’ ‘There is no need for this,’ he ventured mildly, and lifted his finger to show his own pistol was not cocked. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. ” “Can’t we arrange something? Can’t we make a sort of treaty?” “He wouldn’t keep it. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded.
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