ready,' she advised. 'They didn't finish their day's shooting—the foresters, I mean,' Sue reminded her, a forlorn edge still tinging her voice, and her friend rounded on her sharply. 'No, but it wasn't because of you,' she insisted, 'it was because the other men refused to carry on shooting alongside Charles and Fiona,' she said frankly. 'It seems one or two shots went a bit wild this morning,' she explained, 'and the men were already bothered about what was happening. They'd meant to have a word with Duncan to see if he could do something before someone got hurt, and when that gun fell and went off—well, it was the last straw,' she added with a shrug. 'Duncan told Bruce they'd all meet up for another day on the moor before the season's over, but Charles will be left out of the invitation,' she added. She didn't say Fiona would be excluded as well, just Charles, so it looked as if the businessman's daughter would be present at the next shoot, even if she did not carry a gun. 'I thought they'd all loathe me for spoiling their day.' 'Far from it,' Duncan assured her, when Meg repeated her comment to him after dinner that night. 'When Bruce returned the Land Rover after he'd taken his dog to the vet, he invited us all to a ceilidh in the village next weekend.'

'A ceilidh?' It sounded like some peculiar kind of dish, and Sue was irresistibly reminded of the haggis. She dimpled across at her host, her eyes sparkling. 'I don't know what you're thinking, but it's nothing of the kind!' Duncan twinkled back. 'A ceilidh's a Highland social gathering,' he satisfied her curiosity. 'They're just the thing to chase the blues away.' His dark gaze stayed quietly on her face. Perhaps reading signs that she thought she had eradicated, that betrayed the aftermath of her earlier distress, vanished now along with the unexplained ache. His face and his voice were gentle as he spoke, encouraging her relaxed enjoyment of the small family gathering around the fire, an evening pleasantness that Sue had come to look forward to since she came to Castle Blair, another of those things that she had not realised she had missed, until now. 'It sounds fun,' she responded eagerly. 'Do you...' She hesitated. 'Is a long dress...?' What did you dress in to go to a ceilidh? she wondered. A social gathering, in her experience, could be anything from a formal evening dress get-together to a trouser suit hop, depending on who was organising it. 'Come in what you've got on now, it's lovely,' Duncan butted in unexpectedly on Meg's suggestions, and regarded Sue's suddenly pink cheeks with a smile. 'Meg always says she finds a short dress easier to cope with than a long one for these do's,' he told her. 'It's true,' Meg confirmed. 'The village hall's a bit small, and there's usually the entire village in it,' she said ruefully. 'A long skirt's a bit of a nuisance in a crowd like that, particularly when they decide to dance reels and things. And the colour won't clash with what your escort's wearing, either,' she added drily. 'Why ... ?'

'Most of the men will be in kilts,. I expect,' Meg explained. 'When your partner is in black and white evening clothes you can go to town on colour in your own dress, and it doesn't matter. But if you're wearing bright pink, and you're dancing with a man in a scarlet plaid, it jars a bit,' she laughed. 'I'd never thought of that.' Here was another aspect of life in the Highlands that had not struck Sue before. She was learning fast, even if sometimes the hard way, as had happened that morning. She would be content to go on learning for the rest of her life, she thought, leaning back in her chair in the glow of the fire, her eyes dreaming at the pictures in the flames that flickered on the clear, bright wool of her dress almost the same colour as they, only softer, more like the pale gold of autumn leaves newly turned by the dying season, and lightly touched by the lowering sun so that their passing became a thing of beauty, and it was only afterwards that the beholder, stirred by their flaunting colours, should become aware that it was a thing of sadness, too. 'I wonder how Brace's dog is?' She sat up and put such thoughts aside, unwilling to question their origin, grateful for the moment to enjoy the feeling of contentment—no, restfulness—that had been a stranger to her for so long, if, indeed, her nomad upbringing had ever really permitted it. Here, in this ancient seat of the Blair family, there was a sense of timeless continuity that her own Army-orientated people, scattered to the far ends of the earth from the moment they were old enough to don a uniform, and trailing their families with them, could never know, a feeling of belonging that she envied Meg and Duncan with all her heart, the lack of which could perhaps explain the ache she had felt inside her, but which had now gone away. 'Come with me tomorrow morning, and see,' Duncan offered. 'I've got to go and have a word with Bruce about that stand of timber on the shore of the loch,' he enlarged for his sister's benefit. 'The roe

deer are playing havoc with the young planting on the far end of it, and I said I'd take him some new fencing along. The old fence has got breaks in it and they're getting through.' 'Sandy said something about riding with you as far as the planting,' Meg remembered, 'and then getting a lift back by boat. Robert's going fishing,' she twinkled, silently teasing him for his lack of luck on the previous foray. 'I'll bring you a dinner back,' Robert promised grandiosely. 'But I enjoy rowing,' he added transparently. He had been one of the oarsmen in his school side, and openly admitted he missed the opportunity for the sport since he left. 'That'll keep you all nicely occupied,' Meg smiled her satisfaction, 'and if you take Sandy with you I can write my letter to Andrew in peace.' She bore her husband's absences remarkably well, but Sue knew how much the letters to and fro must mean to her; they were the only link she and Robert had had with their parents for years on end, and she could appreciate Meg's need of that quiet time she spent writing each day. She sent her letter in diary form once a week, and received one back couched in the same manner, so that their daily lives did not become separated, and the distance between them remained only a matter of miles. 'Can I bring Points an' the dogs?' Sandy asked the inevitable question the next morning, and was given the answer he expected. 'No! I daren't take another roe deer near Bruce,' his uncle retorted feelingly. 'The damage they've done in that planting has rubbed him raw enough already. He'd skin us both,' he jollied Sandy into reason. 'We'll have a picnic on the shore one day, that way we can take the animals along and they won't get us or themselves into trouble,' he offered a consolation. 'Where's Callum?' He paused on his way to the

vehicle; he patently mistrusted the behaviour of the little buck, and did not want it to upset his ghillie any more than he could help. 'He's gone to take the birds that were shot round the village,' Sandy answered, wriggling into the middle of the seat and whistling to Don, his uncle's dog, to follow him up and into the back, which he did immediately and lay down against the engine starting up and upsetting his balance. 'Oh, you forgot someone yesterday.' He pointed to a block of chocolate left from the stack that Duncan had placed in the glove box on the way out the previous morning. 'That one's yours,' the Laird told him with a smile. 'I gave one each to the other boys before we came down from the hill, but everyone was a bit—upset,' he understated casually, 'and when we got down I forgot you hadn't had your chocolate. That's a bonus you didn't expect this morning,' he laughed as the boy's face split into a wide grin of delight. 'Smashing!' Sandy made no attempt to touch his gift. 'We can give some to Bruce's dog to make up for being hurt.' He made plans for the disposal of his bounty, and Sue's eyes met Duncan's in a smile above his head. Being an only child hadn't spoiled Sandy. 'Have you brought your glasses?' he asked his uncle. He did not mean to go out without the binoculars; it looked as if his family had taught him the pleasures of distant sighting—he was already a keen birdwatcher, Sue knew. 'I haven't forgotten them,' Duncan held the case out. 'You can hold them if you like, until we get to the planting.' He conceded the coveted privilege, and Sandy grasped at the brown leather strap eagerly. 'Daddy's going to give me a pair of my own when I'm eight.' His eager face turned up to Sue. 'Lightweight ones, that won't make me tired when I'm climbing,' he told her with relish, and her heart

contracted, strangely stirred. Impulsively she put her arm about the child, pulling him towards her to allow his uncle room to get into his seat behind the wheel, but keeping it there afterwards, smiling at the boy's eager chatter, but oddly close, herself, to tears, for no reason that she could explain, any more than one could give a reason for crying at a wedding when everyone should have cause to be happy. It just happened that way, but her eyes were misty as she shared her companion's laughter at some quaint remark of Sandy's, meeting Duncan's mischievous look and neither knowing nor caring that he might see what she was feeling. She felt happy—deep down happy—conscious of a deep surge of joy that seemed to vibrate through the very fibre of her being, having in itself A dreamlike quality that gave everything, even simple things, a new dimension. Like the new, crusty rolls and home-made butter at breakfast time, and the tang of freshly made coffee that went with them. The clear, crisp air of the hill that blew cool through the open window at her side, bringing with it the 'goback go- back' call of the grouse that no longer seemed to her unwelcoming, and the eternal crooning of the wind that in these high hills never really died down, but used the heights as its harpstrings to pluck a melody that, dangerously, drew a response from her own swiftly beating heart, weaving itself about her senses so that she longed to draw her bow across her own instrument and play along with it, attuning her music to these wild strains that, too late, she realised had trapped her with their siren song, binding her with invisible chains to this lone land— and perchance to its owner—with a strength that even death itself could not hope to break. No matter that it was all an illusion, that could have no hope of translating itself into reality—the fair head of Fiona floated across her vision, and she shook it away. Now—for just this moment—it was enough to her that her heart loved, for the first time awakening to that greatest trial of strength this life can know, which if it endures repays a thousandfold for all the striving it must give in order to receive the most precious of all rewards, a heart that

loves in return, so that the two can walk the future way side by side into that misty distance that gathers all love together and makes it one. 'There's Bruce—and his dog,' Sandy pointed ahead. 'Look, he's got a bandage round his shoulder. Oh, what a shame!' He reached for his chocolate, and Duncan slid the vehicle to a halt as the forester, hearing them, paused and waited. 'Ask Bruce first, before you feed him,' Duncan cautioned, sensitive to the fact that few animal-owners are keen to have their pets stuffed with titbits. 'Just this once, he'll not mind a fuss,' smiled the forester, rubbing Sandy's head with a kindly hand. 'Nay, not me, thank you, lad—I'm smoking,' he held up his pipe and refused the offer of chocolate. 'You can give one to Don as well, don't leave him out,' Duncan answered the boy's look of inquiry as the limping gun-dog received his unexpected treat with a wagging tail, and Don looked on with dawning jealousy. 'What did the vet say?' Duncan watched as the other dog hirpled on three paws. 'He'll be sore for a day or two, but the pellet went through the fleshy part of his shoulder and straight out on the other side. I haven't got to take him back unless the wound turns against him.' The forester's tone said 'I told you so' and Duncan smiled, knowing the hillman to be skilled at animal doctoring for all except severe ills. 'I've brought you some fresh fencing and a few posts ready cut, I thought they might save you time.'

'I've got a few cut, but one or two extra will come in handy,' their companion allowed. 'Come and see where the little ... hmmm ... have got through,' he threw an apologetic look at Sue, and lightly spanked Sandy, who chuckled mischievously at his near slip. 'Off uphill with you, you know the way. Stay!' he ordered his dog, pointing to the vehicle they had just quitted as an object to be guarded, at the same time giving the animal a reason for being left behind, and a balm to its pride as Don padded at the Laird's heels, his right to go along with his master unchallenged. 'I'm limiting his walking for a day or two,' Bruce explained. 'I'll just keep him on the move enough so that he won't get stiff. Now, about that fencing, there's a good fifty feet that's damaged...' He lapsed into the technicalities of replacing damaged deer deterrent, though Sue could see no evidence of damage about her in the healthy growth of the well kept woodland through which their path took them. 'They're no' much of a nuisance in the older plantings yet,' Bruce told them, 'it's the young trees I want to scare them away from. Though there's over many roe about,' he added thoughtfully. 'It won't be long before they have to be thinned out or they'll be doing damage in the main woods as well.' 'We'll have a deer drive about December,' Duncan promised. 'All the women will be looking to renew their stock of venison by then. The roe are at their best for eating about midwinter,' he explained for Sue's benefit. 'What a horrid thought!' Sue screwed up her face. 'They're so pretty...' A sudden thought struck her, and she looked round to see if Sandy was out of earshot before she voiced it. 'What if Points goes back to the hill? Isn't there a danger...?' She could go no further. 'There's always that danger if you foster a wild creature,' Duncan took her point, and spoke as quietly as she, 'but the only alternative is to keep it a prisoner away from its own kind, and that's unthinkable,' he said firmly. 'We'll tag Points' ear beforehand, that will guard

against anything— happening,' he said. 'That's all we can do,' he finished firmly. Sue nodded, appreciating the strength of a love that could let another go free at the cost of his own peace of mind, and hoped that her own strength might match his, for when their visit to Castle Blair ended she must leave Duncan, knowing that her heart would remain with him and send her away bereft. 'Points seemed happy enough the last time I saw him with the dogs,' Sue said. He was trotting round and round a bush,' she remembered. 'The two dogs followed him until they got dizzy,' she laughed, 'then they gave up and left him to it.' 'It won't be long, then.' The forester gave Duncan a significant look, and the Laird nodded understandingly. 'No, he might stay with us for another few months, just over the winter, but by next spring he'll be ready to join the wild herds,' Duncan agreed. 'By that time Andrew will have fetched Meg and Sandy,' he said thankfully, 'so the boy will be spared from missing his pet.' 'How can you tell that Points will soon be gone?' Sue argued, suddenly unwilling to visualise the lawns of Castle Blair without the young roe buck. She had got used to seeing him playing with the two terriers, who would miss him as much as his human friends, she guessed. With Meg and Sandy gone—Andrew was due to collect them soon and take them back to Canada with him—and their own visit ended, Duncan would be on his own. But not lonely, and not for long, her thoughts reminded her, and her heart contracted as once again Fiona's face drifted across her mental vision, and this time refused to go away. 'If he's started running rings...' the forester began.

'I don't suppose he knows why he's doing it yet,' Duncan cut in. 'It's purely instinct, that's all, but by the time he's a few months older—it's a kind of courting display,' he explained to Sue's puzzled look. 'A roe buck and a doe will trot after one another in a circle until it makes you dizzy to watch them—sometimes there's more than one couple at it on the same circuit. They usually choose a tree or a clump of bushes to trot round, and some of the circles they make are years old. Generations of roe use the same ones until there's a hard track of earth stamped out in a ring-Fairy rings, the locals call them,' he smiled. 'We're coming up to one at the top of this hill,' the forester put in. 'I'll show you when we get there. The fairy ring,' he explained as Sandy scampered back and demanded to know what he had to show. 'Miss Drummond's never seen one.' 'Fairy rings!' The boy's young voice was scornful of such grown-up deception. 'Daddy 'splained it better,' he told Sue innocently. 'He said they were a sort of wedding ring that the buck and the doe ran round together, because they can't wear a ring like Mummy does, can they?' he asked naively. 'Look, there it is,' he pointed ahead of them to where a well trampled track circled a forest giant, the worn circle looking almost as old as the tree. 'You can see why they call them fairy rings, though, can't you?' Sandy held out a small paw and grasped Sue's hand. 'They say if you walk them yourself and wish, it comes true,' he discarded his seven-year-old pride and succumbed to folklore. 'Let's walk this one, just in case.' He gave a half ashamed grin and pulled Sue towards the patted down surface of the ring. 'Wish!' he commanded, 'and don't tell afterwards,' he cautioned, 'or it won't come true. You too?' He held out his other hand to Duncan, who took it with a smiling look at Sue, and together they swung the laughing youngster between them the full circumference of the ring. 'Did you wish?' asked the Laird softly, as they rejoined the forester in a breathless group.

'Yes, did you?' Sue countered. 'You mustn't tell...' began Sandy anxiously. 'I won't,' his companions promised in a chorus, hazel eyes holding dark ones in a look that guarded their owners' secrets, Duncan because he might have nothing to tell, Sue thought, but her own because she felt almost afraid to confess her wish, even to herself, and knew she dared not tell it to Duncan, for her wish embraced a wedding ring that had nothing to do with that of the wild roe deer, trampled out of beaten earth beneath a forest tree, but a plain gold band, token of a love that despite Sandy's faith in the power of his fairy circle, she knew she would never know.

CHAPTER SIX 'LET'S go to the top of the rock and see if Robert's coming. It isn't far,' Sandy coaxed. 'It's a pretty steep pull,' Duncan looked at Sue doubtfully. 'I'm game if you are.' Sue could have climbed the Matterhorn with Duncan by her side. She grasped the hand he held out to her, his touch as much pain as pleasure, but it was a pain she held close to her heart, for when it was there no longer it would leave an emptiness behind that nothing else could ever fill, though she might search to the ends of the world to find a substitute. 'Can you see the loch from the top of the hill?' Sue found breath enough to gasp. 'How Sandy can run up these slopes...' she marvelled. 'Sandy's like Points, he was born to them,' Duncan smiled, and halted for a moment. 'Hi! Wait for me!' he expostulated as Sue plodded past him, and gave a tug when she reached his arm's length, though she did not relinquish her grasp on his fingers. 'I'm not stopping until I get to the top,' she said determinedly, 'then I'll sit down. Ooh, I never thought rock would feel so soft to sit on,' she collapsed beside Sandy, who happily dangled his legs over an awe-inspiring drop. 'Goodness, don't shuffle!' quickly she reached out and gripped the slack of his jeans. 'I shan't fall.' He bent unconcerned eyes on her face. 'We'll be able to see Robert rowing round the side of the loch from here. When he rounds the corner of that cliff,' he pointed downwards between his toes, 'we can beat him to the landing place if we run all the way,' he assured her seriously.

'Run where? Not down that?' The cliff looked too precipitous for anything other than a mountain goat. 'No, of course not,' his tone was patient, pandering to grown-up obtuseness, 'there's a track there—look, just below our feet. It goes all the way down to the shore.' 'Sue might not feel like using it,' Duncan intervened. 'The path's narrow,' he told her, 'and there's quite a drop on the other side. You didn't seem to mind the rievers' road, but that was wider.' He paused, considerately giving her the choice. 'I'll hold your hand,' Sandy offered seriously. 'That's my privilege,' Duncan retorted, equally serious. 'If Sue slips your weight wouldn't hold her, and mine would.' He talked logic to the boy, and Sandy responded. 'I hadn't thought of that.' He immediately gave up his claim, and Duncan smiled at Sue. 'You have two contenders for your hand, ma'am,' he sketched a bow, and Sue felt herself go pink. 'Though if you'd rather, we can go round the longer way, the path's easier there.' 'I'll take this one.' She returned his bow flippantly, her hazel eyes laughing into his. 'Who wouldn't, with such help available?' Her eyes might laugh, but her heart wept within her, and she turned her face downhill, away from his, so that he should not see the sudden moisture in her eyes, although he might think it was the fault of the wind that blew her hair in black silk strands across her face. She put up her hand and brushed it away, then rose to her feet. 'If you promise not to go too fast I'll follow you down,' she told Sandy. 'I can't see Robert yet, so there's no need to run,' she cautioned him, unwilling to put her nerves to the test of seeing the child racing down

the narrow rocky track, it could hardly be called a path, that clung to the side of the hill as if even now it had not quite made up its mind whether to finally slip overboard or not. 'Reach behind you.' Duncan spoke quietly from over her shoulder, his voice devoid of expression, and she put her hand behind her and felt his fingers curl round her own, holding her in a loose grasp that could tighten on the instant if necessary, and was infinitely reassuring. 'Don, go to Sandy.' He allowed the gun-dog past and it trotted ahead obediently, keeping just behind the child, and Sue knew that the boy, too, would have an anchor if necessary. The dog's yellow eyes were closely on the child's feet, and its sturdy body carried more than enough strength to hold the slight form in front if Sandy's feet made a disastrous slip. The sun was warm on her head, the light wind caressing her cheeks so that they cooled from their earlier flush, and with Duncan behind her, no longer able to see her face, Sue relaxed and strolled along the track behind Sandy, who true to his word took the journey slowly in deference to the unfounded fears of grown-ups, who surely should know better than to feel nervous of mountain ledges that the deer used as regular tracks. If the level of the loch was earth, thought Sue dreamily, surely this must be paradise? Purple slopes fell away from their feet as far as the eye could see, basking in the warmth of the autumn sun. The green of the forest umbrellaed above them, and one or two hardy trees, some of them mountain ash, their berries already brightening to the lengthening season, grew upwards from some cranny below, their green waving heads nodding on the edge of the track at their feet, making it seem wider and not so dangerous—a treachery that could lead to disaster for the unwary, Sue guessed, and took the lesson to her own heart, steeling herself to return from her paradise, not the least of its beauty for her being the touch of Duncan's hand. A rhythmic thud from behind them told of Bruce's efforts with his new fence posts, and from somewhere above them, came the buzz of a light aeroplane.

