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He was splitting hairs, and she gave him an angry glare. He had not said anything about following her up the hillside, either.

'Why didn't you speak, instead of creeping up behind me like that?' she snapped, and jumped to her feet. She felt at a disadvantage, looking up at him.

'You sat so still I thought you'd gone to sleep. And Gyp didn't stir either.' He reached down and rubbed the dog's head, and was rewarded by a waving tail.

'He's glad to rest when he's come this far,' she acknowledged reluctantly, and wished her heart beat would slow down to a more normal rate. She moved away from Reeve uneasily, feeling his magnetism penetrate even the wall of dislike she tried to erect between them, conscious of his nearness, of her own flimsy defences, and angry at her own reaction.

'We'll give Gyp a lift back as a concession to his old bones.' Reeve moved as well, closing the gap between them until he stood beside her. 'Mrs Pugh told me where you were heading for, and I left a message for Willy at the airport to keep a lookout for us, and pick us up when he's ready.'

'You mean he'll land here? On the hill?' Surprise made Marion forget her antagonism for a moment.

'Why not?' His eyes flared with sudden laughter. 'Helicopters can go almost anywhere, and there's a small plateau just beyond the rock outcrop that's plenty big enough for Willy to put the machine on. In fact, just about here would do, it's fairly flat. Look, he's seen us already, he's cruising this way.' He raised his hand as the machine came towards them, dropping lower to land. Reeve hooked his other hand under Marion's elbow and urged her forward with him. 'I wonder what your uncle's made of the drovers' road from the air?' he murmured interestedly.

'The same as he made of it from the ground, I expect,' Marion retorted sharply. 'He'll find his map was correct, after all.' She snapped her fingers to Gyp, who rose reluctantly to his feet and ambled after them, patently preferring to doze in the sunshine for a little while longer, but her new-found concern made her prefer to keep him at her side.

'You go on, if you're in a hurry,' she tried to twist her arm free from Reeve's grip. 'I'm not riding back in the helicopter.' Her movement loosened her handkerchief from about her wrist, and it fluttered to the ground, but she left it where it was. Reeve tightened his grip on her, and she turned towards him angrily.

'Don't be silly.' He rounded on her coldly, and continued to hold her with humiliating ease. 'It's hot, and the dog's tired. And you must be too, you've had one trip up on the hill already today.'

'Take Gyp if you want to. I'm going to walk back.'

'You're going to do nothing of the kind,' he stated flatly. 'It's not safe for you to walk the hill on your own, without the dog.'

'Now who's being silly?' she scoffed. 'I've done it often enough before, and who am I likely to meet up here, in any case?' She waved a derisive hand at the surrounding landscape, empty of life except for themselves, the hovering machine, and browsing sheep.

'There's that rough-looking gypsy type. He was still slouching about when I started up the hill,' Reeve growled.

'That's only Ben Wade. I've known him since he was little,' she retorted scornfully.

'I saw you talking to him by the beck.' He sounded disapproving, as well as totally unimpressed.

'I'm as safe with him as I am with you,' she flared angrily. It was no concern of Reeve's who she talked to, she had a right to speak with whom she chose she told herself defiantly. And then she stopped, and her words died in her throat, caught on a swiftly indrawn breath as she met his steely stare.

It pinned and held her, spearlike in its intensity, halting her in her tracks as effectively as it checked her words. He reached out with his other hand and pulled her roughly towards him, the anger on his face equalling her own. She tried to pull away, but she was powerless to resist his superior strength. The breath that stopped her words seemed to desert her altogether, and her lips parted in wordless protest. She raised her eyes to his, striving to read the strange expression that rode his features like a cloud. Anger, and something else that she could not define, but she shrank from what she saw there, as much as from the words that vibrated harshly from his tight lips.

The helicopter was almost upon them, close enough to merge its shadow with their own, but despite the noise it made it failed to obliterate what he said. His words sounded in her ears with the clarity of a bell as he snapped, in clipped tones,

'What makes you think you're safe with me?'

'
A
ll
aboard for the airport!'

Reeve released her as the pilot's cheerful voice called from the aircraft. He put her away from him, although his hand still hovered under her elbow, as if to make sure she accompanied him to the opened door of the helicopter. Willy's face beamed at them from the opening.

