Niall Mountmarche, nephew of Louis, had arrived on the island three months ago by private boat and his contact with the locals since then had been restricted to necessary business. The threatening signs had been renewed.

It seemed that there was a family trait of isolation and aggression.

The ogre reputation was building again among the local children and the unknown Niall Mountmarche did nothing to refute it.

So…

So Jessie shouldn’t be here, crawling on all fours between the grapevines trying desperately to follow the broken trail of drag marks and blood.

The ground had been recently furrowed. It was early spring on the island and the vines were just budding. Someone had been here recently, ploughing weeds into the ground and, by the smell of the rich loam, applying fertilizer.

‘Harry,’ Jessie called softly.

Drat the Mountmarches. They had her spooked. She took a deep breath and rose to her feet. The trail ended here but where the vines were still bare she’d surely see an injured dog if it was in the open.

Jessie raised her voice. ‘Harry!’

There was no response.

Or was there? Had she heard something?

Jessie’s face turned in the morning sun toward a bank of trees further down the slope. In the trees there was cover-and an injured dog would head for cover if it possibly could. The sound-if she hadn’t imagined it-had come from there.

She was too close to the Mountmarche house for comfort. For a moment Jessie considered approaching the house to ask permission to search-but only for a moment. The Mountmarche reputation suggested that she’d be marched off the property at the point of a gun-and where would that leave Harry?

‘Harry?’ Jess called again, lowering her voice and heading down the slopes into the cover of the trees. She cast a nervous glance at the house and her voice dropped even further. ‘Harry!’

A pathetic whimper cut across the silence, so low that she would have missed it if her ears hadn’t been straining to hear.