'There it is,' Sandy pointed above them. 'Stand still if you're going to watch the plane.' Duncan's voice pulled the boy sharply to a halt. 'You can't watch your feet and the sky,' he cautioned, 'remember if you slip you haven't got wings like that has,' he reasoned. 'It looks like Charles Redman's machine,' he squinted above him. 'Is that whose it is?' Sue eyed the light plane with interest. 'Does he pilot it himself?' 'Yes, but Callum says he oughtn'ter,' Sandy told her seriously. 'He—what?' Duncan's chuckle sounded richly amused in Sue's right ear. 'This lad's collecting a mixture of English and Gaelic, and I don't think even Callum would know which is which,' he laughed. 'Anyway,' he challenged his nephew, 'how do you know Mr Redman pilots his own plane? He usually employs a pilot.' 'Callum said the pilot walked out,' Sandy replied confidently. 'I heard him tell Sara when we were in the kitchen making the haggis,' he explained. 'If that pilot walked out,' Duncan said drily, 'I hope he'd got his parachute on.' He cast a quizzical eye on the rapidly disappearing speck in the sky. 'I didn't mean like that...' A helpless giggle shook Sandy as the funny side struck him. 'Callum used to talk to the pilot,' he told Sue proudly. 'He used to have a dram with him at the Interlauchie Arms.' Sue dared not look round at the Laird's face for fear she might not be able to control her own; his grip on her hand tightened convulsively as if its owner strove to check his mirth. 'He told Mr Redman he could fly the plane himself, he couldn't stand his temper. What do you think made him cross with the pilot?' He turned questioning eyes

on the grown-ups. Evidently Callum's knowledge of the Redman affairs deserted him at this juncture. 'Maybe he grated his gears, something like your mother does now and then with the car.' Duncan couldn't quite keep the quaver from his voice, and Sue leapt to his rescue. 'Look,' she pointed downwards at the loch, 'I do believe that's Robert.' A slender dark line forged through the water, following the bulge of the cliff. 'We'll have to put a move on,' she suggested, 'or he'll be at the landing before us. Maybe he'll think you don't want to ride back with him if we're not there when he beaches, and he might not wait,' she said craftily, and Sandy instantly forgot the pilot's difficulties and concentrated on his own. 'He promised...' 'Then he'll wait.' Sue's convincing faith steadied his headlong rush downhill, but his speed no longer mattered. The path broadened out as they advanced, and soon they were descending more gradually across soft turf, and Duncan could walk by her side instead of behind her, swinging hands with the carefree gaiety of children, until he loosed her fingers in order to stride into the shallows on the edge of the loch and grasp the side of the boat to help Robert pull it ashore. 'That was a treat!' Her brother jumped on to the shingle energetically. 'And it didn't take me long,' he looked at his watch. 'I'm not so out of practice as I thought.' 'Have you caught anything?' Sandy leaned over the side of the boat, peering in search of fish.

'Caught wha ... ? D'you know, I forgot I was going to fish.' Momentarily Robert looked disconcerted. 'I enjoyed rowing again so much, I, never gave fishing a thought,' he confessed, and Sue laughed. 'Never mind, you can fish on the way back if you want to,' she consoled him. 'Sandy will help .you—that is, if you're still going back by water? Jump in, then.' She gave him a helping heave via the seat of his jeans at his quick affirmative. 'We'll wave to you from the top of the hill,' she promised. 'You may not be able to see us, we're going back the easy way, through the trees instead of up the side of the hill,' his uncle warned him. 'We'll beat you back home,' the boy challenged, laughing, and Duncan shook his head. 'No race,' he denied him. 'Sue and I are going to take our time going back. It's a sin to hurry on such a glorious day,' he said contentedly. 'Robert rows well.' He cast a critical eye on her brother's performance as he pulled out into deep water again, and they raised their hands to the occupants of the boat as it turned out of their sight round the bend of the cliff. 'He's been cooped up inside for too long,' Sue replied, 'what with his final exams, and then being with me in the flat in London.' She turned beside her companion and paced with him uphill again, hesitating when they got to where the path turned across the face of the cliff. 'No, this way, through the trees.' He took her arm and steered her through a sunlit glade where the trees grew sparsely enough to let the light and air through, so that the grass grew longer and greener than it did on the slopes further up, carpeting the ground with late summer

flowers in bright contrast to the purple of the heather all about them. 'Has Robert got a career in mind?' he asked. 'Meg told me he doesn't want to follow his father into the Army.' 'Nothing specific.' A frown creased Sue's forehead. 'All he seems to know is what he doesn't want to do, not what he does. Except that he wants to work out of doors. I suggested he take on a milk round,' she laughed, but there was more concern than humour in the sound. 'When we go home,' she said seriously, 'I intend to take him to get some careers advice, nothing his school suggested seemed to fit. Their ideas mostly embraced solicitors' offices and so on—the professions,' she waved her hand vaguely, 'and Robert…' 'Wants to remain outdoors. I can't say I blame him,' Duncan said thoughtfully. 'Well, he's got to make up his mind fairly soon,' Sue retorted. 'Mother and Dad come home in the autumn for a few weeks' leave, and unless he's got something definite in view he's likely to find himself carried off to the nearest recruiting centre by an indignant parent,' she said ruefully. 'From what I hear of his exam results, he doesn't mind studying?' 'He's got two distinctions,' Sue said proudly. 'The others were good passes. He doesn't want just any job, he wants a career, but not an Army one.' 'Or one in an office, from the sound of it,' Duncan smiled sympathetically. 'Don't worry, it'll work out,' he repeated his sister's earlier advice. 'It's too nice a day to worry,' she agreed. It had been perfect so far, nothing must spoil it now. When she left Castle Blair, she wanted the memory of this one perfect day to take along with her.

'We'll finish off by a picnic,' Duncan told her. 'We promised Sandy, and he won't have chance for many more before he goes to Canada.' There it was again, the sadness behind the beauty, the cold finger of mist following the sunshine on the hill. Resolutely Sue forced the thought behind her. Nothing must spoil the day, for Sandy as well as for herself. 'Let's see if we can see the boat, we promised to wave,' she reminded him. 'So we did.' He fell in with her mood, and together they turned towards the edge of the planting. 'There they are, look. But I don't think they'll see us. The trees are in the way, and they'll hide us from the loch, though we can see clearly enough through them from here,' he observed, reaching for his binoculars. 'Never mind, we know they've rounded the cliff safely, they've only got the straight row back, and it should be fairly easy going,' Sue leaned against the bole of a nearby conifer, standing tall and dark and straight, old in years and weatherwise, and a warm, friendly prop to her back. 'I feel a bit like Robert,' she confessed. 'I don't want to go back to being indoors.' She didn't add the truth, that she didn't want to go and leave all this—and Duncan—behind. The orchestra accommodation of concert halls had never bothered her before; the music provided all her needs, and her surroundings were an insignificance that did not count. Now, the stuffiness of such places filled her with a claustrophobic dread. This is madness, she thought. Panic overtook her. The orchestra was her living—her life. Wasn't it? She had journeyed to Scotland miserable because she had to leave that life behind her, if only for a short while, denied the ability to play her instrument because of her injured hand, a deprivation that at the time seemed to her music- hungry soul as bad as if her body had been denied breath. Now, her ears had caught the

sound of other music, the high, wild song that was made up of many different voices, the moorland birds, the wind, the faint wet slap of loch water on the shore. All these, intermingled with the bark of Sandy's pet roe deer, the scuffling of the dogs at play and the child's shrill laughter, and through them all the quiet, strong tones of a man's deep voice, education leavening the Highland inflection so that it became a richness such as no other voice had ever sounded in her ears, a music to outplay any orchestration she had ever known, and which would superimpose its notes with hopeless longing on any she might know, or play, again. 'Can you see them? Is Sandy sitting still?' Duncan had the glasses to his eyes, and Sue stirred and looked up at him. He, too, leaned against the trunk of the conifer, his body tall and slender like the tree, pliant with the easy grace of perfect physical fitness. 'Don't fret about Sandy,' Duncan glanced down at her smilingly. 'If he does go overboard he's a strong swimmer,' he reassured her, 'and I've sent Don back with them, just in case,' he added offhandedly. So that was why the dog had jumped unchecked into the boat. The animal's yellow eyes had sought Duncan's face, questioning. Sue had seen the look pass between them, and the Laird nod as if he understood the dog's question, and having answered it Don jumped into the boat along with Sandy, and remained there without comment from itself or its owner. Duncan saw no need to explain his actions, but there was good reason behind most of them, Sue realised. Even when 'Himself said no'; the thought made her smile, it no longer had the power to irritate her. The thought of her own volte-face broadened the smile, but it had a hint of tears behind it. It was no good her not minding, now. 'Have a look, you'll satisfy yourself they're both safe.' The Laird adjusted the glasses and handed them to her. 'Can you see clearly? That was about the setting you had them on Sunday,' he remembered.

'I can see fine,' she thanked him, but nevertheless adjusted them again slightly, remembering how he had shown her before. 'You can almost reach out and touch them,' she breathed. The figures of her brother and Sandy, and the black, curled-up body of the dog lying watchful under the boy's seat, were so close it seemed as if she was actually in the boat along with them. She saw Don stir and raise his head as if he felt her eyes upon him, and she wondered, not for the first time, at the animal sensitivity that attunes itself like radar to the unseen, so that to them the unseen is rarely unknown as it is to their human counterparts. She moved the glasses, sweeping them across the hillside, fascinated by what the lenses picked out, each tiny detail as clear as if it was at her own feet. She swung the binoculars on, then moved them back again, pausing as a movement on the hill below them caught her attention. For a second or two she failed to locate it, then it came again, from a bare stretch of turf on the edge of a bracken patch. A russet- coloured something, that spun and twisted with the wayward dancing of a wind-blown leaf, but this was no lifeless greenery, discarded by the parent tree to the playful fingers of a gusting wind, this thing that cavorted on the edge of the bracken patch was stirred by urgent, purposeful life. For a while Sue thought it might be a bird of some kind, but... 'Have you seen something interesting?' Duncan sensed her attention, and she handed him the glasses. 'Mmm, but I can't see what it is. Over there, on that flat stretch by the edge of the bracken——' She pointed, and he cast the glasses across the hill, seeking what puzzled her. 'Ah, got it !' he breathed softly. 'And Bruce will get you,' he spoke half to himself, 'if he catches you gambolling about in the open like that. You were watching a hungry stoat,' he told Sue, in a convincing tone of voice.

She took the glasses from him again, and focussed on the spot. The russet body still danced, twisting itself into contortions that would have been the envy of a star circus performer, the only means of telling which end was which being the tiny black tip to its tail, which appeared and vanished with flickering bewilderment. 'How do you know it's hungry?' she laughed, remembering the eagle, and his teasing on the slopes of Ben Rhu. 'Watch it, and you'll see.' Duncan leaned back on the tree trunk again, easing himself down so that they were shoulder to shoulder, his head close to hers so that they could both look downhill together. 'Can you see?' She hesitated. 'Would you like these back?' She did not want to be selfish and keep his binoculars, but she could not tear her eyes away from the performance in front of her. The tiny actor was no amateur, but there was—something—she did not know what, that sent a shiver down her spine. Perhaps it was the very purposefulness of its twisting dance, that hinted at another motive than pure joy in the day, and the goodness of being alive, that gave its performance an aura of evil, thought Sue, though it seemed silly to accuse such a tiny creature of evil. Once it paused, and for a brief moment Sue could see the ferret-like body, narrow and pointed, and the black-tipped tail, as a whole creature, then it rolled kittenlike across the ground, bringing itself nearer to the edge of the bracken patch, and started to somersault again. 'You'd think it would be out of breath by now,' she marvelled. 'It'll pause for breath when it gets what it wants,' Duncan began, and stopped at Sue's gasp. 'Oh! It's jumped on something.' The somersaulting body stopped its foolery with electrifying suddenness, and so rapidly did it move that Sue could hardly follow,

it pounced on something in the bracken against which it had rolled. A brief scuffle followed, and then the stoat emerged, dragging behind it a limp, trailing darkness that followed without movement or protest. 'Ugh!' she shuddered, 'it's caught something.' She gulped, the aura of evil no part of her imagination now, but a taint that had come to her across the distance of the hill, her own sensitive perception warning her, though she knew not what to make of its message, her more accustomed surroundings until now giving her no guidelines on what to expect. 'He's got to eat,' Duncan said calmly, 'and if the predators don't feel like chasing their prey, they'll 'tice it to come to them. A lot of animals do it,' he enlarged. 'Foxes will, it makes a change from them doing the chasing. They're excellent psychologists,' he smiled down at her, teasing the horror from her face. 'They make use of the habits of their prey. If that creature it caught hadn't given way to curiosity, it would still be alive now,' he finished unanswerably. 'That's why you knew it was hungry...' All hunters had this awareness, she realised, whether they walked on four legs or two; that extra sense that put them apart from their fellows, an alertness to their surroundings that gave them instant knowledge of everything that moved, that might pose either threat of food, and poised to take instant advantage of either. Sue had noticed this tension in Duncan before, when she was with him out of doors, like that of a coiled spring carefully held in check until action was needed. .Even his walk was different when he was on the hill, not the relaxed, easy stroll of when he was about the house and gardens, but a swift, silent tread, and when he was still it was with the utter lack of motion of the wild creatures, so that it seemed even his breathing was suspended lest it betray his presence to whatever might be watching.

That stoat's not the only one who's hungry,' Duncan declared. 'Let's go back and see how Bob's getting on, shall we? Then it's time we got back to our own lunch. I'm famished,' he owned. 'Don't forget the ceilidh on Saturday.' The forester gave one last blow to the post, shook it experimentally, and satisfied that it did not move laid his tool beside it, and swung along with them back to their vehicle. 'Good dog!' Duncan stooped and rubbed the injured animal's head, releasing it from its guard, and was rewarded by a frantic tongue that, now Don was not with them, he permitted to run across his hands before he got into the driving seat. 'We won't,' he promised. 'Sue's already chosen the dress she's going to wear.' He gave her a sly look, as if to make sure that by his comment she would do as he suggested. 'I didn't choose it, you did,' she registered her protest, nettled by her companion's easy assumption that because he had said he liked the dress, she would automatically choose to wear it. She would, of course, she knew that. Before she came to Scotland, such an assumption on the part of an escort would have been enough to drive her into wearing something quite different, but not now, not with Duncan. She seemed to have lost her spirit as well as her heart to the Laird of Doorn, she thought, half scornfully, but perhaps this was what love was—a wanting to give, to sink one's identity in that of another person, and they in yours, so that two people truly became as one as the marriage service suggested. She had never considered that, before. 'I finished my letter, and it's ready to post.' Meg waved a bulging envelope triumphantly, and dropped it on to the hall table that was an automatic calling place for anyone of the household who happened to

be going into Dunbyne, so that outgoing mail at least was a fairly regular traffic from the Castle. 'You'll get writer's cramp,' Sue teased, trying by words to fend off her friend's penetrating look, which made her wonder uneasily if her feelings showed in her face, or maybe even in her manner. She felt at once uplifted and depressed, a disturbing tangle of heights and depths that must surely have altered her somehow, even if only by the mercurial changes of mood that Sue knew were already puzzling Robert, who was more accustomed to at least a calm front from his normally stable-minded sister. 'We beat you, we beat you!' Sandy raced downstairs, hands and face clean ready for lunch, and a happy grin all over his freckled face. 'So you did.' His uncle did not remind him that it had been no race, and promptly spoiled his neat hairdo by ruffling it with an indulgent hand. 'I take it we're having fish?' he added slyly, and the child chuckled. 'Robert didn't stop to fish, he rowed like mad all the way back, to get us here first,' he confessed. 'He made me,' Robert followed the boy downstairs. 'What a slavedriver he is!' he protested. 'It was as bad as having the cox sitting in with you with a stopwatch,' he vowed feelingly. 'Never mind, we'll take it easy this afternoon,' Duncan smiled amusedly. 'I'll do the rowing if you like. I thought we'd take our tea on to the other side of the loch,' he suggested, turning to Meg for confirmation, a politeness which Sue noticed he never failed in, even to his sister, deferring to the choice of the others in the party. 'There's a pleasant little beach at the foot of the Ben, it's out of the wind, and by the time the shadow of the mountain falls on it, it will be home time anyway,' with a glance at Sandy that warned him there would be

a period even to a picnic, and the mountain would provide the hint when it was nearing bedtime. 'What about Points and the dogs?' Sandy was not to be denied the company of his pets. 'You promised.' 'They can come too, but not in the boat,' Duncan confirmed. 'Callum has got to go that way in the Land Rover, and he manfully offered to drop them on the beach for us, as well as our picnic basket.' 'We'll have to get there first, or else ...' Sandy's comic look at his uncle betrayed his own mistrust of his mischievous pets. 'The basket will have a good strap to it, and Callum will stay there until we come.' Duncan had evidently thought this one out, too. With the safety of their hamper assured, there was no need to hurry across the loch, and Duncan and Robert took an oar each, the older man easing his stroke to accommodate the less able muscles of his companion, but accomplishing it with such nicety of tact that Sue doubted if Robert even suspected. Meg and Sandy took the seat behind the oarsmen, and Sandy lay full length on his tummy with his nose over the side, gazing down into the green water underneath. It was surprisingly clear, and his running commentary tempted Sue to do the same. She twisted round on the board seat, and trailed her fingers over the side. 'My goodness, it's cold!' she exclaimed, surprised at the frigid temperature when the weather had been warm for so many days. 'It's very deep.' Duncan eased his efforts for a moment, ostensibly to answer her, but more, Sue felt, to enable Robert to have a breather. It was a long way across the loch to the other shore. 'And the shadow of Ben Rhu keeps the sun away for part of every day,' the Laird explained. 'The Ben's quite a mountain.' There was quiet pride in his voice as he tipped his head back to survey the giant, now bathed in

bright sunshine, and deceptively peaceful in the still afternoon. Sue raised her eyes higher, but from close under the steep purple slopes it was impossible to pick out more than the faint line of the rievers' road. 'It doesn't show up very well from here,' Duncan sensed what she was searching for. 'We're too close to see it clearly,' he said, resuming his easy stroke with a silent look at Robert that bade him do the same. Sue bent her eyes back on the water, its clarity disturbed by the cleaving boat, so that the surface presented an opaque stare to her eyes. I wonder if that applies to human beings, too, she thought curiously, as well as to the mountain? The possibility gave her a sense of comfort, that in a similar way she might be too close for Duncan to see clearly; too close for him to notice her feelings, or at any rate to interpret them correctly. The thought made her feel less vulnerable, and with her new-found sense of security she began to relax, prepared like Sandy to enjoy the day to the full. 'Your hamper's safe, but it's no' thanks to this lot.' Callum nodded at the half circle of watching eyes, and smoked his pipe with short, fierce puffs. His eyebrows pointed straight outwards with a fierce aggression that kept the would-be marauders at bay, and Duncan chuckled. 'Thanks for fending them off.' He clapped his hands, and Points and the two dogs gave up their staring match with the ghillie, and began a mad gambol along the shore, with Sandy facing after them. 'Where's he off to?' Sue asked the others. 'He's gone to the cave, I expect,' Meg replied. 'He usually shouts himself hoarse when he comes here, the rocks echo and sound back and it fascinates him.'