'Come and join us,' he invited, and held out his hand to help her.

'I'm not ....' she began, in as firm a voice as she could muster—and got no further.

'You're coming back with me,' Reeve gritted in her ear from just behind. She tried to turn round, but he was too close, and she was pinned in between him and the machine, and she had no freedom to move away. He grasped her round the waist with a grip of steel, ignored her furious, 'I told you I was going to walk bade!' and hoisted her bodily into the helicopter beside the pilot.

The moment her feet touched the cabin floor she spun round to jump back to the ground again, speechless with anger at his high-handed action, but with a quick snap of his fingers to Gyp he foiled her intention and sent the collie into the aircraft after her. There was no room for them both in the narrow door opening, as he must have known full well, she thought furiously, and perforce she had to wait for Gyp to scramble to safety before disembarking herself. The instant Gyp was clear of the door she moved towards it. She only took one step, and Reeve confronted her. He followed the dog into the machine without a pause, and his bulk effectively blocked her exit, forcing her to step back. He closed the door behind him with a final-sounding click, placed both hands on her arms, and propelled her firmly towards the seat.

'You sit behind Willy, I'll come beside you. Here, Gyp, under the seat boy.' He placed the dog out of the way of being stepped on and took his own seat, pulling Marion down beside him with a firm pressure. For a brief second she resisted, pride demanding she demonstrate her right to do as she pleased, and anger making her long to strike out, to free Reeve's grip from her arms.

'You can see everything from the cabin, my dear. It's quite remarkable.'

She subsided, suddenly, the choice taken from her. Short of creating a scene, Reeve left her with no option, she realised furiously. If Willy and her uncle had not been there ....

'Gyp doesn't seem to mind the idea of flying,' Willy spoke from in front of her. 'I thought he might have been afraid.'

'Why should he be?' Mile? Dorman raised his head in innocent enquiry from his maps. 'He knows he's safe with us,' he said simply, and returned to his study.

'Marion may not have Gyp's sublime confidence,' Willy laughed. 'What about it, Marion? Are you scared?' he grinned back at her.

'Well, are you?' Reeve repeated the question softly, into the sudden silence that hovered on the heels of the pilot's question. 'Are you afraid?' he asked.

'Of course I'm not afraid of flying,' she denied stoutly. 'I've flown often enough before.' But she knew she begged the question. Willy had meant flying. Reeve had not, and his derisive glance told her so. She tried not to meet it. She tried to look away, but his silent gaze drew her with an irresistible force, and her heart thumped painfully as she met the mockery on his face, accusing her of being afraid —of him? Taunting her, because he knew.... But she dared not admit to feeling afraid, particularly with Willy and her uncle there. Particularly to herself.... Miles Dorman knew she was not afraid to fly, and if she said she was, and used that as an excuse, he would want an explanation.

'What makes you think you're safe with me?'

She could not give her uncle that as an explanation. He was quite capable, in spite of his gentle nature, of turning Reeve out of the Fleece. And with a sinking heart Marion knew she did not want him to go. Could not bear the thought of him leaving.

'I love him...

The knowledge hit her with devastating force. How could you possibly love, and hate, and fear, all at the same time? she wondered despairingly. She tried to drag her eyes away from his, but the lurking laughter in the steel grey pools held her, drowning her.... Panic grew inside her, and she gave a convulsive tremor.

'Time we went,' Willy announced laconically from in front. He did something to the controls, the rotors spun into whirring life, and Gyp stirred restlessly from underneath the seat.

'It's all right, boy. Lie still.' Reeve bent to put a reassuring hand on the dog's head. His move took his eyes away from Marion's face, and she leaned back weakly in her seat, released as if from bondage, and trembling in every limb.

'You get a wonderful view of the drovers' road from the air, Marion.' Her uncle twisted round in his seat, completely unaware of the turmoil that possessed his niece. 'Quite different from when you're on the ground,' he enthused. 'The bits of the road we couldn't trace seem quite clear from up here.'

'Let's take Marion across and show her,' Reeve suggested, and obediently Willy turned the machine in the direction of the rock outcrop.

