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his right, though it had been a fairly warm evening and was hardly needed. There were two settees in front of the fire with a large rug on the floor between them. One was filled with three young women, the other with three young men, all of them stunningly beautiful, even the boys. A dog lay on the rug, looking primitive - Mark thought its ginger fur and pointy ears put it at the opposite end of the dog spectrum from the labradoodle or other modern, highly-bred animals.
    Mark finished his sandwich and then washed it down with the last of the pint. It had been lovely, with a malty taste and he was sorely tempted to get another. After a few seconds of internal debate, he decided he couldn't resist. He got up and headed to the bar - one of the girls caught his gaze as he waited for the barman.
    "Keep well away from them," said a voice from behind him.
    Mark turned around. Sitting on a stool, clutching a whisky and leaning against the bar, was a grizzled man - Mark wondered if he might be younger than he looked, but he appeared to be old .
    "Who are they?" asked Mark.
    "I call them the students," said the man.
    "The nearest university or college is in Inverness," said Mark. "They can't commute from here, can they?"
    The man laughed. "It's just a name I gave them," he said. He held out his hand. "John Rennie."
    Mark shook his hand. "Mark Campbell," he said.
    "Ooh," said John. "A Campbell. You'll not be popular in these parts."
    Mark shrugged. "I'm not aware of having massacred anyone." He smiled. "Yet."
    John laughed. "Don't worry, son," he said, "I'll no' judge you for it. Others might, but no' me."
    The barman took Mark's order - he ordered a refill for John, which earned a raised glass.
    "So, what do you do?" asked Mark.
    "I'm a ghillie," said John.
    Mark nodded. "Didn't know you still had them up here," he said.
    "The Clearances didn't kill all of the old ways," said John. "Besides, there are plenty of hunting parties these days that need a guide out on the moors and glens." He finished his whisky and collected the fresh glass from the barman. "There are strange things afoot up here."
    Mark raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" he asked.
    "Relax, son," said John, "I'm just playing with you." He held Mark's gaze. "Or am I?"
    Mark tried to laugh it off. "So, what's a ghillie do in this day and age?" he asked. "Aside from chasing spooks and vampires."
    "Vampires?" asked John, his voice low and his eyebrow raised. "Who said anything about vampires?"
    It was Mark's turn to smile. "I'm just playing with you," he said.
    "Watch who you play with," said John. "It's not safe like your big cities up here." He added water to his second whisky from a tap set onto the bar top. "I'm basically a golf caddie but for shooting. I just take gun parties out, load rifles, tell the toffee-nosed idiots where to point them. Half the time, I'm tempted to tell them to point at themselves or each other."
    Mark laughed.
    The barman smoothly rolled his pint over the bar top. "Put them on the tab for room 106, please," said Mark. He looked at John. "Fancy a seat?"
    John grinned. "Thought you'd never ask, son," he said.
    They returned to Mark's table, six pairs of eyes following them. "So, tell me about these students, then," he said.
    "I think they're Lady Ruthven's daughters," said John. "The pretty one over there is the eldest. I presume she'll be the next Lady Ruthven if such a thing is possible."
    "What do you mean?" asked Mark.
    "Ach, nothing much," said John.
    "And those are their husbands, right?" asked Mark. He'd already decided that John was a Class A patter merchant, but he decided to play along, wondering if he might be able to find something useful among the noise.
    John nodded. "That's right, son," he said. "Those are the three husbands."  
    "Is it their dog?" asked Mark.
    John screwed his eyes up. "I don't recognise the beast," he said. He held up the whisky. " Slainte ." He took a deep drink.
    Mark hated the word - he hated most Gaelic words. It