'We'll put the hamper in the boat out of the way.' Duncan released Callum from his responsibility, and Sue saw a small square packet exchange hands; the sides of it flashed yellow and silver as Callum pocketed it, betraying his favourite brand of tobacco. 'You bribed him,' she accused the Laird when the ghillie was out of earshot, and laughed out loud at her host's sheepish expression. 'He doesn't get on very well with Points,' Duncan stated the obvious. 'Those two have tried conclusions once or twice, and I fancy the buck got the best of the encounters. He can't be picked up and put out of the way quite so easily now he's bigger,' he smiled, 'but it was the only way to get the animals over if we wanted to come by water, and I'd promised Sandy...' He backed out of his corruption. 'Cooeee!' a high-pitched call came from somewhere along the narrow beach, and after a few seconds' pause a hollow reply sounded faintly from the same direction. Coo-eee-eee-eee! It died away into silence, and Sandy scampered towards them from a dark hollow in the cliff face. 'It's a smugglers' cave,' he told Sue with childish glee. 'Come and see,' he pulled her by the hand. 'If you shout, your voice comes back to you. Listen!' He cooeed again, urging Sue to join him, and together they made the roof ring with their calls until the sound lost itself in the dim recesses of the cave, only to give it back again in ghostly travesty of their original calls, so that the echoes seemed all about them, and brought the child's gaze up to Sue's face, half thrilled, half awed. 'Let's run!' Sue grabbed his hand, teasing him into action, and together they raced out into the sunshine to join the others, the dogs barking about their feet. Points had refused to come inside the cave with them, not favouring the mysteries of the dusky interior, and now

he headed back towards the boat and the titbits that he knew from experience were to be expected from the picnic basket. It was a gay, carefree meal, with everyone in high spirits, and only once did a silence fall on the little party when Points, racing uphill away from the tormenting of the two dogs, failed to return at Sandy's call as he usually did, but stood for long minutes snuffing the breeze, his eyes on the slopes and the dark fringe of the woods that lay further along the shore, and that Duncan had told Sue sheltered a wild herd of his own kind. Sandy watched him for a moment, his face sobering, and Sue's heart contracted for the little boy. Don't let Points take to the hill now, she breathed silently. Don't let it spoil Sandy's day. It was suddenly, desperately important that nothing should. The child glanced up at the Laird, who was watching the young buck with narrowed eyes. His hand went out and gripped his nephew's shoulder, and together they stood silent, leaving the choice to the animal to rejoin its own kind when the urge to do so became stronger than the link that bound it to the hands that had bottle reared it from orphan infancy. 'Uncle?' It was little more than a whisper, a stifled cracking of control that the boy quickly checked, although his face had lost colour, and the man looked down on him, compassion clear across his expression. 'Come on, Points! Biscuits!' the Laird intervened, bending to rattle the cake tin from the hamper. The clatter broke the spell, and the young deer turned and joined the dogs in a race for the accustomed treat, and for the moment Sandy's feelings were reprieved, but Sue knew that it could not be for long. She shivered, suddenly cold, and turned to find her woolly placed about her shoulders, the soft warmth of it welcome to her bare arms.

'Slip this on,' Duncan said quietly. 'I think it's time we went.' He pointed to the loch. Incredibly the hours had fled, and the shadow of the Ben had crept across the water, chilling their sunny beach, and darkening the face of the loch so that the green water had turned to grey. 'Here's Callum come back for the animals.' He picked up the depleted picnic basket and dropped it into the vehicle as Callum pulled to a halt beside them. 'Now for you three,' he gave the three animals a helping heave into the back, assuring their co-operation by a generous handful of crumbled biscuit, which was evidently their favourite treat. The wind blew chill across the boat as the two men pulled away from the shore, and the mouth of the cave looked dark against the cliffs, silent and mysterious, with only the creak of the oars to break the stillness that had fallen on the group. Sue wondered how long it would be before Points obeyed the call of the hill, and severed his links with his former home. Not before Sandy goes, she hoped silently. Don't go away until after Sandy goes. 'Your voice comes back to you!' The child had delighted in the echo of the cave. Would it come back to him in years ahead? she wondered. Probably not, or even if it did it would only be a faint echo, his new life in Canada would hold much of daily interest to absorb him, and nostalgia was no part of childhood. That belonged to grown-up hearts, to remember the happy days, and listen to the voices that came back across the years, their echo bringing back the sunshine, but also bringing back the pain.

CHAPTER SEVEN 'ZIP me up, do.' Meg slipped inside the door at Sue's 'come in' and turned her back on her friend. 'It seems to have stuck on something half way up, and I can't budge it either way,' she complained. 'Hold still, then.' Sue removed a roving of thick cream silk from the fine mechanism and tried it experimentally. 'There, that's done it.' She slid the latch to the top and locked it. 'What an unusual brooch!' She turned interested eyes on the dull gold replica of a thistle head and sword, surmounted in a delicate, twisted circlet of the same metal, that adorned her friend's shoulder. 'It looks almost like the carving over the fireplace in the drawing room.' She had studied it many times since she came, the emblem of the Blair family, with the Gaelic lettering chipped out of the stone below it that Duncan had told her read 'For king and for country'. 'The thistle for our country was all very well,' he mused, 'but the sword bit got us into all sorts of difficulties when the English kings took over from our own, and allegiances were divided.' He spoke of the past as if it were yesterday, and of the men who pledged their swords to the banner as if they were people he had dined and laughed with, exchanging tales of battles fought and honours won. 'It's family jewellery,' Meg explained. 'I thought I'd wear it tonight. It's ages old,' she fingered the delicate craftsmanship affectionately. 'I don't expect there'll ever be another chance for me to wear it,' she said wistfully. 'When I go back to Canada with Andrew we may not return to Scotland except for holidays for several years, and by then Duncan will be married, I expect.' Her face clouded for an instant, and Sue watched her sympathetically, sensing that she did not care

for her brother's choice of his future bride. Meg never really relaxed when she was with Fiona; she was always scrupulously polite, but it was that sort of politeness that keeps distance between people instead of drawing them close. When Duncan was married to Fiona, Castle Blair would no longer be home to Meg, she guessed. It would be different if she herself were to marry Meg's brother, but- that was not to be. She put impossibilities aside, and concentrated on the present. 'Can't you take it with you when you go? There's bound to be occasions when you'd like to wear it, and it would be a link with home,' she suggested gently. 'Oh no, I couldn't do that. Wouldn't, anyway,' Meg said firmly. 'When Duncan marries, the family jewellery belongs to his bride,' she explained. 'I would never take it away from Castle Blair, it belongs here.' She looked faintly shocked at the suggestion. 'We're very "family" about these things,' she twinkled suddenly, then sobered again. 'It wouldn't matter if Duncan was going to marry ... oh well, let's finish getting ready,' she stood up restlessly, 'the men will be wondering where we've got to. It would look nice on your dress, though,' she swung round, 'it's the right colour to go with it.' 'I've got my beads.' Sue hurriedly picked up the carved amber necklace from her dressing table. 'These came from the East,' she sidetracked the conversation. On no account could she bring herself to wear Meg's brooch—the Blair brooch. The Laird's reaction might well be the reverse of approving, and if Fiona realised what the brooch was she would probably be furious, Sue guessed. One scene with the fair-haired girl had been quite sufficient; she would go to any lengths to avoid another during the remainder of her stay here, she thought. 'Is Fiona coming?' The thought of the businessman's daughter prompted the question, which was out before she realised she had spoken, and Meg gave her a sharp look.

'She's bound to be there, the whole village comes to these do's,' she explained. 'And I expect her parents will be along as well. They come to see the peasants at play,' she added dryly. 'I'm being catty,' she confessed, though there was little sign of repentance in her expression, 'but they never join in the fun, and I'm afraid they're not very welcome with the villagers. Fiona- joins in the dancing, though.' Evidently Duncan's future bride realised that it behoved her to at least keep on good terms with the local people, Sue thought shrewdly. She had a lifetime to live at Castle Blair, and in an isolated community that life could be very lonely if its owner stood aloof from the limited choice of company it offered. She would probably spend most winters in Edinburgh, Sue guessed intuitively. Duncan would probably hate it, the interest as well as the work of his estates kept him more than occupied, and could keep a wife so, too, if she was willing, but Sue doubted if Fiona would be willing, let alone interested. Consistent application to any subject hardly seemed to fit the spoiled darling of wealthy parents. 'Duncan's the last of the line, now.' Meg paused at the head of the wide sweep of stairs and looked down on her brother in the spacious hall to which it descended in a graceful spiral. He stood beside the fire, underneath a replica of the carving in the drawing room, and the facsimile that Meg wore on her dress. He was kilted, but not in evening dress, Sue noticed, and Robert, too, was in a lounge suit, at Duncan's suggestion. 'We don't go in evening dress, no one else will, and it's more fun to be one of the crowd.' The Laird had given her brother quiet guidance, and Robert thankfully took the hint and donned the more welcome comfort of his best suit. The two men turned as they began to descend, and Sue's heart leapt as the Laird's dark eyes watched them, step by step, his head tilted back so that the firelight fell on his face, dark and expressionless, made unreadable by the flickering shadows that danced across the

ancient stone of the floor that was worn smooth by the tread of centuries from feet that had walked the path ordained for the Laird of Doorn, a tide that would eventually fall to his son if Fiona was willing to have children. If not... 'Thank goodness there's Sandy...' The words were no more than a breathed thought, hardly even a whisper, but they reached Sue's ears with a poignancy that wrenched her with pity. She gave no sign that she heard. When a heart bares its innermost fears it is a wise companion who knows when to remain silent, and together she and Meg trod the last few steps, outwardly composed, to join their menfolk and enjoy an evening of gay company. 'Ma'am!' Robert bowed low and offered his arm to Meg. 'I'm a poor substitute for Andrew,' he confessed, with sudden boyish sympathy, 'but it won't be long now before he comes back for you,' he comforted. 'You'll do beautifully—for this evening,' Meg dimpled at him. She treated Robert much as she treated Sandy, and scolded him with equal impartiality. 'Will I do—for this evening?' A smile tilted the Laird's firm lips, and his one eyebrow raised in a quizzical question as he held out his arm towards Sue. His eyes told her that he liked her dress, was glad that she had put it on because he suggested it, and she felt thankful that she had subdued the last-minute impulse of rebellion that had made her reach another dress from her wardrobe and don it, then pull it off again and return it to its hanger, discontented with the way it looked and felt. The one Duncan asked her to wear—expected her to wear— both looked and felt right, and she was happily conscious of his approval. Anyway, the other one would have clashed with his kilt, she told herself; it was entirely the wrong shade of green—salvaging

her pride that no longer seemed to matter. She reached out a hand to take his arm, her fingers just touching his coat sleeve, resting there lightly in a contact that she dared not make closer, for she shrank from the pain that it would bring. 'You'll need your wrap across your shoulders.' Robert was already helping Meg on with hers, and Duncan drew her lightweight woollen cape from over her arm and placed it about her, much as he had placed her woolly about her shoulders on the beach when their picnic was over, and with the same quick feeling of soft warmth, she thought, that surely could not come entirely from the garment alone. Duncan's car stood at the door, a sleek grey saloon, power in every line of it, but discreetly so, not flaunting its capabilities as did Fiona's rather flashy sports saloon. 'You sit in front with me.' Duncan handed her into her seat, bending to tuck her cape out of the way of the closing door before he turned to help Meg into the back. Once more, Sue realised, she had obeyed him automatically, but the spark of rebellion had been extinguished when she dressed, and it did not seem to matter that he told her what to do. It was good to be looked after, she thought, snuggling contentedly down into the deep hide upholstery, good to have Duncan at the controls by her side, and perhaps to dream a little that he might be there for always. It did no harm to dream, she thought wistfully, as the long grey nose of the vehicle sought the road round the loch, darkly shadowed now by night in the deep, sheltered valley, though the light still lingered on the hilltops far above them, and towards which the climbing road drew them on their way to the grey stone village hall at Dunbyne. 'It seems late to be starting out. I thought you said you kept early hours here.' Robert's voice came from behind.

'We do, but not when there's a ceilidh,' Duncan laughed. 'I've known them to start near midnight, and go on until daylight. When a Highlander plays, he plays,' he assured them. 'There isn't a lot of opportunity, so he makes the most of the ones that come his way, though if you're tired...' he threw the gauntlet back. 'It's only just gone half past eight.' Sue didn't care if it was half past twelve; like the people Duncan spoke of she was intent on enjoying the evening, for like Sandy's picnic there would be scant opportunity for more, and once Meg had left for Canada she doubted if she would ever return to Castle Blair. 'How on earth will the folk get home? Some of the farms are right across the other side of the hill, and as for the foresters...' Words failed her at the thought. Duncan had pointed out Brace's chalet-type wooden dwelling when they had been on the hill the other day, and she had turned the binoculars across the forest high above them. The forester's home stood in splendid isolation in a clearing beside a forest track that even a Land Rover might find difficult to negotiate in the dark. 'Mostly they walk,' Duncan said simply. 'It cools the heels of those who've still got any energy left after the dancing,' he smiled. 'And cools the heads of those who've enjoyed a dram too many,' put in Meg drily from the back. They were still chuckling as they emerged at the village hall and left their cloaks with the postmistress, who had exchanged one counter for another for the duration of the dance, being too infirm herself with rheumatism to enjoy the activity, but unwilling to miss the company, and the chance of an extra gossip, altogether. Much of what her sharp eyes observed would be retailed on Monday along with her postal orders and stamps, and the contents of the jars of brightly coloured boiled sweets that adorned the other side of the

counter in her miniature shop. She eyed Sue curiously, and her glance slewed into the main body of the room with a meaningful look that took Sue's eyes along with it. The other's look stopped short at a slender, fair- haired figure dressed in bright cerise-coloured silk. Fiona was talking to the minister, but her eyes constantly strayed in the direction of the door, and her impatient expression showed a boredom that she made little attempt to conceal from her companion. When Duncan appeared she spotted him instantly, as he walked slightly in front of Sue, and the girl's face changed into smiles. Duncan did not see her straight away, he was waylaid by one after another of the assembled company, as was Meg, and they drew Sue and Robert along with them, introducing them to those they paused to chat with. Several of the people she already knew, they were the foresters and shepherds who had come to the disastrous shoot on Doorn Moor, and their easy, friendly greetings made her feel completely at home at their social gathering. She stepped to one side, which brought her from behind Duncan and Fiona scowled when she saw that the Laird had brought his sister and her guests. She turned her back on the surprised minister, cutting off his description of his favourite rose bush with an abruptness that left the good man in mid-sentence, and pushed her way through the crowd, that silently parted to let her through with few of the pleasant greetings with which they had met Duncan and Meg. As Fiona moved towards them Sue caught a glimpse of black and white behind her, and realised that Charles Redman and his wife sat on the wooden chairs against the wall, and both were resplendent in evening dress. 'They come to see the peasants at play,' Meg had said, and even across the width of the room their attitude bore this out. Charles Redman smoked a large cigar and gazed upon the assembled company with a patronising look that set Sue's teeth on edge.

'Do you see what I mean?' Meg's voice whispered in her ear, her gaze following Sue's with a twinkle of mischief in it that corresponded with the disgust in her voice. 'Duncan!' Fiona reached them in a rush, prettily breathless and flushed, her hands held out to the Laird. Sue noticed that her fingernails matched the colour of her dress. 'We thought you were never coming. How late you are!' she scolded, implying that the evening had been a desert for her until now, without his company. 'Come and say hello to the parents, then we can dance,' she annexed him. 'Meg too, of course.' She cast a cursory invitation over her shoulder, and nodded coolly to Sue and Robert, not deigning to extend her invitation further. Duncan looked round rather helplessly, but before he could utter any protest, even if he wanted to, she had dragged him after her, and any resistance on his part could only have resulted in an undignified struggle, for she had him firmly by the hand and propelled him determinedly in the direction of Charles Redman and his wife. 'Shall we dance?' Robert turned to Meg, then stopped abruptly, as he realised that if he and Meg took the floor it would leave Sue completely on her own. 'Allow me.' It was Bruce the forester, kilted, and inclining his head over Sue's hand with a courtly gallantry that was a natural grace, and not the artificial veneer that adorned Charles Redman. 'I'll have to ask ye now,' he smiled, 'for I canna think Himself will gi'e any o' us a chance to partner ye afterwards.' His kindly eyes twinkled down at Sue, and his huge, work-roughened hand took hers with a surprising gentleness. 'I'd love to, Bruce.' She slipped into his arms, her liking for these Highland people growing. 'How's your dog?' How easy it was to talk to them, she thought. How easy it would be to become one of them,

liking them, and sensing their liking for her. She adjusted her pliant body to the rhythm of his steps, and found he was a competent dancer, his years of active life on the hill retaining a suppleness in him that would have long deserted men in sedentary occupations. 'He's doing fine.' The forester guided her carefully round the outside edge of the dancers, considerately so that they should not get jostled. It was a pleasant experience being treated like Dresden china,, thought Sue with an inward smile, enjoying the old-fashioned gallantry that was practically non-existent in the haste of life elsewhere, a fact mourned by the truly feminine woman who had the wit to realise the real power of her own role in giving support and strength so necessary to even the strongest of men, a fusing of forces that complement one another, so that together they are invincible, but apart become hopelessly vulnerable. The band looked as if it was composed of purely local people, comprising a pianist who Sue suspected did double duty at the bar piano in the Interlauchie Arms—his performance had a robust noise about it that lent a sort of bank holiday air to the. assembly—an accordion player whom she recognised as being one of the men who had taken over duty at the tea urn on the day of the shoot, and a fiddler who was one of the shepherds she had also met on that day. He played his instrument as if he was a part of it. Sue caught a glimpse of his face as they danced past. His expression was rapt, and far away, lost in the rise and fall of the notes he bowed, and an uprush of longing to play with him passed through her, so strongly that it made her miss her step, and brought her partner to an instant halt. 'That was clumsy of me.' In gentlemanly fashion he took the blame on himself, but Sue shook her head. 'It was my fault, I was so intent on listening to the fiddler. He plays beautifully.' She could not know how wistful her words sounded in

the ears of the woodsman, that were attuned to detect the faint, secret rustles of the undergrowth that would escape the ears of other men, nor how much longing was in her face as she turned with Bruce to watch the shepherd with the violin. Their interest broke the spell that bound him, and his eyes returned to his surroundings, lighting up with a smile as he saw them watching him, so that he turned towards them and played, as if he was playing for them. It was a beautiful compliment, and Sue smiled her thanks, complimenting the player in return by remaining motionless and silent until his tune ended, and the slow step of the waltz had turned to a syncopated rhythm that her partner ruefully backed out of. 'I'm not that clever at these catchy steps,' he excused his lack of prowess at the modern dance that swirled about them, and led Sue to the side of the room so that they might both watch in peace. 'He's a fine musician,' Sue said softly, 'he puts his heart into his music.' 'And so do you, from what I hear.' The Highlander's soft voice and his obvious, friendly interest could not offend. 'And will again, it only needs patience.' Duncan came up behind them and took Sue's scarred hand in his, raising it so that it was cradled in his own strong palm. 'The rest will strengthen it, you've not played since you came home to us.' He spoke quite naturally, as if she was one of the family, with the same courteous acceptance that had been extended to her by the others of her acquaintance in the room, an acceptance that when they first came had been accorded to herself and her brother because they were guests of the Laird, but now, she felt, it was because of herself alone, and it gave her a small, warm feeling, a feeling of belonging that she had never had before, accompanied by a corresponding ache because it could not last for long.