'You two have already seen it,' said Willy. 'Let Marion have the best view this time.' He manoeuvred the helicopter so that the rock outcrop was on Marion's side of the machine. The transparent bubble of the cabin gave her a perfect view, but suddenly she did not want to look. She knew she had to, for her uncle's sake. But Reeve was close beside her, she could feel him pressing against her, their shoulders touching in the narrow confines of the cabin. She sensed his silent insistence that she should look down, to see the route of the drovers' road, which something told her with uncompromising clarity, went to the right, and not to the left, of the rocks.

'Aren't you going to look? Or are you afraid of that, too?' He spoke so quietly that only she could hear him. She stiffened resentfully, feeling his breath fan her cheek, feeling him challenge her to look, and see, and admit that the road ran to the right of the rocks, as he said.

She looked down, and the line of the ancient road ran to the right of the rocks, as he said. It was startlingly obvious. Contours that had seemed perfectly flat from the ground stood out now in bold relief against the hillside, and the line of the ancient road ran unbroken as far as she could see on either side. Against her will her eyes traced its length to each horizon. The line to the left of the rocks was equally obviously—simply exposed rock. She sensed him stiffen, waiting for her to speak, and she compressed her lips stubbornly.

'It does go to the right of the rocks—look, Marion.' Her uncle pointed downwards, eager to show her this new wonder. 'I remember I was doubtful, at the time.'

'Are you still doubtful?' Reeve asked Marion softly in her ear.

Doubtful of what? she wondered wildly. Of the route taken by the drovers' road? Or of whether she loved him? There was no possible doubt in her mind about that. She wished fervently there could be. If she did not love Reeve, she would not feel so miserable now. But surely he could not know that? Even Reeve could not—must not—read her innermost thoughts. Then why did he lean against her so closely? She tried to move away, suffocated by the behaviour of her heart, which hammered in her breast like a wild thing beating against the bars of a cage.

'So, the road goes to the right of the rock. Now are you satisfied?' she forced the words out through clenched teeth.

'Not entirely, but it'll do for now.' Reeve leaned back in his seat, completely at ease, an enigmatic smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Marion shot him a suspicious glance. What did he mean, it would do for now? Whatever it meant, he evidently did not intend to enlarge, and she wriggled into a more comfortable position in her own seat, trying
to
free herself from the consciousness of his shoulder against her own.

'Are you ready to go back now?' Willy enquired patiently from the front, and Reeve answered him calmly,

'Quite ready, if Miles is?'

So it was Miles now, not Mr Dorman. Reeve seemed to have penetrated her uncle's normal barrier of reserve more quickly than she suspected, Marion thought uneasily.

'They're haymaking in Merevale.' Miles Dorman left his maps for a moment to scan the ground over which they were passing.

'I don't see anyone doing the same in Fallbeck.' From their height it was possible to view both valleys, and with typical boyish enthusiasm Willy turned the journey into a hay-spotting competition.

'There's very little hay gathered in our valley,' Miles Dorman answered him, 'and it's always a lot later ripening than it is in Merevale. Fallbeck Scar casts a long shadow.' So did Reeve, thought Marion, and one that was infinitely more menacing than the shadow of the Scar. 'It creates a sort of micro-climate of its own,' her uncle went on meticulously, 'because for the greater part of the day it keeps the sun off the lower fields. It has the opposite effect on Merevale, of course, the rise of the hill shelters the other valley from the worst of the weather, and facing south it gets the best of both worlds, plenty of sunshine and the watershed makes sure it has adequate rain. You can see how much more fertile it is,' he pointed out, and Marion could have screamed at him.

'He's playing right into Reeve's hands,' she thought desperately. 'Have you altered the marking on your map?' she asked him aloud. She had to divert his attention somehow, or he would soon be agreeing with Reeve that Fallbeck valley would serve a more useful purpose as a reservoir, rather than as farmland.

'Yes, I've traced the proper course of the road.' Marion compressed her lips, her relief at the success of her ploy mitigated by the galling knowledge that Reeve had been right, and she had been wrong. She let her uncle's reply go by without comment. There was nothing she could say. She could feel Reeve watching her, waiting for her to speak.