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find the float attached to the crab pot below. Her stomach growled and she realised she wanted something to eat. Now.
    â€˜I’ll go,’ she said.
    Grandad nodded. Megan shrugged off her jeans and jumper, went to the edge of the deck, picked up a dart and dived into the water. The cold zinged through her like a surgical knife. With strong, sure strokes she pulled herself down, her eyes casting around for telltale signs. And she was in luck. The vast cold sea was filled with life. Turtles, seals, otters, countless fish. And then she spotted something that made her smile. Salmon.
    She threw the barb and it found its mark. Megan eased through the grey, frantic, whirling mass and caught the fish up. Minutes later she burst up to the surface. She waved the still-thrashing fish and saw her grandfather’s face crease into a rare smile. He loved salmon. With a mighty heave she threw the fish and barb, and he caught it.
    Megan took a deep breath and plunged back down, this time following the line to the crab pot. She untied it, dragged it up to the surface, passed it up to her grandfather’s waiting hand and swarmed up the rope ladder. Back on deck she rubbed herself down with a rough towel and dressed. Soon they were on their way. This time she hauled the pot up and they moved on to the next. The tide was starting to turn and the night was waning. Megan relaxed and happily anticipated a warm fire and salmon steaks. Maybe followed by a few crab claws. Her mouth watered.
    She turned to ask Grandad if they were done, but noticed him staring across the water. And then she saw a light. Another boat, racing towards them. She felt panic rise, as it was rare to find anyone else out and about in this remote nook of the world. Only the warmer months brought the few tourists who ventured out this far. It was too rugged for most in May.
    With sure-footed grace she crossed the wet deck and stood beside her grandfather, holding her hair out of her eyes, ready to start the engine at a word. But then he waved a hand in greeting and ‘Hello!’ floated across the waves.
    â€˜Who is it?’ she asked.
    â€˜It’s Douglas Douglas and his boy, Douglas,’ he said, his eyes sliding away from her in an oddly shifty fashion.
    Megan was surprised. And then suspicious. ‘What do they want?’
    Her grandfather turned to the sails. ‘They’re just being…social.’
    Megan’s amber eyes narrowed and she turned reluctantly to the pots. Well, well, well. Grandad was up to something. But for the life of her she couldn’t fathom what it was.

Chapter 13
    When he hauled his butt into the yard at five o’clock Sean had the hangover from hell. The hum of Ginny’s moped pulling into the drive sounded like a jumbo jet flying into his ear. The click-clack of the track rider’s boots on the concrete was like a jackhammer on the top of his head.
    He watched the lads come out of the tack room with their saddles and bridles. ‘Billy, leave The Count, I’ll work him this morning. You take Spike instead.’
    Billy smiled the cheerful smile of the teetotaller and veered off to his designated ride.
    Sean ducked into the small room, picked up his saddle and bridle and went to the black horse’s stable. For a moment he observed the animal and tried to work out whether or not he’d dreamed the incident of the night before. Had she really been there? Megan MacGregor. He pulled a packet of aspirins from his jeans pocket and crunched them up. Gross.
    Still, by the time he joined the string he was feeling a bit more chipper. His head felt attached to his body again. He must cut down on the grog.
    As the line of horses walked briskly down the muddy track Sean found his gaze travelling to the snowy tor. But she wasn’t there. Or not yet, anyway. The Count, taking advantage of his inattentiveness, put in a massive shy which damn near unseated him. Serve him right.
    Once they’d surged