'You'll be able to listen to Bruce playing, later on,' Duncan told her, skilfully turning the subject so that it should not spoil her enjoyment of the evening. Duncan had a compassion for people that would benefit the world if it were shared by politicians, Sue felt. 'It didn't know you played the fiddle, Bruce?' She turned to him, quick interest in her eyes that sparked an expression of sympathy in those of the men watching her, but which they were careful not to voice. 'He doesn't, he plays the pipes. He's our piper-in-chief at these gettogethers,' Duncan grinned at the confused forester. 'And he'll make me pay for that by setting a fast pace,' he prophesied jokingly. 'Do you mean there's going to be Highland dancing? Oh good, I hoped there might be, but ...' Sue gestured towards the genteel ballroom variety activating the floor at the moment. 'I saw a display of it once, it was wonderful to watch.' 'You shall watch this, or join in, if you like,' Duncan smiled indulgently. 'It's good exercise,' he recommended it, 'particularly with Bruce doing the piping,' he jibed. 'They only start off with ballroom dancing, just to get them in the mood so to speak,' the forester explained. 'It's after everyone's had supper that they really get going.' A surreptitious glance at her watch told Sue that it was already well past ten o'clock, so Duncan's prophecy of a long night looked .like coming true. 'I wonder anyone's got the energy to walk home afterwards,' she remembered his words in the car.

'It's a fine night,' Bruce said calmly, as if that halved the distance, Sue thought amusedly, her mind flashing back to the various cities in which she had played, and the complaints she had heard from people who had had to walk the length of two bus stops. 'Though it's as well it's tonight, and not further on,' the forester added. Sue took the 'further on' to mean one of the nights during the coining week. The mountain people had an expressive way of saying things that made their most ordinary utterances fascinating to listen to, she thought. 'Oh?' Duncan's eyes flew to the other man's face, keenly interested, and questioning. 'The herds have moved on to our side of the Ben,' Bruce said cryptically. 'Well, I'd best be off,' he smiled at Sue, nodded to Duncan, and left them, and Duncan held out his arms. 'If you're going to have to watch the Scottish dancing, it's a pity to miss the opportunity of joining in now,' he invited smilingly, and swung her on to the floor, and into the old-fashioned waltz that set the men's kilt pleats swinging, and turned the floor into an oblong of swirling colour and movement. Meg and Robert passed them, each partnering someone else, but Sue couldn't see Fiona. She was probably on the floor somewhere behind them, the vivid colour of her dress would pick her out in the crowd. Sure enough a turn of the dance brought a bright cerise spot into view, and as the dancers swayed and parted Fiona and her partner came into full view, and Sue realised with startling clarity what Meg had meant by the women at such gatherings having to be careful of the colours they wore. The man the other girl danced with was in a red plaid, and the colour of Fiona's dress clashed with dreadful discord. It would not have been so bad, Sue felt, if it had been in another material, one that might soften the colour slightly. The dress itself was beautifully made and looked expensive, and on its own it suited its wearer and her personality, but the slight hardness lent to

the colour by the shiny silk material made it unacceptable in the present gathering, though anywhere else the girl would have carried it off well enough, Sue thought. She had that type of aggressive good looks that would carry off most things she chose to wear, her hairstyle and make-up, as well as her dress, would not have looked at all out of place in a nightclub, and Sue had no doubt she graced the floors of those establishments more often than the one at the village hall at Dunbyne. She wondered how the Laird would adjust himself to that kind of entertainment; men who spent their lives in the open rarely cared for the hothouse atmosphere of city entertainment, except on rare occasions, though Duncan looked at home here, she thought; he was obviously enjoying himself. 'What did Bruce mean about the herds moving to our side of the Ben?' She said 'our side' and flushed suddenly, hoping Duncan would think she was just repeating the forester's words, though in fact she had spoken unconsciously, her inclination linking her with her partner's background. 'There's bad weather on the way.' He bent his head over her, speaking quietly, moving with automatic grace to the music. 'The deer always know.' His tone was convinced. 'Does it mean a storm tonight?' Sue did not relish the thought of travelling the high road across the moors in the teeth of a storm during the hours of darkness; it had been ordeal enough in the mist on their first journey to the Castle, and that had been in broad daylight. 'Oh no, it might be a day or two yet,' Duncan assured her comfortably. 'The animals sense in advance what is coming, and move to the part of the hill where they know they'll be most sheltered from the wind and the rain.'

'They can't get away from the mist,' Sue reasoned. 'Mist doesn't bother them,' the Laird responded. 'All the stalkers I've ever known swear the deer can see through it, and I've never seen any evidence to make me disbelieve them,' he said seriously. She glanced up at him quickly, but his eyes and his face were grave, and she could see he was not teasing. It must be good to be so at home in one's environment, she thought, to know the ways of others who shared it, be they furred or feathered, and to lead a life stable enough to learn those ways, though much of it in Duncan's case would probably be inherited knowledge, confirmed and sharpened into life by his own observations, so that it became a part of him. Until they were sent to England to school, she and Robert had never remained in one place long enough to gain more than surface gleanings of knowledge, interesting but insubstantial, and unsatisfying for that reason, Duncan paused, adjusting his steps as the tempo of the music changed, and the M.C. announced a tag dance. She saw him smile at the couple following them, then a cloud of cerise silk twirled beside her, and before she realised what was happening Fiona spun out of the arms of her own partner, took Duncan's hand from about Sue's waist and, as he stopped dancing, disconcerted by the interruption, and Sue dropped her own arms, likewise puzzled, the fair- haired girl slid herself under Duncan's arm, grasped his other hand in her own and propelled him into the circling melee of dancers, and away from where Sue and her own erstwhile partner stood totally at a loss in the middle of the floor. It was a beautifully executed piece of piracy, that for sheer effrontery took Sue's breath away. She could not help admiring the other girl's brazen exploitation of the opportunity given by the tag dance, that nevertheless was hardly meant to remove her from her partner's arms into those of another by her own actions. She evidently believes in equal opportunity for women, thought Sue, amusement struggling with an anger that if she allowed it to get the upper hand would spoil the whole of the rest of the evening.

'Well, I'm...!' Fiona's ex-partner stood looking after the other girl and the Laird, and checked himself just in time, realising that Sue was standing beside him in a like predicament. Instantly he held out his hand and bowed. 'May I?' and he broke into a grin as he met Sue's dimpling look that gave amusement its sway, and ruthlessly thrust down the anger that still simmered underneath, and brought a flush to her cheeks and a spark to her eyes that her new partner evidently found to his liking, for he smiled and hummed lightly to himself, well satisfied with the change, and showing it in a manner flattering enough to sooth Sue's colour back to normal, so that somewhat to her surprise she found herself enjoying the rest of the dance. When it ended her partner hung on to her arm and propelled her towards the supper table, determined not to lose her company. She went with him willingly enough, a cool drink would be more than welcome after the exercise of the dance, until she saw that Fiona was pulling Duncan in the same direction. Sue checked her step, and her partner turned to her with surprise. 'You must have some supper,' he expostulated. 'I promise you it'll not be haggis,' conceding her over-the-Border origin with lifted lips. 'Not too much, then,' she capitulated. After all, she would have to face Duncan and Fiona together some time, it would seem childish to avoid them, however much she might want to. 'It just looked a bit crowded, that's all,' she said lamely. 'And I do like haggis,' she defended herself. 'I've already tasted it twice.' 'Aye, you'd like it well enough if it's from the Castle,' he responded seriously. 'Sara Macintosh is a fine cook, and she knows how to make a haggis. I've often had some o' hers,' he told Sue gravely, as if it were a signal honour to partake of Sara's cooking. 'She's my aunt, so we belong,' he explained. His simple words cut through Sue like a knife, isolating her as the stranger at the gathering, a rootless alien who did not belong. Everyone else seemed to, except herself and

Robert, and since he was of an extrovert nature it didn't seem to bother him. It had not bothered Sue too much before, so why should it suddenly matter now? she wondered. Probably all the. villagers in the room were members of the same clan. No, there were one or two who wore different tartans. Sue's own escort wore a scarlet plaid, that had clashed so badly with Fiona's dress. Glancing round her with new awareness, Sue realised that there were several kilts of different plaids around her, some so close in colouring as to be almost imperceptible from that Duncan wore, but the difference was there, nevertheless. At one time that difference would in itself be a danger to its wearer, she reflected, and probably warrant drawn swords, but here it simply added to the colour of the gathering, and a subtle difference in the speech of the wearer that her ears were becoming alert to, that had, before she came north, thought all Scots accents were alike. 'Are you being looked after, Sue? Have this glass of lemonade, you look hot.' Duncan came towards her through the crowd carrying two glasses, one each for Fiona and himself, she guessed. 'Let's go and sit at the side, do.' Fiona pushed up to him, rudely jostling Sue in the process, and snatching at one of the glasses impatiently. 'It's stifling in here. And a lot too crowded.' She directed a barbed look at Sue, who suddenly wished that Duncan would take himself and the lemonade, and his spiteful partner, over to the wall or anywhere else the girl wished, so long as it removed Sue herself from out of target range. I know just what a pincushion feels like, she told herself ruefully, and stamped again on the anger that simmered inside her. She had managed to subdue it before, the quick movement of the dance helped it to evaporate, as did the cheerful chatter of her companion, but she felt it flare up inside her again, bringing with it the desire for a sharp retort. She bit her lip, vexed at the flush she felt suffuse her face, and fighting down an urge to slap the sneer from the other girl's

carmined lips. Instead she stiffened, and her chin came up, though the angry spark in her eyes betrayed her feelings, at least to the man confronting her, and brought a quick frown to his forehead that she ignored. Let him be vexed with her if he wished; she had done nothing to provoke such uncalled-for rudeness from Fiona, she thought furiously, and if Duncan was so besotted by a head of blonde hair as to blame her for the outbreak of ill-feeling that could be felt like an electric current in the atmosphere, then let him. He would simply have to get over it in his own good time, she decided, forgetting for a moment that he was her host, and it might make the remainder of her stay anything but comfortable if she was not on good terms with him. 'My partner's bringing me some supper in a moment,' she smiled sweetly, her even teeth glinting in the soft lamplight, and her proud line of soldier forebears showing in her quick riposte that scorned to turn away from difficulties, however unpleasant she might find them. 'Here he comes now.' Fortunately she was able to tell the truth, to check Duncan's hesitation so that he drew his arm back with the proffered drink. Sue's lips quirked as he automatically lifted it to his own and lowered the level of the contents, that were in imminent danger of a spill. 'Here it is, Miss Drummond. Evening, sir,' the other man greeted Duncan cheerfully. 'What a scrum!' He presented the tray he carried for Sue's inspection and her eyes widened as she surveyed the contents, which locked substantial to say the least. 'I thought you'd be hungry—I am,' he confided naively. 'Let's find a table and sit down somewhere a bit quieter.' He took her arm, which tilted the tray in his other hand at an alarming angle, and Sue instinctively glanced up at Duncan, tensing herself for the crash. She forgot the safety of the crockery as she met the merriment in the Laird's face, that could only have been sparked off by the dismay in her own as she saw the hearty bannocks that her escort had provided, and wondered how she would find room for even half of one, whatever filling they contained.

'Enjoy your supper!' Duncan's one eye closed in a swift wink, and with a grin he could not suppress he succumbed to Fiona's impatient tugging, and left Sue with her partner and her problem. 'Have another—you're not slimming, surely?' That worthy looked at her slender form with frank admiration. 'No, of course not,' she declared, 'but I had a meal before we came out, and your aunt's cooking is too good to refuse.' She made base capital out of his earlier remark, and pushed the remaining food in his direction, sure of its rapid disappearance, since her partner had been hard at work in the keen air since dawn, a fact that made her marvel at his seemingly inexhaustible energy now. 'You'll shake it down if you're going to join in the Scottish dancing,' she encouraged him. 'Aren't you going to try as well?' he stacked the empty plates preparatory to dropping them on to the trolley propelled by two youths who were impatient for the supper to be over, and what they considered the real dancing of the evening to begin. 'I'd rather sit and watch,' Sue refused hastily. She had no wish to be taught dancing steps in full view of the whole room, and particularly in front of Fiona's critical eye. 'Miss Redman will partner Himself, I expect,' her companion followed her gaze across the room. Did she usually partner Duncan? Sue wondered. It would be only natural if she did, and she stifled the quick pang that the thought gave her as being childishly illogical. 'She's a fine dancer,' her partner added, in a tone that had reservations about Fiona's other characteristics. 'Bruce tells me you're something of an expert.' A quick memory of an earlier remark by the forester served her well. 'I'll enjoy watching you,' she flattened shamelessly, though not without some truth, for she was indeed looking forward to watching the dancing, though

most of all at this moment she looked forward to being on her own for a few moments, so that she might gather her composure before she faced Duncan again, let alone Fiona, and regain her self- control that the other girl's behaviour had so rudely shaken. Bruce had already taken his stand in a corner of the room, and preliminary wheezes from his bagpipes galvanised the chattering crowd into action, including her partner, who was joined by a smiling girl who was evidently as much at home with this type of dancing as he. Duncan and Fiona walked across to join them, their path would bring them close to where Sue sat, and she wished she could push her chair closer against the wall. She felt conspicuous among the few people who were still left seated. Among them were Charles Redman and his wife, but she did not relish the thought of joining them, and steeled herself to smile as the Laird and his partner passed. Fiona was talking. She never seemed to stop when she was with Duncan, and fleetingly Sue wondered how he could stand her highpitched voice, which grated on her own tone-trained ears with an unbearable discord, but then, she admitted honestly, she was prejudiced. Perhaps it sounded attractive to the Laird, though thinking of his own soft, well modulated tones Sue wondered at the tricks that love could play on normally rational people. I'm jealous, she thought, self-scornful, and winced as Fiona's carrying tones reached her ears in what could only be a deliberate attempt to be hurtful. The other girl's look in her direction could not have been by chance, and her remark was clearly intended for Sue's ears as much as for Duncan's. '... better they don't join in, they'd only spoil it for everyone the same as they did on the day of the shoot,' her voice held venom. 'They're outsiders, after all..

CHAPTER EIGHT OUTSIDERS ... Outside the circle of the dance, that closed with arms linked in an unbroken, and seemingly unbreakable line. Outside the professional circle of the orchestra, since for a while at least she could no longer play. And with no home circle into which she could enter, just a flat in the anonymous heart of a large city. Faced baldly, like that, it seemed a bleak description of her life, and a desolation of loneliness shook Sue with such force that it dropped her spirits to zero. The gaiety of the spirited reel being danced in front of her passed her by, and misery blurred the bright, swinging kilts and gay dresses, and made it impossible for her own face to reflect the smiles that adorned those of the dancers. The rhythmic tread of many feet on the wooden floor of the hall set up a beat that throbbed an accompaniment to the music drawn by Bruce from the instrument under his arm, and made her head throb in unison, so that she would have liked to creep away, out into the coolness of the night air, and away from this crowded place that had become stuffy with activity, but the movements of the dancers swayed them now to the centre of the room, now to the sides, so that she could not leave her chair without the risk of getting in their way. The tempo of the forester's playing changed, and among each circle of dancers one couple took the floor, the others simply sitting down where they were, making a colourful rosette round the two who were still upright. Sue's hungry young partner and his lady danced in the one circle, and Duncan and Fiona in the other nearest to Sue, and despite the heaviness of her heart her interest quickened as her attention was forced on the couple's performance. The Laird was a past master at the art, each step a controlled movement of his lithe body that kept easy time to Bruce's cracking pace on the pipes— Duncan said he would make him pay by setting a fast speed, thought Sue with a smile she didn't think she possessed—and Fiona kept time

with him, easily, carelessly, spinning to his hand, now near him, now away, her steps first repelling his advance, then inviting, her expression changing with the unconscious mime of a born actress playing a part and living it at the same time, knowing her performance to be good, and revelling in the plaudits that it brought her. She was a wonderful dancer. Forgetful of her personality, and everything about the other girl that she so heartily disliked, Sue had to concede that. She brought to the dance all that it required, and something more—something that, somehow, did not belong to the wild pipe music, and the small Highland village where the simple grey stone hall stood. Fiona danced with a more subtle meaning to her steps that reminded Sue of the dancers of the exotic southern countries where she had played with the orchestra, whose swaying bodies both taunted and tempted, rejecting one moment and enticing the next, with a flaunting, wanton grace that brought a murmur from the crowd about them, and reminded Sue suddenly, sickeningly, of the stoat she had watched on the hillside, dancing to attract its victim, to mesmerise it into ignoring its danger, before the little killer struck and claimed its prey. The dance of death, Duncan had called it. And in its way, so was this, for as she watched Fiona dance, and Duncan respond, her heart died a little inside her, retaining yet sufficient life so that it could still ache, with a fierce, hopeless yearning that must remain unfulfilled, and that somehow she must hide from those about her, particularly from Duncan and Fiona, for to reveal her secret, especially to them, would only make it doubly hard to bear. 'Fiona can certainly dance.' Robert spoke from by her side, breaking in on her thoughts, and with reluctant admiration tinging his voice, because he, too, disliked the girl, and with young tactlessness had said so openly to Sue, who promptly scolded him into silence for fear he should repeat his words in front of the Laird, and so cause mortal offence. She did not fear him repeating them in front of Meg, who would check the boy as she did her own son if she thought it necessary, and who, Sue sensed, shared his feelings in this respect.

A spontaneous burst of clapping signalled the end of the dance, and the circles of seated figures rose, claiming the breathless pairs back into their ranks so that soon they were lost in the intricacies of a new formation, and only the bright colour of Fiona's dress marked her as apart from the rest, showing like a warning flag, Sue thought, and wished she had heeded her own instinct of caution before it was too late, and she had become ensnared in an intensity of feeling from which she could never now escape. Once more the notes of the bagpipes changed, but this time they struck Sue's ear with a familiar tune, as a warning preliminary to the end of the evening. 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot...' The circles of dancers split and formed into one large one, widening out and gathering into their midst those who sat on the sidelines watching, so that they, too, became one with the others to round off the evening. 'Come and join us. This is one you mustn't sit out.' Duncan and the woman on his other side dropped arms and laughingly claimed Sue and Robert as extra links in the long chain. The movement temporarily separated Duncan and Fiona, and before the fair-haired girl could link back again with the Laird, another couple slipped into the gap, happily unconscious of the venomous look she flashed in their direction. Or not caring, Sue guessed with a quick flash of insight, for the man was the partner whom Fiona had deserted earlier, and the impish grin on his face could have been justifiable retaliation, she thought amusedly. 'And never brought to mind...' She had played the simple tune herself so often, knew every note, and the exact fingering it required; could feel in retrospect the throbbing strings beneath her own sensitive touch, as the shepherd fiddler who had joined the piper for this one last tune must feel them now,

making an end to the evening as she had helped to make an end to so many when the orchestra played for others to dance, but never before had it sounded so poignant a note as it did tonight, perhaps because beforehand the tune had only reached her mind, whereas now the notes, and the message they brought, spoke straight to her heart, and brought it scant comfort. The air struck chill, and the stars were paling when they collected their wraps in the chattering, jostling crowd that somehow the postmistress managed to sort out into what belonged to whom, and send them on their way with not so much as a shoelace missing, and leave her rewarded with a goodly supply of gossip with which to enliven her customers for the whole of the coming week. 'Come on,' Sue hurried her brother after her, 'Duncan will come when he's ready,' for Robert looked round as if he would wait for the Laird, and Sue thought their host might desire a moment or two alone with Fiona before they all went home. 'Meg's got her car key, we can wait for him there.' 'Don't bother, I've already got mine out.' Duncan's hand reached for the car door, his key at the ready, and Sue jumped as his voice seemed to sound less than an inch from her ear. 'Did I startle you? Sorry,' he looked surprised. 'I thought you realised I was just behind you,' he smiled an apology. 'You dropped your glove.' He proffered the silk accessory that Sue had not realised was missing, and she tucked it in her hand with its fellow with a murmur of thanks, not wanting to look at him, not wanting to meet his glance. She had spoiled things for him again, she thought wretchedly, her unhappiness ignoring the fact that the ruined shoot was not her fault. Rather than let her wonder where her glove had got to, and possibly waste time looking for it, he had brought it to her with that courteous consideration that was so typical of him, and so had lost the opportunity of saying goodnight to Fiona in reasonable privacy. The

Redmans' car was parked a short distance from their own, and Duncan raised his hand in farewell as they opened their doors and got in. Charles Redman and his wife responded, but Fiona had her back turned to him arid did not look round, although Sue saw her mother touch her arm and gesture, speaking to her as if she was drawing her daughter's attention to the Laird's wave. Fiona shrugged her mother's hand away impatiently and snatched the car door open. With a quick flounce she dropped into the driving seat, and Sue's heart sank. Now I've annoyed her again, she realised wretchedly, and the thought gave her no pleasure. She loved Duncan too much to want to make things difficult for him. She knew, now, about the love that was strong enough to let another go free, and knew, too, the pain that freedom cost. 'Tired?' The road straightened out of the village, leaving the last of the grey stone cottages behind, rising clear and empty before them, for no one but Bruce the forester lived on the side of the hill that sheltered Castle Blair and the loch, so that Duncan relaxed behind the wheel, the only hazard that was likely to appear before them on the unfenced road being a stray sheep, and at that time of the night—or rather morning—the woolly occupants of the fells were uninterested in the grazing that normally made them wander. 'No, just thinking.' She could not tell him what she was thinking of. 'Couldn't we have given Bruce a lift half way back?' Meg spoke up from the back seat. 'He's walking, I know, he said he'd left his Land Rover at home.' 'No, he's staying the weekend at the Interlauchie Arms,' replied Duncan. 'His brother-in-law's the licensee,' he explained for Sue's benefit. 'If he's in the village late he often makes a night of it to save

himself the walk over the hill in the dark, since he's got older.' The forester must be nearing sixty, some of his reminiscences had told her that, though his strength and energy would not disgrace a man in his prime. 'Is everyone related to everyone else, hereabouts?' Sue roused herself to ask. 'The man I was dancing with said Sara Macintosh was his aunt.' 'Who, the partner Fiona discarded?' asked Meg drily. 'Yes, he's Sara's nephew.' So Meg had seen Fiona's action, too. In the darkness of the car Sue's cheeks burned, though whether from indignation at the predicament the other girl had put her in— though to be sure she had been nobly rescued by her next partner; they had in fact rescued one another, she reflected, dimpling—or shame that the other girl should make such a brazen play in front of a whole roomful of people, she could not tell. 'He recommended Sara's cooking, particularly her haggis.' She was not particularly interested in the likes and dislikes of Sara's nephew, but she felt she ought to make some contribution to the conversation, as neither Duncan nor Meg seemed in the least bit tired. While she had been dancing with Duncan, neither had she, she thought drearily. 'Sara's haggis is famous, locally,' Duncan boasted with open pride. 'Why not take her nephew some?' Meg suggested. 'I know Sara made an extra one, to use up the ingredients.' 'I'm going into Dunbyne to see Bruce first thing on Monday morning, before he sets off for home. Why not come with me, and deliver it yourself?' Duncan invited his sister. 'I'm going to take some more fencing, the first lot Sue and I took didn't quite finish the job, then I can run Bruce back home at the same time.'

