‘Thank you,’ said Becky fervently.

‘Are you all right?’ he demanded abruptly.

‘Yes, thanks to you.’

She dismounted, and immediately realised just how tall he was. Now his grim face and dark, intense eyes were looking down at her, the traces of cold rage still visible.

The angry little crowd had been alarming because there were three of them. But this man was dangerous on his own account, and suddenly she wondered if she was any safer than before.

‘They’ve gone now,’ he said. ‘They won’t come back.’

It was a simple statement of fact. He knew nobody would choose to face him twice.

‘Thank you,’ she said, speaking English, as he had done, but slowly. ‘I’ve never been so glad to see anyone. I thought there was nobody to help me.’

‘You don’t have to speak slowly,’ he said proudly. ‘I know English.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Where did you appear from?’

‘I live just past those trees. You had better come with me, and I will make you some tea.’

‘Thank you.’

As they walked he said, ‘I know everybody around here, but I’ve never seen them before.’

‘They come from England. They were looking for my father, but he’s away and that made them angry.’

‘Perhaps you should not have ridden alone.’

‘I didn’t know they were there, and why shouldn’t I ride where I like on my father’s land?’

‘Ah, yes, your father is the Englishman everyone is talking of. But this is not his land. It belongs to me. Just a narrow strip, but it contains my home, which I will not sell.’

‘But Dad told me…’ She checked herself.

‘He told you that he’d bought all the land round here. He must have overlooked this little piece. It’s very easily done.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she said involuntarily.

They had turned a corner and come across a small stone cottage. It nestled against the lee of a hill in the shadow of pine trees, and her first thought was that it looked cosy and welcoming.