'I'll do that,' Meg agreed, but when the time came to get ready she thrust the parcelled gift she had made up into Sue's hand with a bright smile that told her companions that the telephone call which had greeted their arrival downstairs that morning had contained the best of good news. 'Andrew's on his way home. Oh, Sue, I'm so happy!' She caught Sue about the waist and executed an excited jig across the floor, loosing her to grab Sandy who appeared through the door in search of his breakfast. 'Daddy's on his way!' She hugged her son, who instantly galvanised into action as the import of his mother's news penetrated. 'When? How soon? Is he here now?' He struggled free, ready to fly to his father's side. 'No, and he forgot to say the time of the train he was coming on,' Meg wailed. 'How like Andrew!,' She laughed happily. 'They've just phoned the telegram through from the Post Office in the village,' she explained unnecessarily. 'I'll go 'n tell Sara.' Sandy did a jig of his own, then took off on winged heels, his breakfast forgotten. 'Sara! Callum!' He disappeared, unrebuked at his intrusion into the kitchen quarters, in his excitement forgetting to knock on the door that separated them from the main part of the house, and wait for Sara's expected call to come in. His voice faded as the door slammed shut behind him, and the Laird smiled at Sue. 'That looks as if you've got to deputise for Meg,' he told her. 'She'll never leave the house until she knows what train Andrew's going to arrive on,' he prophesied, and his sister nodded gay confirmation. 'I won't budge an inch,' she confirmed cheerfully.

'Well, I'm sure Sue won't mind carrying your haggis as far as the village,' Duncan said, with a surety that nettled Sue slightly, but she could hardly back out of the outing in the circumstances. She did not want to be alone with Duncan again if she could help it; even the thought of it had become unbearably painful to her. She had managed to avoid it during the weekend, pleading tiredness after the dance to save herself from another walk on the hill with the Laird, and the whole party, lethargic themselves, had lounged in deckchairs on the lawn beside the water during Sunday afternoon. 'Robert?' She turned to her brother, hoping desperately that he might say he could come, and so make it a threesome, but he shook his head, not comprehending the silent plea her eyes sent him. 'I've promised to help Callum mend that cracked oar,' he refused. 'The length makes it awkward for one to handle,' he excused himself. 'And it's no good asking Sandy.' Duncan caught the boy to him as he skipped back into the room, springs in his heels at the thought of having two parents with him again instead of only one. 'Sit down and have your porridge,' he insisted, stilling his wriggling protest. 'I don't want your father accusing me of starving you,' he teased him into starting on a steaming bowl of Sara's best oatmeal, and filled a similar one for Meg. 'Set him an example,' he instructed, and hesitated as he caught sight of Sue with a cup of coffee in her hand, and nothing in front of her but an empty plate. 'Andrew won't be very flattered to know his arrival has taken everyone's appetite away,' he goaded her gently. 'Sara will expect us to present her haggis intact, she won't like us if we get so hungry we attack it on the way.' His teasing took effect, and Sue reached reluctantly for the toast rack, nibbling at first with a dry throat, and a palpitating heart at the prospect of the ride to the village with Duncan. To be so close to him, and yet so far away ... Unexpectedly, the food helped to settle her down, and she gained a nod of approval from her host as she helped

herself liberally to honey and started on another piece of toast with regained appetite. 'I was just hungry,' she told herself with relief, knowing it to be self-deception, but using it nevertheless as a barrier to her real feelings, an excuse— any excuse—that would serve to bring her confidence back, and at least a semblance of outward calm to carry her through the remainder of her stay at Castle Blair. That need not be long, now. The thought was both relief and pain. Andrew was on his way back to collect Meg and Sandy, and with his arrival her reason for remaining in Scotland to keep Meg company would be gone. 'There, I think that's the lot.' Duncan surveyed the loaded Land Rover. 'Two rolls of wire, and a few fence posts. Bruce is all right for staples.' He ticked off his list of the necessary ingredients of a fence stout enough to deter deer. 'The posts are only spares, but he can always do with one or two extras in stock.' He talked on, taking Sue's interest for granted, an assumption that was unwittingly hurtful in itself. To help him to run his estate would absorb her interest as it did his own, she knew, the small homely everyday things like extra fencing posts and wire for the forester weaving a pattern into the days that would be both richly colourful and warmly human. 'Ready?' he inquired, and at her nod he pulled the door of the vehicle wide, and before she realised what he was about to do he put his two hands about her waist and swung her easily into the passenger seat, much the same as she had seen him do with Sandy. 'It saves kicking the step down,' he grinned at her heightened colour, but before she had time to comment he slammed the door shut and disappeared. She heard him fumbling at the back of the vehicle, and turned to see him checking the knots of the rope that held his load safely. 'Duncan!' Meg's voice called from the house, and the Laird turned and strode to meet his sister across the gravel drive. Perhaps Meg had had another phone call from Andrew. Maybe his train wasn't coming until this evening, or even tomorrow morning. Perhaps Meg was able

to come along to the village after all, and save her from being alone with Duncan, thought Sue, hope and disappointment struggling for mastery until her head reeled. 'You'd forgotten the haggis,' Duncan climbed into the driving seat beside her, waved a hand out of the open window to Meg and Sandy waving back from the house step, and tossed the parcel that Sue had not given a second thought to on to her lap. 'How silly,' she scolded herself vexedly, 'it's the whole point of my coming with you.' Without the haggis there would have been no need for her to come at all. In fact, why was she coming? she wondered, suddenly. Meg had said she would take the haggis, but Duncan could equally well have done so himself. Perhaps he intended to have a talk with Bruce and wanted his time for that, but without a passenger in the cab surely he would have had more room for the forester himself, and been able to talk on the journey. He did say he intended to take Bruce back home afterwards, she remembered. She sighed, suddenly. It looked like being a long, difficult morning, and for once she did not feel like coping. Depression struck her, that familiar, grey feeling that during the months she had been unable to play with the orchestra had been a daily companion, unwelcomed and kept sternly in check, but having its way now with a force she felt unable to fight against. 'Not the whole point of your coming along, surely?' Duncan's voice was light, but there was an underlying query in it that roused Sue, as she realised that her remark might have been interpreted as a slight to her companion. 'I thought you might enjoy the ride...' His voice was just slightly hesitant, and he stopped as if he might, in other circumstances—or with a different companion, she thought drearily—have added "and the company", but forbore, with Sue beside him instead of Fiona. 'You don't seem to mind the isolation,' he waved an expressive hand at the open moor ahead of them, and his tone was that of someone stating a fact rather than of someone asking a question. And to Sue's sensitive ears it held another note, that

almost sounded like satisfaction, she thought, though it could not be that, for what satisfaction could he get from Sue liking his home country? Except, of course, she reasoned, the satisfaction of a good host—and he was a host par excellence—knowing that his guest had enjoyed her stay among scenery of which he was both fond and proud in about equal proportions. 'You can be lonely among people,' she pointed out. Lonelier, perhaps, than among these wild hills where there were very few. Lonely even among her fellow players, with whom she had music in common, and found outside working hours that that was not enough. Or was it only since she had found this strange oneness with Duncan, even before she realised that she loved him, that she had felt this lack in her previous life? It had never troubled her before. 'I know,' he replied quietly, as if he too had felt this aloneness among people, she realised with a flash of insight, keen where her companion was concerned, so that he did not need to explain his words. 'But when people are used to having others around them for most of their day, they rarely settle to this kind of life.' Again he gestured towards the bare hill slopes. 'Happily, there are exceptions,' he smiled, and lapsed into silence as a huddle of sheep suddenly decided that the grazing was sweeter on the other side of the road, and scattered in front of them in woolly confusion, so that they had to draw to a halt until the last one decided to follow its fellows and leave the road clear for the purpose it was intended. Fiona would be the exception, of course. Although she had a purpose in view, Sue thought hardly. The Redmans had money, more than was good for them. The little Sue had seen of their home breathed luxury that verged on the vulgar, and it was obvious that both the parents and the daughter desired to add a title to their fortune, and thus ensure Fiona at least a background which at the moment she sadly lacked. Sue found it difficult to respond to Duncan's comment with any degree of enthusiasm, and lapsed into a silence that

mercifully their near approach to the village, and the extra care it required in negotiating the bends in the road for fear they might meet someone walking on the blind side of the bend prevented Duncan from noticing, or commenting upon if he did. He glanced at her once, inquiringly, and she tensed, wondering what he was about to say, but a straying mongrel brought his attention back to his driving, and then they were across the bridge that spanned the local fiver, and running between grey stone cottages, with the jutting end of the sign that marked the Interlauchie Arms sticking out at the corner of the street. 'There seems a lot of people...' Sue gazed through the windscreen curiously. There were more people in the main street than she had seen in Dunbyne during the whole of her stay except for the ceilidh on Saturday night. 'It can't be a fight,' Duncan discounted the obvious. 'The Arms are closed on Sundays,' he added in a philosophical tone that at any other time might have made Sue smile, but now she was not conscious of any feeling of humour, only of a tension in the man beside her that communicated itself to her, so that she tensed too, sensing trouble, but not knowing what it might be. 'It's that stag.' A village ancient removed his pipe long enough to enlighten the Laird as he braked to a halt and jumped to the ground, and lifted Sue down with the same easy indifference with which he had lifted her up. His attention was on the old man confronting them, so that he left his hands spanning her waist, supporting her close against him while they both waited with bated breath to hear what the commotion was about. 'He's been after the postmaster's garden stuff again,' the old man commented laconically. 'An' this time he's come unstuck.' His voice lifted with glee. 'He's got his antlers stuck in some of that new fencing you sent down to stop him. Dougal hadna quite finished putting it all round the garden, an' the beastie came in over the open bit,' he chortled. 'The postmistress saw him jump and sent the dustbin lid after him,' he grinned, 'an' the clatter flummoxed him

so that he couldna' find his way out again. He tried ramming the new fence, and now he's stuck.' He jammed his pipe back into his mouth and stumped off to watch the excitement, and Duncan moved quickly to the back of the vehicle. 'Come on, let's go.' He grabbed Sue's arm, his other hand carrying a cod of stout rope. 'We'd better get that animal out of here before someone's hurt.' He strode forward, pulling Sue along with him. 'Won't the postmaster ...' began Sue breathlessly. 'He can't help, he's only got one arm,' Duncan responded briefly. 'Leave the haggis with the old man.' He tossed the parcel to their informant, explaining its destination, as Sue regarded the gift uncertainly. 'What's to do, Mistress Mackay?' he called out to the woman Sue had last seen at the village hall in charge of the discarded coats of those who had come to dance, and who now stood just inside her garden gate bewailing to an interested crowd the untimely fate of her garden crops. 'It's yon beast again,' her high-pitched voice answered the Laird across the heads of the others as he and Sue shouldered their way through. She waved the kitchen utensil in her hand towards the partly finished high wire fence that nearly surrounded her patch of garden at the back of the Post Office. 'He came after our winter greens, but he didna get a chance to eat any this time. Though he's trampled enough into the ground trying to free hisself,' she added bitterly, with another wave of the blackened frying pan in her hand, with which she looked, as if she was about to belabour the large stag that had got its antlers well and truly entangled in the wire mesh of the finished part of the fence. 'I've a mind to give it a good beating,' she confirmed Sue's guess, 'but my man says to let it stay quiet until Bruce gets back.' Sue peered from behind Duncan's shoulder to get a closer look at the cause of the commotion. It was a fine- looking animal, large and well

built, and obviously strong, for its struggles to free itself from the entanglement about its head had bent the stout fence in every direction. 'Best do as Bruce says, it's quiet for the moment anyway,' Duncan confirmed. 'Though it's probably only getting its breath back,' he prophesied. 'Where is Bruce?' he inquired of the irate gardener. 'Gone to get a rope and a pair of wire cutters,' the one- armed husband of the postmistress cut across his wife's maledictions. He was an elderly man with a placid face, who took the raid on his garden produce more calmly than his spouse. 'I'd make venison of him if it wasn't so near the rut!' that good lady fumed, unappeased. 'And risk getting bitter meat? Your venison pies are too good for that.' Duncan hastily poured oil and gained a gratified smirk for his pains. 'Wait for the roe deer drive in December, we'll see you get something special to make up for the damage,' he promised, and to Sue's relief the mollified woman lowered the frying pan and obeyed her husband's injunction to 'leave well alone, Himself will see to it now he's come.' 'We'll finish your fence afterwards, before we do anything else,' Bruce added his promise as he joined them, carrying a similar coil of rope in one hand and a useful- looking tool in the other that Sue took to be the wire cutters. 'Callum wouldn't want the beast harmed,' he said in a quiet aside to the Laird and Sue. 'That stag's in his prime, and fighting fit.' He eyed the badly mauled fence with some awe. 'He'll sire some fine calves this autumn if he's set free,' he said practically. 'An' it's too close to the rut for him to make good meat,' he raised his voice so that the last sentence would be overheard by the postmistress, who was still wondering aloud why the forester had

not brought a gun instead of wire-cutters, and so put an end finally to the creature's thieving habits. 'We'll take him from behind and rope him, then we can cut the wire away and set him free,' Duncan suggested a plan of campaign. 'After the fright he's had,' he grinned slyly at the frying pan still gesticulating in its owner's hand, 'he should keep away from the gardens for a week or two, and by that time he'll be too busy rounding up his harem of hinds to have his mind on anything else. Stay here, Sue,' he bade her. 'There's bound to be a bit of a tussle for a minute or two.' He eyed the animal thoughtfully. 'He's got quite a bit of fight left in him yet...' 'Duncan,' she caught at his arm, unable to control her impulsive gesture, not really wanting to, for she felt suddenly afraid. 'What is it?' His voice was abstracted, his eyes, like those of the forester, sizing up their adversary. 'Nothing.' She dropped her hand. 'Take care,' she urged, as he stepped away from her side towards the narrow garden path. To her frightened eyes the stag seemed to grow as she looked at it. Its muscled shoulders spoke of enormous strength, and the slender, sharp hooves warned of painful injury to the unwary. Seeing the men approach it turned wild eyes in their direction, and renewed its struggles to break free, its frenzy bending the fence as if it was no more than a net curtain, yet miraculously the wire still held. 'I wish the fence would break.' Sue had not realised she spoke aloud, but Duncan heard her and turned. 'If it broke free, and took part of the fence away on its antlers, we should have to stalk it and set it free,' he reasoned quietly. 'Don't worry,' he urged. 'There's more danger from Mistress Mackay's frying pan,' he confided in a whisper, his black eyes suddenly

twinkling so that her face lightened, her fear lifting at his calm assurance, and some of his own confidence transmitting itself to her as his hand pressed her shoulder briefly, comfortingly, before he turned and strode after Bruce along the crazy paving path. The reason for Duncan's easy confidence soon became apparent. Ignoring the frantic threshing which the stag set up at their approach, they calmly roped its kicking legs with an ease which Sue would not have believed possible, and quietened its tossing head in a similar manner. As soon as it was reasonably still Bruce brought the wire-cutters into play, and in minutes the animal's head was free of all except the restraining ropes. It immediately began a series of bucks that took all the strength of the two men to hold it quiet. 'Clear the gate!' Duncan called, his voice commanding, and the crowd who were pressed against it scattered out of the way. 'Herd him towards the open and let him go,' the Laird panted, straining hard on the rope to keep the fight- ting animal from rolling itself and its captors across the rest of the cabbage patch. 'A couple more yards ...' he encouraged the forester. 'Keep away, Mistress Mackay!' Bruce shouted a warning to the postmistress as he made to slip the loop from about the stag's head. Sensing a clear space ahead of it, for the crowd had sensibly put themselves well out of reach of the expected stampede, the frenzied animal redoubled its efforts, and the angry postmistress, seeing the culprit about to escape scot-free, ran forward with frying pan raised, and despite urgent shouts from the two men she gave it a resounding slap with her utensil to speed it on its way. The stag gave one final buck at the blow on its flank, and with a terrified snort it tossed Bruce's rope aside and fled for the freedom of the hill with a clatter of hooves that did not quite drown the forester's cry of dismay. Sue saw him flinch away as the stag's antler caught his hand and drew blood that was already staining his handkerchief.

'Eh, Bruce, I'll never forgive meself!' The postmistress dropped her frying pan and ran to the man's side. 'Get the doctor, quick!' she called to her husband, who immediately turned to go into the house to the telephone. 'I'll take him down there myself.' The Laird had his hand on the forester's arm, a look of concern equal to that of the postmistress clouding his face. 'Come on, Sue, quickly!' He urged her out of the gate and into the Land Rover. 'Is it much?' Sue had had first aid experience, and plenty of occasion to use it during her travels. 'Let me see.' She lifted the handkerchief off the back of Bruce's hand, and relaxed with relief as she saw that the cut, though deep, was not severe, and did not appear to have severed a vein. 'It'll perhaps need a stitch.' She glanced up at her companions as she spoke, and wondered at the tension she saw in both their faces, as well as at the pace Duncan drove, which was at twice his usual take-off speed. 'Mistress Mackay must have telephoned.' Duncan gestured ahead to where a man stepped out of the doorway of a big square-built house that stood on its own in front of them, and waved his arm in an invitation to follow him inside. Duncan pulled to a halt outside the open door, and Sue saw a doctor's nameplate affixed to the middle of it. 'I'll wait here,' Duncan called as the forester disappeared inside. 'We can take him back to the Interlauchie Arms afterwards,' he told Sue. 'I thought we were taking him home?' She voiced her surprise. 'You brought the fencing ready for him.' 'I'll go up the hill and finish that off for him,' Duncan answered her quietly. 'Bruce will be better staying down here for a day or two where he's in easy reach of the doctor if necessary. He can mend the

Post Office fence if he wants occupation,' he smiled. 'I'd not feel easy if he went on the hill for a few days after this—he lives on his own,' he said, as if he expected her to understand, and Sue's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. 'It didn't seem a very bad cut,' she began. 'It was deep, certainly, but...' 'You've never heard of deerhorn poisoning?' Duncan asked her, and she shook her head. 'It's deadly,' he said seriously. 'No matter how slight the wound is, if it's caused by an antler it's dangerous. Fortunately there's an antidote nowadays.' His tone sent a cold shiver down her spine, and what she had considered unnecessary fuss by the postmistress took on a new and sinister significance. 'Do you think he'll be all right?' The words stuck in her throat, and she paused as the forester reappeared at the door in front of them, a white bandage stark about his brown hand. 'There's no reason why he shouldn't be, but it's best not to take any risks,' Duncan answered her cheerfully. 'Would you like a lift back, or would you rather walk?' He grinned out of the window as Bruce walked towards them stiffly, rubbing a rueful hand along his cords. 'I'd rather walk,' he grinned back sheepishly, still feeling the force of the injection he had just received. 'You'll stay at the Arms for a day or two,' Duncan told him, and he nodded, accepting the necessity without argument. 'I'll finish the Post Office fence, it'll keep me occupied,' he planned to fill the hours of unaccustomed idleness.

'And we'll go up and finish your fence on the hill,' Duncan promised. 'There's only the wire to see to, you said you'd put the posts up before you came down on Saturday.' 'It's difficult to think that anything so beautiful can be so treacherous.' Sue spoke half to herself, watching Duncan busy with staples and hammer, not really expecting a response, but he straightened, laying aside his tool, and stilling the echoes that his hammering had sent across the hill. 'First the stoat—that was beautiful,' she remembered. 'Then the stag...' Her voice trailed off, but she knew that her companion would follow her reasoning, she had no need to explain the trend of her thoughts to him. 'Pure beauty often is. Treacherous, I mean,' Duncan responded quietly. He leaned back against the post he had just finished hammering, his eyes roving across the slopes in front of them, blurred now by a faint haze that in the distance, on the slopes of Ben Rhu, was starred by a cluster of tiny rainbows. 'Look,' she pointed, and he nodded. 'They're deer,' he told her. 'You remember Bruce said they'd come on this side of the hill, because there was poor weather on the way. It must be raining on the Ben,' he explained. 'The deer shake themselves like dogs to get rid of the water from their coats. You've seen Points do it often enough. And if the sun happens to strike the spray they cause you to get a mini-rainbow. That's treacherous, too,' his expression was enigmatic. 'It means poor visibility on the hill. There'll be mist in the gullies before long,' he prophesied, 'but at least if you know the signs it gives you some warning,' he smiled, resuming his task that made the hillside ring with the sound of his blows. Sue kept her eyes on the tiny rainbows that died and recurred as if there might be a small herd of deer on the slopes. Not all beauty gave

such a warning, she thought. Fiona's kittenish attraction, for instance, was something that only another woman might see through, and of what use was that when it was the Laird she had set out to snare?

CHAPTER NINE 1 THINK it's time we went, the weather seems to be travelling our way.' Duncan gave the wire staple one last determined bang with the hammer and collected his tools together, and Sue roused herself with a start from the mossy log where she had sat apart, waiting for him to finish, and yet not wanting to remain close to him. 'You can't see the slopes of the Ben any more,' she realised, surprised. Where the tiny rainbows had shown up so clearly not an hour ago was now a grey blankness, and tendrils of mist like wisps of white tulle floated across the valley towards them. 'Bruce was correct in his forecast.' 'He usually is,' Duncan replied briefly. 'We'll just put the last of the posts in his shed before we go, he'll find them there when he gets back home at the end of the week.' He unloaded the Land Rover of the remaining wood. 'You needn't carry them if you don't want to.' He gave Sue the opportunity of leaving the work to him, but she shook her head, bending to pick up two, then finding them too heavy, she left the one on the ground and followed the Laird with the other towards the wooden shed at the back of the forester's home. 'Aren't you going to lock it?' she reminded him as he turned aside after stacking the last post. 'What for?' he looked surprised. 'No one would steal from here, if they needed the wood for any purpose they'd replace it later,' he said simply, with an unselfconscious trust in human nature that Sue envied, although she knew that with Duncan it came from long knowledge of his own people, and not from naivete. 'We'll just about beat the - mist home.' He turned to help her into the Land Rover, but this time she forestalled his move and swung herself up quickly,

sharing his urgency to be on the road, although she did not feel nervous with Duncan at the wheel, as she had on their first journey to the Castle; it seemed a lifetime ago now, although it was merely a few weeks. She felt herself to be immeasurably older, her heart committed for the first— and the last—time, so that she could never really be free again. 'We'll have to go slowly.' As they turned towards the Ben they ran into rain, the first faint spatters on the windscreen quickly became a steady wash, that in its turn changed to a white cottonwool wall that brought the visibility down to a few yards. 'It isn't too bad,' her companion said philosophically, 'we'll be back at home before it gets thick, with any luck.' 'I hope Robert and Callum haven't decided to try out their oar on the loch,' Sue worried, suddenly remembering what the two had intended to do with their morning. 'They'll be ashore by now if they did go out in the boat,' Duncan retorted, with such sureness in his voice that Sue forgot her concern. He always turned out to be right, so why not this time? She sat back against the cushions of the seat, thankful she was not behind the wheel, with the responsibility of returning them both intact, although Duncan drove with the confidence of knowing every inch of the road, which in itself took much of the strain of the journey from his passenger. 'They're ashore—look, there's the boat.' She drew his attention to where it was beached against the grass as they pulled to a halt on the drive outside the house. 'There's someone else ashore too, by the look of it,' Duncan pointed to a strange car pulled up outside the front door. 'What's the betting Andrew got as far as Glasgow, and was too impatient to wait for his connection? Let's go and find out.' He took Sue's hand as he jumped

to the ground, boyishly eager to see the long-awaited absentee, and Sue ran with him, relief that they were safely back lending a lightness to her feet. She hindered him going up the front steps, he took the first lot two at a time and then she stumbled, unable to keep up with him, and he turned, instantly contrite. 'I've rushed you off your feet. I'm sorry,' he apologised, catching her to him. 'Stand still a minute, you're right out of breath,' he said remorsefully. 'I'm fine, let's go in.' It was exquisite agony being held by him, but it was agony nevertheless, and she pressed away from him, sensing that he looked at her strangely, but unable to heed anything but the need to free herself from his arms, although he retained his hold on her hand, intent on helping her up the remaining steps, probably to make up for the speed with which he had unwittingly dragged her up the first few. 'Wait a minute ... Listen!' He checked her flight, his head to one side, his dark eyes intent on the mist that blocked his vision, so that once again Sue was reminded of the hunter, seeking information from the very air about him, his body tensed to receive whatever message it might bring. 'Can you hear it?' 'No ... yes,' she changed her mind as a faint hum came to her ears. 'It sounds like an engine, or...' She stopped as the sound did, and tensed with him as it came again, a staccato splutter that ran unevenly for a minute or two, then died again. 'It sounds like a motor boat, or...' 'It's a plane,' Duncan said shortly. 'And it's in trouble,' he added. 'It's probably Charles Redman piloting the thing. After what I told him on Saturday about bad weather coming ... I warned him not to risk taking the plane up himself.' There was an underlying note of impatient anger in his voice. 'The man he employed was different, he was an experienced flyer and knew what he was doing if the weather turned against him, but Charles is only an amateur.'

'It's going again, it sounds closer.' She strained to hear the labouring beat of the engine that even to her unmechanical ears sounded as if it only just managed to keep going. 'It's difficult to know where it's coming from.' The thickening mist muffled the sound, dispersing it so that one moment it seemed all about them, and the next it localised itself, first on one side, then on the other. 'That's because the echo is bouncing back from the hills,' Duncan explained, his face lifted towards Ben Rhu that lay invisible beneath its blanket of mist. 'He's coming across the side of the Ben. Do you remember the valley that lay below the rievers' road?' She nodded silently. 'There's a gap in the hills that makes an opening wide enough for a plane in normal circumstances, and it gives on to the valley you saw when we walked up there the other Sunday,' he reminded her. .'That's where the skeletons of the deer were,' she remembered, shuddering. 'That's the one. His pilot often used it as a quick run in to the landing strip he's got on the other side of the village, but in this weather even he used the long way round. Charles is a fool,' his voice was suddenly savage. 'I hope he hasn't got any passengers with him.' There was strain in his voice, and Sue tightened her grip on his hand sympathetically. Fiona often travelled with her father to the city, she knew, and Duncan's fear was understandable in the circumstances. 'It's stopped again.' The engine spluttered and coughed, and died out with a finality that was unmistakable. Duncan's hand clamped hard on Sue's fingers, but she did not try to free them, listening with bated breath for the sound of the engine to tell her that her fears were unfounded. 'He's down.' A faint thud that reached their ears more as a shock wave through the mist rather than as an identifiable sound galvanised

Duncan into action, and he half dragged, half lifted Sue up the rest of the steps, and with one quick wrench thrust the door open and ran towards the drawing room where there was a telephone extension. 'Duncan!' A tall, bronzed man rose quickly from his chair as they burst into the room, a smile on his face, and his hand outstretched. 'Andrew,' Duncan gripped it briefly. 'We'll talk later,' he explained quickly. 'Charles Redman's plane has just crash- landed on the side of the Ben.' His voice was terse. 'I didn't hear...' Meg rose quickly from beside the fire. 'You wouldn't, in here, the walls are too thick. His engine passed out on him half way along the valley that runs below the rievers' road,' he threw the explanation over his shoulder, his finger already running round the dial of the telephone. 'Mistress Mackay? Warn the rescue team.' He gave a quick explanation that Meg and her husband waited briefly to hear, before disappearing in the direction of the hall where what they called their hill clothes resided—boots, anoraks, and a couple of rucksacks with a red cross on each indicating that they contained first aid equipment. Andrew must have had a supply of his own clothing there, for in minutes they were both back, struggling hastily with bootlaces and zippers, with Robert and Callum beside them, likewise attired. 'I'll come too. I can help.' Sandy made a dive for the door, and his father caught him in mid-stride. 'We'll want your help here. Whatever you do, stay by the phone and don't budge. When the rescue team come, they'll come here first. Listen carefully, and tell them exactly which way we've gone,' he stilled the boy's protests.

'We'll do it this way.' Duncan joined him. It was obvious that Andrew knew the surrounding terrain as well as the Laird, and the two men mapped out their plan. 'Sue, you come with me, we'll take one side of the valley. Robert, go with Andrew, and take the other. I reckon he's hit the slopes about midway along, but which side of the valley it was impossible to tell. Meg, you and Callum take the valley floor—it's best not to climb in case your ankle gives way, we don't want another casualty,' he told his sister sensibly. 'Now, Sandy, we rely on you back here at base. Keep Don with you,' he indicated the gun-dog, watching with eyes that Sue felt sure comprehended what was going on as well as they did. 'Send him on with the team, he'll home straight to me,' he said confidently. He spoke to the boy, but his eyes were on Sara's face, and she nodded. She Would make sure the rescue team were given accurate directions when they came. Sandy was reliable, but he was, after all, only seven years old, a seven-year-old who accepted the responsibility laid on him, and put a flash of pride into his father's eyes as he spoke gravely. 'I'll stay here and send the team on after you when they come,' he agreed seriously. 'An' then Sara an' me'll get a hot drink ready for when you—come back.' His voice faltered for a moment, his small hand going up to grip that of his father. Child though he was, Sandy was fully aware of the danger that lay on the mountain slopes in weather such as this. Watching the tension that should not have lain on so young a face, Sue felt her temper rise. Andrew had only just returned to his family, and because of Charles Redman's foolishness his son had to watch him go out again, knowing that he risked his life in an attempt to reach another whose life might already be forfeit to his own bravado. To his credit, Sandy did not make any attempt to stop either of his parents, but his determinedly squared shoulders and the small shiny tooth that gripped his lower lip spoke volumes of the price his self-control exacted.

'I hope he hasn't got any passengers...' Duncan's fear communicated itself to Sue. It would be cruel if Fiona's loveliness should be marred by such an accident—Sue shut her mind to any worse possibility, it was too horrible to contemplate, and she would need her nerves intact while she searched alongside the Laird, for neither of them knew what. 'Have your whistle,' Duncan thrust a serviceable-looking police-style whistle into her hand. 'Short blasts to keep in touch, and one long blast for a find,' he instructed the others. 'And if either of you get separated from your partner,' his eyes held Sue and Robert, 'remain where you are, don't try to stumble about on your own or you may end up down a gulley,' he said grimly. 'Just give short blasts at intervals on your whistle, and either Andrew or I will come and collect you.' He waited just long enough to make sure they understood, then with a brief pat on Sandy's head, and a 'look after things here for us', he took Sue's hand in his own, this time with a purposeful grip that kept her in step with him. 'You'll be able to keep up,' he assured her. 'In this weather we can't move very fast, not even on foot, and we might miss—what we're looking for— if we hurry.' His hesitation told Sue that he, too, would not let himself think of what they might find. 'Can I take a turn carrying the first aid pack?' The slope of the hill was steeper under their feet, the voices of the others in the party swallowed by the white curtain that swirled about diem so that as soon as they separated at the head of the valley and each took their planned route, it was as if she and Duncan were isolated in a world of their own, linked only by their joined hands, and soon, as the mist grew thicker on the higher reaches of the hill, by a thin piece of cord that Duncan insisted she tie on to her anorak cord as the rougher terrain more constantly separated them by several feet at a time, at each separation making it even more difficult for one to see the other. He had warned herself and Robert to remain where they were if they got separated from their partner, thought Sue numbly, but despite the

link of cord that prevented this happening, she could not be more widely separated from Duncan than if an ocean was between them. He treated her now as an equal, she might have been man or woman at his side, the emergency of the plane crash drawing them together with a common bond of shared urgency, but Duncan on his part carried an extra burden, that of knowing his future wife might be a victim of the crash. 'I'll carry the pack,' he answered her quietly. 'It won't help if we tire, and I'm used to it. Keep your whistle going,' he instructed her, using his own in the short blasts that were echoed faintly from the other side of the valley as Andrew and Robert searched parallel with them, and from below where Callum and Meg quartered the valley floor. 'We can't see very far.' They could miss the plane by a matter of feet and not know it was there, she realised. If the pilot and his passenger were unconscious—she would not let herself add 'or dead'—they would be unable to respond to the whistle blasts, and they could walk by within almost touching distance without seeing them, thus adding the danger of exposure to that of injury for the unfortunate occupants. 'Walk closer to me, there's a gulley nearby somewhere,' Duncan reached down and pulled her up beside him. 'We'll have to climb a bit to get round it,' he told her. 'Let's stand still for a while and get our breath back,' he kept his arm around her, and she leaned against him for a moment or two, grateful for the close warmth of human contact in a white, cold world of eerie silence. The mist isolated them, wrapping cold fingers of dampness about them as they stood, so that despite herself Sue shivered, feeling the wet droplets that clung to the strands of hair that had slipped out from under her anorak hood, that made her want to shake herself like the deer to rid herself of the unpleasant feel of it. Tiny droplets clung to Duncan's dark hair, giving it a damp halo. I wonder if it would make a rainbow? Sue thought, watching the drops shine as he turned his head. But of course it wouldn't, it needed the sun to turn the water into a rainbow,

and up on this high, lonely place there was no sun to penetrate the cold that bit through their clothing and made Sue wonder if it could indeed be the same sunny slopes that they had climbed together on the first weekend she was here. Duncan stood against her, tense, his ears keen to catch news that his eyes could not give him, and Sue realised with a thrill of horror that he was sniffing the air. 'What are you....?' She stopped, knowing what his answer must be even before it came. 'We should smell fire if it was close, even in this mist,' he answered her shortly. 'I wish I'd brought Don with me now, but it's too late to wish.' The dog would have been of more use than she was, Sue thought, feeling her helplessness, and Duncan's arm suddenly tightened about her. 'Don can't help administer first aid,' he reminded her quietly, sensing what she was thinking with an uncanny insight that broke through the horror and the cold. 'Ready?' His voice cut across her thoughts. 'Let's keep moving, or we'll get stiff in this cold,' he persuaded her upwards. 'What's that?' She hesitated, listening. 'Only water. There's a burn that runs down the gulley I mentioned, it turns into a waterfall and drops quite a long way. We'll know it's safe to cross when the sound of the water changes,' he pointed out, and smiled as Sue's hand tightened instinctively on his own. 'I won't let you go,' he promised softly, and her heart lurched within her. If only he meant it! The peril of the deep gulley that lay unseen yet so close beside their feet seemed as nothing to the gulf of years that stretched ahead of her, when her hand would no longer lie in Duncan's grasp. 'Hold tight, we cross the stream near here.' Despite the blinding mist he seemed quite sure of his way. 'The water's running level now.' He talked on, reassuring her, and sure enough she realised the surging sound of the fall had faded behind them, and only the swift tinkle of a busy stream came through the mist that still effectively blanketed the

origin of the sound. 'There's a steep bank, then a line of rocks, they make ideal stepping stones if you're careful.' The ground fell away from her feet, but his firm grasp on her hands kept her from falling, and he stepped out across the darkly running water to the safety of a slab of rock that she could just see faintly from the bank, and drew her to join him with unhurried calm. 'I'd be terrified on my own,' she confessed. Or with anyone else but Duncan, but she did not say so out loud, could not tell him that it was only his touch that gave her the strength to grope her way blindfold across the water, stumble up the other bank, and somehow renew the slow, wet plod through the tangle of heather and rocks on the other side, occasionally putting her whistle to her lips with fingers that were too cold to feel it, and straining her eyes to penetrate the grey swirling cloud that enclosed and suffocated so that for a brief moment of panic she wanted to run from its grasp, fly even from Duncan's side to the familiar, safe haven of the orchestra, and wipe away the memory of Castle Blair and those it housed, lose herself in the music that, hopelessly, she knew she would not be able to play for many months to come. 'Help!' She checked her whistle half way to her lips, and almost stopped her breathing, for fear her straining ears should not catch a repeat of the sound that came to them faintly, blurred by the mist. 'It came from above us.' Duncan turned in his tracks that would have missed the person who called for aid if they had carried on along the same route, and pulled Sue upwards after him with more speed than caution now they knew they were near their objective. Neither of them saw the flat black object under their feet until Duncan's toe caught it and sent it spinning away from them, spilling its contents about their feet. Sue bent to pick one up, and held it out to her companion.

'Business papers,' she said tautly. 'It's a briefcase, from the look of it,' pointing to where the black thing had come to rest against a clump of heather nearby. It was an incongruous object to meet half way up a mountainside, and it looked somehow pathetic, lying there out of its element, losing its normally self-important air in this world where basic matters of life and death took precedence over the petty affairs of men. 'We're close to the plane,' Duncan guessed grimly. 'I wonder which way ... ahoy!' He cupped his hands round his mouth and shouted. 'Over here!' the call came from much closer to them this time, a highpitched, hysterical woman's voice. 'Fiona!' Forgetful of the cord that tied her anorak to his wrist Duncan started towards the cry, tugging Sue after , him, desperate to respond to the appeal that broke off in a sob. A torn-off piece of structure that looked like part of the plane's wing halted them momentarily, and then Fiona appeared, wraithlike out of the surrounding gloom, and ran towards them, flinging herself into Duncan's arms. 'Duncan! Oh, Duncan, don't leave me!' She clung to him, sobbing, and through her pity for the girl's plight the trained first aider in Sue noted the strong movement of her limbs, registered 'shocked, but not injured', with a sense of relief that was like a weight from her shoulders, making her feel strong and buoyant, and capable of coping with whatever lay ahead—whatever lay in the plane. The thought sobered her, and she spoke to Fiona. 'Let me see if you're hurt.' Her voice was practical, stilling the wild crying that to her keen ears sounded now as if it was slightly forced, like the crying of a child that has fallen down and wants to prolong the attention it has caused.

'Stand still, Fiona, and stop crying.' Duncan's voice was gentle but firm, his hands standing her away from him despite her clinging protest, so that he could see her face, put his hand under her chin and tip it towards him to investigate the long scratch that ran along her jaw. It would be sore in the morning, and probably bruised too, Sue judged. 'Take me down! Take me away from this awful place!' The girl's hands clung to the Laird's arms, pulling him to her. 'Soon,' he soothed. 'Where's your father?' It had to be asked, and Sue caught her breath sharply> fearful that it might bring on another display of hysterics. Duncan evidently thought the same, for his tone sharpened and he repeated his question. 'Where?' 'Over there.' To Sue's astonishment her voice and. face were sulky, her usual expression, which while it was reassuring to know that the fear and shock were wearing off now that rescue had arrived, was nevertheless repelling in that her concern was still for herself, and not for the pilot. 'Stay here with her, I'll go,' Duncan told Sue quietly, checking her attempt to follow him, and their eyes met, question and dread in their glances, and in Duncan's something more. For a few seconds Sue's eyes held his, puzzled by the expression she could not fathom, and then she dropped her own and fumbled with the cord that still linked her to the Laird's wrist, struggling with frozen fingers to undo the knot that had pulled tight during their walk up the mountainside. 'Duncan tied me to him for safety's sake when we set off,' she talked to Fiona, using a normal conversational tone, hoping that it might help to calm her, and speaking as if a climb through the mist to seek a crashed plane was an everyday, and not particularly disturbing occurrence.

'Like a puppy dog!' The sneer in the other girl's voice was unmistakable, and for a shocked minute Sue stared at her disbelievingly, her fingers stilled, and her face whiter than even the cold could make it. She glanced up at Duncan, but he was looking at Fiona, his face half turned away from Sue, and he was busily twisting the cord from about his own wrist, impatiently, wanting to be gone. 'You can untie the knot later,' he tossed his end to her. 'Roll it up and put it in your pocket,' he said briefly. 'I'll come back to you both in a minute.' Without looking at either of them again he turned on his heel and started uphill away from them. Sue heard his boots strike against rock, the sharp sound of it carrying down to where she and Fiona stood together, watching the place where the mist had swallowed the man they both loved. Did Fiona love him? Or did she just love his title? Sue stole a glance at her face, not so attractive now, with her blonde hair tangled about her head, and the upturned collar of her expensive sheepskin coat framing a sulky expression that in Sue's eyes made her positively ugly, for with Duncan out of sight she made no attempt to check the scowl she wore like a flag of warning to those who might venture too near, and which she had managed to subdue while .the Laird could see her. 'Put my scarf over your head, it'll help keep the cold out.' Seeing her companion shiver Sue started to pull her angora scarf from about her throat, generously risking the cold herself to alleviate the other's shock. 'No!' Fiona shrugged her offering away rudely, digging her hand into her own pocket and puffing out a scarf herself. She tossed it back over her head and pulled the ends together with an ill-tempered tug, and Sue watched her closely, fearing a reaction to the ordeal that she had endured, allowing a silence to drop between them for fear that further words might antagonise her. Anger was an expenditure of energy she could not afford with the downhill journey still to be faced. At least the rescue team would be comprised of all men,

thought Sue with a sudden flash of wry amusement, which should at least ensure reasonable behaviour on the part of the other girl, who had little use for women's company at any time. The long blast of a whistle from above them shrilled across her thoughts, leaving the silence even emptier when it stopped. A few seconds pause and it came again, to be answered faintly by a quick, double blast of acknowledgement from the far slopes, indicating that the other searchers had heard and understood. 'A long blast for a find,' Duncan had said. And he had found—what? Sue became conscious of an ache in her hands that was even worse than the pain caused by the cold, and she realised she had clenched her fists until her nails dug into her palms even through her gloves. 'Sue! Fiona!' Booted feet clattered on rock, and Duncan beckoned to the two girls to join him. 'Come on up. It's all right, Fiona, your father's not badly hurt.' He spoke quickly, reassuringly, and the girl made a gesture of impatience. 'I know that,' she snapped, 'he's only hurt his leg. And lucky to get away with that—flying in this kind of weather, he could have broken both our necks,' she said unsympathetically. 'Just the same, come and join him,' Duncan insisted. 'Charles will have to be carried down,' he explained, speaking directly to Sue, probably assuming that detail would bypass the businessman's daughter in her present state, 'and it'll be easier for the rescue team if we all stay together,' he said reasonably, putting down two hands, one to Sue and one to Fiona to help them round the steep patch they had to climb to join him. With a quickness at variance with her former reluctance, Fiona stepped in front of Sue, her hands outstretched, and grasped both of the Laird's hands in her own, with a triumphant look in Sue's direction that she could not quite conceal.

'You go on, I'll follow.' Sue scorned to enter open competition, and gestured Duncan on ahead, keeping close behind him, for she was as anxious as he that they did not lose sight of one another. They would lose sight of one another permanently soon enough, she thought bitterly, and checked abruptly as the grounded plane loomed ahead of her, like a huge, broken moth, crumpled against a pile of boulders, and with one wing torn off where it had slewed sideways against the rock. Despite Duncan's reassurance Sue's eyes flew apprehensively to the cabin, but that did not look to be too badly damaged. Through the shattered glass of the windows she could see a man's figure, and a sigh of relief escaped her as she saw it move. Duncan had been telling the truth. She hastened towards the side of the plane, and Charles Redman turned as she spoke. 'Let me have a look at your leg.' His face was pale, but incredibly he was putting a cigar in his mouth, and fumbling with a lighter, an automatic action that might help alleviate his shock and the pain he must be suffering from his injured leg, but... 'The man's a brainless fool!' Duncan's voice was savage as she turned to ask him for the first aid rucksack. 'There's the smell of fuel everywhere, he'll turn this thing into an inferno...' He hurried past her and thrust his hand through the broken glass of the cabin window, heedless of the jagged edges that snagged on his sleeve, and removed the lighter from Charles Redman's hands without ceremony. 'I say, that's my...' he began peevishly, a look of pained surprise on his face. 'Do you want to cause an explosion as well as a crash?' Duncan's voice was harsh. 'The contents of the fuel tank are all over the heather, if you'd lit your cigar we might not 'have been able to drag you out in time,' he said significantly, and the man's mouth dropped

open as the possible consequences of his action sank in. 'Stay where you are,' Duncan's voice was gentler now, 'you'll be warmer in the cabin than out on the slope, just don't take unnecessary risks,' he warned, satisfied that his words had registered. 'He's not bleeding, so it would be better to leave him undisturbed until the rescue team gets here, they won't be far behind us,' Duncan went on, and Sue nodded, seeing the sense of what he said. A seeking whistle sounded faintly from far below them, on the trail they themselves had followed, and Duncan blew on his own. 'That'll be the team now.' 'They'll have Don with them, why not try whistling him up to you?' Sue suggested quietly. The big black gun-dog had impressed her by its devotion to the Laird, whose side he rarely left. 'That's a good idea.' This time Duncan whistled with his lips, a sharp, familiar call, and before it ended a gruff bark answered. 'I'm glad I brought you along,' he turned to Sue. with a smile. 'Don will find us without any difficulty, and he'll bring the team behind him without any waste of time looking for a safe path—he knows the hill as well as I do, if not better,' he added with honest pride. 'So long as it gets us down I don't care whether it's dog or man,' Fiona roused herself to snap. 'Why we had to come and live in this forsaken hole goodness knows,' she complained to her parent, 'when we could live somewhere civilised, like Edinburgh,' she grumbled discontentedly, looking what she was, an expensive hothouse flower transplanted against her will among conditions she hated. 'Here, Don!' Duncan called across her words, guiding his dog to his side, which he reached with scrabbling paws and a licking tongue, and almost instantly disappeared again into the mist, where he could be heard whining and barking, urging on the rescue team that followed him with blind faith, his animal instinct guiding him and them with a surety that nothing in their human repertoire could match.

'Watch the fuel,' Duncan warned as the first of the men appeared beside them. 'I can smell it,' the leader of the team nodded. 'How bad is it?' he nodded towards the plane, his eyes taking in Fiona's slight figure, leaning now against the fuselage as if the trials she had undergone were taking their toll. 'The pilot will need a stretcher. I think his leg's broken, but nothing more, I think, except for shock,' Duncan responded. 'What about Miss Redman?' The team leader was a local man, and gave Fiona a wary glance as if the two might have crossed swords before, thought Sue shrewdly. 'I'll walk down with you, Duncan. I'll be all right so long as I stay with you.' She roused herself from her leaning post, and leaned instead against the Laird, pressing against him with a kittenish movement that in the circumstances seemed wildly out of place to Sue, and to some of the rescue team as well, she discovered, regarding their withdrawn expressions that showed their feelings more clearly even than speech could have done. 'In that case we'll get you out of there, Charles. I'll give you a hand.' Duncan spoke to the other men, and joined them with an accustomed ease that showed him to be no amateur. Sue learned afterwards that he, too, was a member of the rescue team and practised with them regularly. It was not such a difficult task as she had imagined to get the injured man out of the cabin, since he was able to assist , himself, although exposure to the cold had restricted his movements to a considerable extent, and the need to guard his injured leg limited the amount of help he could give himself. Within a remarkably short time the team had him rolled in blankets and strapped to their purpose-built stretcher that would transport him back to loch level in reasonable comfort.

'Fiona?' Charles Redman's eyes sought his daughter from his pillow, and the man attending him looked up at the Laird. 'Himself will bring her down,' he assured the injured man softly. 'Don't worry, Charles, I'll deliver her safe and sound.' The Laird spoke firmly, so that the man relaxed and lay back, satisfied. 'She's in good hands,' the rescuer smiled, and straightened up from his task, ready to start the journey downhill. 'I think the mist's lifting.' He raised his head, testing the faint wind that had begun to blow, and that even so soon was giving them a few more feet of reasonable visibility, so that they could see ahead of them far enough to make movement safer. 'We'll make our own way down,' Duncan told the team leader. 'It's best not to wait for one another, we can join up at the Castle and give them both a good warm before you start the journey back,' he suggested. 'The team will have parked their ambulance at home,' he explained to Fiona. 'We'll carry on down and we can all be together there,' he told her gently. Fiona smiled up into his face, her hands seeking his as they had done earlier, entrapping them in her own, her action isolating herself and the Laird as if the other people, including Sue, were invisible. 'We can be together,' she repeated Duncan's words, but deliberately missed out the 'all'. 'For always, I hope,' she added significantly, and in. a tone that was designed to reach the ears of everyone present, as well as those of the man who held her.

CHAPTER TEN SPEECHLESSLY Sue turned after Duncan, refusing his offer of a helping hand to steady her on the steeper part of the downhill grade. 'No, I can manage,' she shook her head. 'You steady Fiona.' He could not bear the weight of two people, and by accident or design he bore most of Fiona's now, she leaned closely against him so that perforce he had to keep his arm right round her, pressing her against him for support so that her head lay against his shoulder. Now and then Sue heard him murmur words of encouragement, or they could be endearment; she was not close enough to hear even if she wanted to, and she shrank from deliberately listening. 'Do you think you can manage?' He hesitated on the edge of the burn they had crossed earlier, regarding the fair- haired girl who occupied his arms, and the widely spaced stepping stones across which he had previously helped Sue, with a doubtful look. 'Stay here for a while on the bank, Fiona,' Duncan went to put her from him. 'I'll see Sue across and then come back for you.' 'Don't leave me!' Sudden energy tightened the grip of Fiona's hands on his arm, and the panic of hysteria, real or forced, heightened the note of her voice. 'Can we climb down on this side of the gulley?' Sue asked. 'It might be easier than trying to ford this.' 'If we do we shall only get into worse difficulty later on,' Duncan responded, his face taut with concern. 'The fall ends in a watercourse that's twice the depth of this one, and no rocks to step across it,' he said tersely. 'We'll have to cross this somehow.' His eyes begged her for help, and with sudden strength in the face of his difficulty she forgot her former fear and stepped out on to the first rock before he could make any attempt to stop her.

'Don and I will go first.' She snapped her fingers at the gun-dog, who gave her a pleased wag in response and joined her on the rock, weaving round her legs without touching them as if he was aware of her precarious balance. 'I'll keep one rock ahead of you, then if you need help I can reach back,' she said firmly, trying not to look at the wet sloping top of the next rock, which seemed to invite a slip even before she set foot on it. 'I can't stand on those things, I'll slip!' Again it was only herself Fiona was thinking of, thought Sue disgustedly. 'Stand still.' Duncan turned the girl round to face him, slipping out of her grasp, and lifted her bodily into his arms. 'You'll just have to trust me not to slip, that's all,' he responded lightly, and stepped out after Sue. Rather than hinder his passage she took the next few steps without a pause, turned to see that he was coming after her carrying his burden, and gained the bank in one frantic leap. She slipped to her knees and grabbed wildly at the nearest heather roots, missed, and slid back, and felt a strong mouth grip the loose folds of her anorak and pull. Good for Don! The powerful shoulders of the gun-dog knotted themselves into bulging muscle as he took her weight and gave her enough purchase to pull herself to safety, so that they both landed in a tangled heap, and she put her arms about his neck and hugged him, warmed by his licking tongue that had responded to her approaches from the first day she came to visit his owner. Almost instantly she rose and turned, finding a firm grip for her feet, to help Duncan over the same difficulty. He came across the edge of the bank with one powerful spring, that nevertheless was not sufficient to hold him with the burden in his arms when he reached the other side. Sue grabbed him unceremoniously as he skidded backwards again towards the water, throwing her full weight forward until he regained his balance.

'Thanks!' He threw her a grateful look. 'That's the only really difficult bit,' he panted with relief. 'There's a track only a few yards from here,' he pointed forward into the heather, 'and once we're on that the going will be easier. Stand down and try your legs,' he urged Fiona, and slid her gently down out of his arms. 'No, I can't walk. I won't! Carry me, Duncan?' She held out her arms to him appealingly, like a child, and Sue's patience snapped. 'Don't be silly,' her voice was firm, 'Duncan can't possibly carry you the whole of the way back to the valley.' 'Of course he can't,' a cheerful Scots voice agreed, a voice that held an inflection of Canadian in its tones, and they all turned as Andrew Fraser strode to join them across the rough patch of heather that separated them from where the track was lost in mist. 'If the lassie can't walk on her own, I'll give her a fireman's lift,' he told Duncan, with a shrewd look in Fiona's direction. 'You've taken her weight long enough.' His eyes returned to his brother-in-law's face. 'Well, do you want to try walking, or would you rather ride over my shoulder?' he offered Fiona with the ghost of a grin that nevertheless did not detract from the determination in his voice, and the businessman's daughter had the good sense to know when she was beaten. 'I'll walk with Duncan.' She held his hands again, possessively, like a dog guarding a bone, thought Sue vexedly. 'Then walk upright,' Andrew warned her sternly. 'Duncan's borne your weight for as long as he ought to, and you'll find the going easier downhill. I'll come behind with Sue,' he added, throwing an arm about her shoulders with the old, familiar friendliness, as if it was only yesterday they had last met instead of ages ago. 'It's good to see you again,' he smiled, 'though I can think of a better way to meet up than this. Your anorak's ripped.' His fingers felt the loose bit

where the dog had gripped her. 'You're not hurt, are you?' Instant concern showed in his face. 'No,' she denied. 'Don saved me a wetting, that's all,' and she explained how the cloth had given way. 'Good dog!' Andrew leaned down and rubbed the dog's head. 'We can't afford to lose good musicians,' he teased her. 'Or nice people.' His voice had a more serious undertone. 'Ah, here's Robert,' as her brother became visible in front of them as they neared the track. 'Thanks for following up,' he said gratefully to the boy. 'I came on in case Duncan needed help,' he explained to Sue, 'and Robert delayed long enough to go back to the Castle and fetch a flask.' He shook his head as Robert offered it to him. 'No, give it to Duncan, he needs it,' he refused. 'It isn't often you find someone intelligent enough to do as they're asked,' he said appreciatively, in an aside to Sue. 'Most lads of his age would have wanted to come tearing up the hill with me, regardless.' He spoke feelingly, and Sue guessed that in a tight corner, and he must have encountered many in the far places of the world to which his job had taken him, the good sense of a companion to do as he was asked might well mean the difference between life and death to the asker. 'Take a drink of this.' Robert held the flask out towards the Laird. 'I'll hold Fiona,' as the older man hesitated. Without waiting to see if he was obeyed, Robert took hold of the girl, putting his one arm about her waist and commandeering her hands in his, so that it left Duncan free to uncork the flask, which he held out to Fiona as soon as he had got the neck free. 'Take a sip,' he urged, 'it'll warm you.' 'Do as he says,' Robert insisted as the girl shook her head. She gave him a startled look, and without further demur took the flask and drank, and Sue stared. It was her brother who had spoken, but it was

not the voice of the carefree boy she was used to, but the voice of a man, and moreover one who meant to be obeyed. Briefly, Sue saw their father in the boy, the inherited instinct to command showing clearly, although he might reject the service that gave it birth. 'Lean on me,' he instructed Fiona. 'When Duncan's had a drink he can come on the other side of you, that way you'll be down to loch level in no time,' he encouraged. 'Have a sip first, Sue.' The Laird passed the flask to her, and she tipped it against her lips, grateful for the quick warmth that coursed through her, but taking no more than she was obliged, for the flask was a small one, and Duncan needed its contents more than she did, she thought. Fiona's weight had tired him. She handed it back and he drank sparingly, slinging the flask on its strap across his shoulder, and taking hold of Fiona from her other side. 'Quick march!' he coaxed her into action, anxious that the artificial warmth she had gained from her drink should not be wasted by inactivity, and Sue and Andrew followed them, glad of the movement that at least kept a small amount of feeling flowing through their numbed limbs. 'Robert seems to know what he's doing.' Andrew's tone was conversational. 'He's been on several Outward Bound courses,' Sue responded, glad of speech that helped her to forget the still formidable distance to be covered. 'And he's done a lot of mountain walking with his school, so he's not a total stranger to hill country.' 'I gather he's not too keen to go into the Army?' Her companion's voice was thoughtful. 'He's determined not to,' Sue answered bluntly. 'He doesn't like the thought of his life being governed by a rule book, and I can't say I

blame him,' she added, the familiar crease buckling her forehead at the thought of yet another problem to be faced, and the man beside her looked at her reflectively. 'Has he spoken to you about it?' Her tone held surprise. It was not like Robert to unburden himself to a stranger, and to him Andrew was little else. Although Sue had met Meg's husband on a good many occasions, her brother had usually been at school, and being so much younger had little interest then in much else beside his own absorbing activities. Being with Andrew on the mountainside, in the isolation of the mist, might have made him talk, but... 'No, he hasn't said anything to me, but Meg and Duncan have, in their letters,' Andrew explained. 'They both knew I was looking for a younger man to work with me, as this stretch of land I've acquired in Canada will take two to manage it,' he told her, 'but of course I had to keep an open mind until I came home. Meg obviously sees Robert from a different standpoint,' he smiled. 'To her he's your brother, and where you're concerned we're both prejudiced.' The arm that held her gave her a friendly squeeze. 'But I must say I'm impressed by what I've seen of him. His behaviour on the hill when we were searching for that wreck together was disciplined enough for a man ten years his senior.' 'He's always had to stand on his own feet.. We both have,' she answered. 'Our lives have been a gipsy sort of existence—but you know that.' Nevertheless she felt proud of this man's assessment of her brother. Andrew Fraser did not judge other men lightly, and his own standards were high, but he was obviously impressed by Robert, and the thought lent strength to her feet. 'He's only eighteen,' she demurred. 'Wouldn't you want an older man?' 'He's just the right age, if he'd consider coming with me,' Andrew answered seriously. 'A few years more and he might not want the

amount of studying he'll have to do. There's an awful lot to learn, and a lot of different kinds of wood to learn about,' he smiled. 'Robert doesn't mind working, or studying,' Sue answered positively. 'He just wants the incentive to be sure what he's studying is worth while, at least to him. And he wants an open-air life,' she added hopefully. If Robert could only go back to Canada with Andrew, her father could not possibly make any objection. He would be partnering a man who was renowned world-wide for his specialist knowledge of woods, and Robert could follow in his footsteps, carving out a career as a similar expert, and at the same time leading the kind of life he so desired. It would be a wonderful solution to his problem. 'Robert must be thrilled.' 'I haven't said anything to him yet,' Andrew retorted. 'With your parents away I thought you might feel more or less responsible for your brother, but if you think it's all right -?' 'You've got my. blessing,' she told him fervently. 'Ask Robert by all means, I'm sure he'll jump at the chance.' 'That's settled, then.' There was a wealth of satisfaction in the man's voice, and he increased speed to lessen the distance between them and the trio in front, now that he had gained his point. 'We can take it a bit easier now, I think, Duncan,' he called out. 'Callum said he'd try and get the Land Rover up the wide part of the track to meet us. That sounds like him coming now,' as the whine of an engine in low gear penetrated the fog that wrapped the valley in cotton wool. 'Good for Callum!' Duncan eased off thankfully, and relinquished his hold on Fiona as Andrew came up beside him and took over to give him a break. 'I know I'm not so good-looking, but you'll have to make do with me for the rest of the way,' he stilled her complaints. 'Over here, Callum.

Whoa!' as the vehicle loomed suddenly, closer than he had expected. 'Don't bother to get out,' he called as the ghillie stuck an anxious head through the window, and made to come to their assistance. 'There's no one hurt, just shocked,' he indicated Fiona. 'We can manage nicely.' He cheerfully ignored the glare the girl threw at him, making no secret of her displeasure at the lack of fuss which she obviously thought she was entitled to under the circumstances. 'I'll get in first and help you up.' Robert backed into the Land Rover and held out his hands to Fiona. 'Hold on— both hands.' His tone firmed, commanding her co-operation, and Andrew put his hands about her waist from the back and half helped, half lifted her into the vehicle, so that she had no option but to follow the younger man inside. Andrew went next, turning to help Sue. 'We're on the last lap,' he encouraged her cheerfully as she took his hands in hers, suddenly realising how tired she was. The cessation of the need for further effort had drained her of her remaining strength more effectively than effort itself could have done, so that she paused before the step up into the vehicle, the distance between it and the ground suddenly formidable. 'Had enough?' It was Duncan's voice behind her, Duncan's arms about her, helping her up, sending the strength flowing back into her like a warm tide. 'We're nearly home,' he echoed Andrew's encouragement. Home ... She hadn't got a real one, Sue thought emptily, as she followed Andrew to the long bench seat in the back. Robert had slid to the end of it, taking Fiona with him, and Andrew took the next place close against her. 'Squeeze up,' he told the girl. 'You'll keep warmer that way, you're likely to go cold now you've stopped walking,' he told her bracingly. 'You two do the same,' he instructed Duncan and Sue on the opposite

seat. 'There's no sense in collecting a cold on top of everything else,' he advised them sensibly. Sue sat where she had dropped. It was all very well for Andrew to tell them to sit close together; he did not know the position between Duncan and Fiona, nor was he in the other girl's line of fire, she thought wearily, conscious of her vulnerability as a guest at the Castle, a position that precluded her from defending herself against Fiona's verbal attacks, let alone retaliating. 'I'm warm enough.' A shiver she could not control gave the lie to her words, and Duncan put his arm about her, drawing her closely against him. 'Well, I'm not,' he smiled; incredibly he still had enough energy left to tease. 'So I'll use you as a hot water bottle,' he said imperturbably, encircling her with his other arm in front, so that she was closed in between them her head just under his chin, and not daring to look up into his face for fear he might read the expression in her eyes, which were beginning to swim uncontrollably so that a salt drop fell on his hand and he loosed her momentarily to draw out a folded white handkerchief, with which he began to wipe her face as if she was no bigger than Sandy. 'You're dripping !' He pulled back the hood of her anorak from her face and wiped the front of her hair, and she leaned back against his shoulder, her strength to resist gone from her, only conscious of the feel of his arms about her, and the bright scarlet face of the girl on the opposite seat, temper making her body rigid between those of the two men, who effectively hemmed her in so that she could not move over to the Laird's side. 'I feel faint,' Fiona snapped, and Duncan instantly stopped his ministrations, his eyes concerned, but seeing her healthy colour he relaxed and looked straightly at Andrew. That worthy responded in typically practical fashion.

'Don't worry, if you pass out there's a canister of water I can bring you round with.' He indicated a plastic water container in the back of the vehicle, and a faint grin crossed Robert's lips. For once Sue did not shake her head at him. After today she would never again regard her brother as the boy she had always felt responsible for; he was a man now and more than capable of holding his own, she thought, feeling somehow bereft as well as relieved. 'Hold on,' Callum warned them, glancing back to satisfy himself that they were safely settled before he pulled the vehicle round in a tight circle to point it back downhill. It rocked wildly on the rough ground underneath, swaying at an alarming angle as it turned sideways to the steep camber of the hill. For a hectic moment the five passengers found themselves jumbled together, with only the dog remaining unperturbed on the floor. The shaking broke Fiona free from the restraint of her closely seated neighbours, and for a confused moment Sue thought she was about to claim the seat by Duncan's side. She looked quite prepared to make a scene if her right to do so was contested, but the next second their transport swung on to the track, regaining a more or less level stance, and pulling the passengers back into their places from which it had just unceremoniously ejected them. 'It's a good job I held on to you!' Duncan laughed down into Sue's face, and she felt her colour rise, the shaking had landed her, half across the Laird's lap, and she was keenly aware of Fiona's vitriolic glare from the other side of the vehicle. 'You look warmer already,' he smiled, sitting her upright with one strong movement, but still retaining his hold, so that she could not do as she would have liked, and moved away. 'I'm hot,' Sue said shortly, which was the truth. She felt hot with embarrassment, as she read the laughter in her brother's eyes, and the quizzical look in Andrew's, and she wished the journey was at an

end, for despite the lifting of the mist their pace was excruciatingly slow. 'Well, I'm not,' Fiona snapped, 'and I'm the one who was in the plane,' she added plaintively, with an appealing look in Duncan's direction that was a direct bid for his attention. 'Ought we to have waited for the rescue team?' A sudden thought struck Callum, and he slowed still further, turning his head. 'No,' Duncan was decided. 'They'll make much better speed than we could have done, there were enough of them to take the stretcher in relays, and they should be a lot further downhill than we are by now,' he prophesied. 'They left one man behind at the Castle,' Robert butted in. 'He told me he was going to give them another half hour or so and then make towards the point along the loch road.' He looked inquiringly at the Laird. 'That means they intend to take the short cut off the hill,' Duncan, nodded understanding. 'They can do that with your father safely on the stretcher,' he explained to Fiona, 'but it would have been difficult for you,' he said gently. 'That track is much steeper than the one we're on now, and you were in no condition to make it,' he concluded. The implication that he thought she was too frail to be brought down the hard way seemed to mollify Fiona, and she sat back with a satisfied smile on her lips now that she had taken Duncan's attention to herself again. Let her, thought Sue wearily. She felt beyond caring. No, that wasn't true. Somewhere inside her tired frame a spark of protest still lingered, and she leaned against Duncan's shoulder, conscious of the feel of him against her, warm, strong, and comforting, and conscious

too of the ache the contact -caused, but unable to do anything about it. He had chosen his future road, and unwittingly her own as well, though hers would be the steeper one, she thought miserably, like the one the rescue team had chosen, the difference being that somehow she would have to find the strength to tread it alone on feet that, like Fiona's, did not feel in any condition to take it. 'Wake up, we're home!' A gentle shake roused Sue, and she shivered, cold running through her frame like a knife. She peered hazily through the misted glass, and saw the main door of the Castle standing open, and Meg and Sandy running down the steps to meet them. She pushed herself upright, away from Duncan, and he dropped his arm, watching her closely. She stumbled to her feet, her legs feeling stiff and numb, and momentarily they refused her demand for support. 'Wait a minute, you'll fall if you try to walk on your own.' Duncan slid past her towards the vehicle door, dropping down to the gravel in one swift movement. 'They're all right,' he called reassurance to his sister, 'not a lot of harm done. They'll need a good warm.' He turned back to Sue who hovered above him, waiting for him to move away so that she, too, could descend, and Meg hurried back indoors, intent on making sure the fire was well stoked up. 'Put your hands on my shoulders, and leave the rest to me,' Duncan told her calmly. Numbly, Sue did as he said, too cold now to do anything but obey, and he reached up and put his hands about her waist and swung her down beside him, and in the same movement picked her up in his arms again, and cradling her gently he strode up the steps of his home and into the blessed warmth that for a second or two made Sue gasp with the contrast to the chill, damp air she had just left. 'There, you'll thaw out nicely now.' He eased her down into his own deep armchair beside the roaring log fire that Meg was poking to make it even redder still if that were possible, so that sparks flew up the chimney in a bright firework display that nevertheless failed to

hold Sandy's attention; the boy's eyes were on the door waiting for his father to appear. When he did, he and Robert had Fiona between them, sitting on their linked hands, and the girl had a scowl on her face that Meg's shrewd gaze took instant note of, and sent her eyes flying to her husband's face full of questions that she must have been aware he could not answer for the moment. Sue looked at him too, and surprised the quick wink which he threw in Meg's direction, and then her friend turned and pressed the mugs she was filling into the hands of the bedraggled party. 'Drink up,' she told Sue quietly. 'You'll be warm right through in minutes,' and she offered another mug full to Fiona, after a questioning look towards Duncan. 'Should she?' 'Yes, she's shocked and cold, but not injured. It'll do her good,' he nodded permission, accepting his own and dropping on to the arm of Sue's chair—his chair, really, and maybe Fiona should be sitting in it, thought Sue, but Duncan had dropped her there, and until she had some feeling back in her limbs, there she would have to stay. She buried her nose in her mug, grateful for the warmth of it like a miniature hot water bottle between her frozen hands. The soup was thick and good, laced as Sara's soup always was by a generous helping of cream from the home farm, and the glow from it coursed through her frozen body, bringing painful life back in place of the numbness so that she gasped with the agony of it, and Duncan looked down at her sympathetically. 'Does it hurt much? You got stiff when you went to sleep,' he said softly. 'The pain will go when you get warm...' He broke off abruptly as the sound of men's voices came from outside, and putting down his mug he strode towards the door, leaving his sentence unfinished, and sudden tears in Sue's eyes that fortunately he was unable to see. He was wrong, she thought. The pain that mattered would never go, the only warmth that could ease it would have to come from a love that only he could bestow, and the only consolation she could find

from that was in the fact that at least Duncan did not know how she felt. 'It's the doctor, I expect,' Meg said. 'The rescue team said he was following them. It looks as if they've met up.' She craned her head round the door and beckoned to the group of men to bring the stretcher inside. The doctor whom Sue had seen greeting Bruce at his surgery door that morning followed them in. Was it only that morning? she thought wonderingly. It seemed a whole lifetime ago now. 'Unstrap him,' the doctor indicated the injured man. 'I'll have a quick look at him here. And his passenger.' He had evidently been warned that there might be two people in the plane, and he glanced uncertainly between Sue and Fiona. 'I'm the passenger.' Fiona stiffened, clearly annoyed that he should consider Sue might need his attention. 'Ah—Miss Redman.' The doctor gave her an inscrutable look and turned towards her, passing Sue's chair on the . way, where he paused for a moment, smiling down at her, and spoke. 'Are you all right?' he inquired kindly, noting her clothes that told him she must have been on the hill with the searchers. 'I'm fine, thanks,' she assured him, and smiled back, liking this greying-haired man, as indeed she liked most of the people she had met here, people she would fain have settled among and called her own if only things had been different, she thought. But they were not, and she turned her attention to moving her chair out of the way so that the men could slide the stretcher nearer to the fire. 'My word, that feels good!' Charles Redman eased himself up and gazed at the fire appreciatively. 'Is Fiona hurt, doctor?' His voice was reassuringly alert, and the medical man smiled.

'No, just shocked,' he said crisply. 'Cold and fright are the only things wrong with her. A couple of days' warmth and rest will put her right. You were fortunate,' he turned his attention to the stretcher, 'you couldn't have been on the hill more than a couple of hours. It was lucky Duncan heard you come down, otherwise it might have been a different story.' He busied himself for a while, and when he eventually straightened up he turned to Meg. 'He can have a cup of your excellent soup, Mrs Fraser, his leg seems to be the only thing that's suffered—fortunately.' His eyes returned momentarily to Sue, and he nodded approvingly as Meg refilled her mug, and she relaxed, unzipping her anorak as the warmth seeped through and a rosy glow permeated her whole frame. 'Your journey could have been a costly one, Redman.' His tone suggested that he was not thinking of the loss of the plane, and to Sue's ears it sounded less than approving. 'Could have been?' The businessman stiffened indignantly. 'It'll cost a bomb to get that kite off the mountain!' As usual his yardstick was financial, and a frown of irritation flashed across the doctor's face. 'Well, drink your soup up,' he retorted. 'You can worry about your plane later. Now they're both warmed through I want to get Mr Redman to hospital,' he told Duncan. 'That leg will have to be attended to properly. It'll keep you from being too active for a week or two,' he warned him. 'We can drop your daughter at home on the way. I take it Mrs Redman knows?' He turned inquiringly to Meg. 'Yes, I phoned her,' Meg replied. 'She knows they're safe, and Fiona can fill in the details when she gets home,' she said briskly, ignoring the sulky look on the girl's face as she took Charles Redman's empty mug from his hand and helped the rescue team tuck him under the blankets again. 'Then we'll be on our way.' The doctor stood up, taking Fiona by the arm so that she perforce had to do the same. 'You take Mr Redman on to the hospital, and I'll follow,' he told the team leader. 'I'll just

drop this young lady at home on the way and leave a few instructions with her mother. There's no need for you to come as well,' as Duncan stood up, 'you've all had a hard climb. Take it easy by the fire, there's nothing else for you to do,' he advised. 'I'll take over from here. You can always ring and see how they both are in the morning,' he added, and his tone sounded as if he would like to have added 'if you want to'. Implying that they might not? Perhaps the doctor did not know about Fiona and Duncan, either. Sue gave up, stretching out her toes to the blessed warmth, and then as Duncan came back from the door, after seeing the doctor and the rescue team on their way— astonishingly he had not insisted on going with Fiona, but Sue felt too tired to search for reasons any more—she roused herself and made to rise out of the Laird's chair so that he might have his favourite seat by the fire. 'Stay where you are.' He pressed his hands on her shoulders, seating himself on the arm of the chair as he had done before. Meg and Andrew took the settle opposite to them, with Sandy on the rug as close as he could get to his father's knee, and Robert sprawled beside him, his face bright with suppressed excitement. 'Has Andrew told you?' he burst out, unable to contain his news any longer. 'Yes,' Sue smiled at him. 'I'm so glad for you,' she said generously. 'What for?' Sandy sat up and took an interest, scenting arrangements that he knew nothing about. 'We're going to carry Robert off with us, back to Canada,' his father explained, and laughed out loud at the boy's unconcealed delight. 'He's coming to work, not just to play with you,' he warned the boy.

'Himself carried Sue into the house,' his father's choice of words reminded Sandy. 'Like people do when they've just got married,' he added, his innocent words twisting a knife in Sue's heart, so that she wondered how such pain could be borne and not show. 'Did you carry Mummy through the door when you got married?' he inquired of his father, interested in this strange habit of grown-ups. 'I did,' that worthy retorted, 'and a bonny weight she was, too,' he teased. 'But she was lovely in her wedding gown and pretty lace veil,' he remembered, his eyes soft on his wife, and. a pang of envy touched Sue as she watched them. 'Lucky veil, it only sees the happy times...' Their love had been happy, strengthening with their years together, like good wine that matures with age, Sue thought enviously. 'I reckon it's time that veil was brought out and used again, don't you?' Andrew spoke to his wife, but sent a sly glance in Duncan's direction, and Meg gave him a startled look. 'The family veil, I mean,' her husband elucidated, clearly thinking she had failed to grasp his meaning. 'Is someone going to get married? Can we go?' Sandy perked up at the thought. 'I'd like to go to a wedding,' he said with satisfaction. 'I don't remember yours.' He looked puzzled at the mirth his remark evoked, and resorted to directness. 'Are you going to get married, Uncle Duncan?' 'And if I am, do you think you could persuade your father to stay on in Scotland for a while, and be my best man?' inquired the Laird, smiling at the child's upturned face, but his eyes and his voice were wholly serious. 'Of course we'll stay.' Sandy was quite positive; persuasion could surely not be necessary for such an important event. 'But you can't

wear the veil yourself, can you?' He hit a snag. 'Daddy didn't,' he stated positively. 'Get out of that one!' chuckled Andrew, and grinned across at his brother-in-law, his glance embracing Sue at the same time, so that she felt her face burn, and she lay back in the chair under the shadow of Duncan's bulk beside her, and his arm which he kept flung across the back of the chair. 'No, your mummy wore the veil,' his uncle smiled, 'and lovely she looked in it, too.' Meg had looked lovely, Sue silently agreed with him. The delicate lace, cream with age, had had a perfect foil in her friend's auburn hair. It would not show up so well on Fiona, she thought, wondering how she could compare the effect of the precious heirloom against dyed blonde hair with such dispassionate distaste. 'I'll have to ask you to look it out,' Duncan smiled at his sister, across whose face a mixture of inquiry, hope and dread chased each other with bewildering speed. 'You know where it's kept, I don't.' 'Do you really mean ... are you serious?' Meg's question was taut. So much hung on her brother's marriage beside his own personal happiness, and the strain of that knowledge showed in her fine eyes. 'Quite serious,' Duncan told her quietly. 'As Andrew says, it's time the veil was used again.' He removed his arm from the back of the chair and dropped it gently across Sue's shoulders, turning his hand to tip her face towards him. 'That is, if Sue will wear it—for me—in Dunbyne church?' he questioned her softly. His dark eyes held hers, in his a look of pleading that spoke eloquently of the depth of emotion beneath his quiet tones; in hers a look of incredulous joy that wondered for a wild moment if cold and exhaustion might have made her light-headed; might have made her dream the words she most longed to hear. But Duncan's lips on her hair told her she had not, and a joy equal to her own lit his eyes as he read the answer he wanted in her bright face.

'Sue might not want to marry at Dunbyne.' Andrew's voice was laughing. 'She might prefer her own parish church,' he pointed out wickedly. 'I haven't one.' Sue roused herself with an effort. 'I was never in one place long enough to feel I belonged anywhere,' she said honestly, but now the thought no longer had the power to hurt. 'Then Dunbyne it shall be.' Duncan smiled down on her, and his arm tightened about her shoulders, his fingers clasping closely the ones she slid up to grip his. 'Your wanderings end here,' he told her. 'From now on, you belong at Castle Blair—with me.'