"Trouble?"
"An old injury, that's all."
She pulled up the right leg of her slacks and he eased off the shoe and sock. "I'd have thought you would have caught up with me."
"I tried the short route straight up and it proved longer. I had to sit down in the mist."
"I just kept on walking. I noticed you at the station in Glasgow. I was coming out of the toilets and saw you buying a map at the bookstall. I waited till you boarded the train before getting on board myself. Most intriguing, especially when you changed trains as I did at Fort William."
"So, you left the train to draw me on?"
"Of course."
"Damn you, Asta, I should put you over my knee."
"Is that a promise? We Swedes are reputed to be terribly oversexed."
He laughed out loud. "I'd better get on with this foot while Fergus Munro hotfoots it to Loch Dhu Castle with his tale of woe. I should think we can expect company soon."
"I should hope so. I haven't the slightest intention of walking any further."
Dillon raised her foot. There was a faint puffiness at the ankle and a jagged scar.
"How did you get that?"
"Skiing. There was a time when I was an Olympic possibility."
"Too bad. I'll take the lamp for a minute."
He went into the kitchen, checked the drawers, and found some kitchen towels. He soaked one in cold water and returned to the living room.
"A cold compress will help." He bandaged the ankle expertly. "Tired?"
"Not too much. Hungry though."
He got one of the half-pound blocks of chocolate from his Burberry pocket. "Bad for your figure, but sustaining."
"You're a magician, Dillon." She ate the chocolate greedily and he lit a cigarette and sat by the fire. She suddenly paused. "What about you?"
"I had some." He stretched. "The grand place this. Fish in the burn, deer in the forest, a roof over your head, and a fine, strong girl like yourself to help on the land."
"Thanks very much. An arid sort of life, I should have thought."
"Haven't you heard the old Italian saying? One can live well on bread and kisses."
"Or chocolate." She held up what was left of the bar and they both laughed.
Dillon got up, went and opened the door. There was a full moon and the only sound was the burn as its waters ran by.
"We could be the last two people left on earth," she said.
"Not for long, there's a vehicle coming." He moved out of the porch and stood there waiting.
Two Shoguns braked to a halt. Fergus Munro was driving the first one and Murdoch was sitting next to him. As Munro got out, the factor came round from the other side clutching a shotgun. Carl Morgan was at the wheel of the second one and got out, an enormously powerful-looking figure in his sheepskin coat.
Murdoch said something to Munro and clicked back the hammers on the shotgun. Munro opened the door of the Shogun and Murdoch whistled softly. There was a sudden scramble inside and a black shadow materialized from the darkness to stand beside him.
"Flush him out, boy."
As the dog came forward with a rush, Dillon saw that it was a Doberman pinscher, one of the most deadly fighting dogs in the world. He went forward to meet it.
"Good boy," he said and extended a hand.
The dog froze, a growl starting somewhere at the back of the throat, and Munro said, "That's him, Mr. Morgan. That's the bastard who attacked me and his fancy woman still inside, no doubt."
Morgan said, "Private property, my friend, you should have stayed out."
The dog growled again, full of menace, and Dillon whistled softly, an eerie sound that set the teeth on edge. The dog's ears went back and Dillon fondled his muzzle and stroked him.
"Good God!" Murdoch said.
"Easy when you know how," Dillon told him. "I learned that from a man who was once my friend." He smiled. "Later, he regretted teaching me anything, but that's life."
Morgan said calmly, "Who in the hell are you?"
It was then that Asta joined the scene. "Carl, is that you? Thank God you're here."
She stumbled from the doorway and Morgan, astonishment on his face, moved fast to catch her in his arms. "Asta, for God's sake, what is this?"
He helped her inside and Fergus Munro said to Murdoch, "Asta? Who in the hell is Asta?"
"Something tells me you're in for a very unpleasant surprise, my old son," Dillon told him, and he turned and followed them in, the Doberman at his heels.
Asta was back in the chair and Morgan knelt beside her, holding a hand. "It was horrible, Carl. I left the train at Lochailort and came over the mountain, turned my ankle and was feeling absolutely foul when I found the lodge and got in through the kitchen window. And then this man came, the man out there. He was horrible."
Morgan stood up. "The man out there?" he said and his face was very pale.
"Yes, Carl, he threatened me." Her hand went to the torn blouse. "In fact, he was thoroughly unpleasant, and then Mr. Dillon here came and there was a struggle and he threw him out."
Morgan had murder in his eyes. He turned to Murdoch, who stood in the doorway. "Do you realize who this is? My daughter Asta. Where's that bastard who brought us here, Fergus?"
The roar of an engine breaking into life answered him and he pushed Murdoch to one side and ran out to see one of the Shoguns drive away.
"Shall I go after him?" Murdoch said.
"No." Morgan shook his head, hands unclenching. "We'll deal with him later." He turned to Dillon and held out a hand. "I'm Carl Morgan and I would seem to be considerably in your debt."
"Dillon-Sean Dillon."
Morgan turned to Asta. "Are you trying to tell me you walked over that damn mountain this afternoon?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. I thought I'd just walk in on you. Surprise you."
Morgan turned to Dillon, who, lighting a cigarette, forestalled him. "I'm on my way to join my uncle, Brigadier Charles Ferguson, for the shooting. He's leased a place called Ardmurchan Lodge."
There was something in Morgan's eyes straight away, but he simply said, "That makes us neighbors then. I presume you also thought it was a good idea to walk over the mountain?"
"Not at all. I thought it was a lousy idea and so did the ticket collector when she left the train. To be frank, I'd noticed her destination from her luggage labels. I got out to stretch my legs and saw her make off. When I asked the ticket collector what was going on, he told me she was going to walk over the mountain. As I said, he didn't think much of the idea and neither did I, so I decided to follow. Unfortunately I chose another route and was delayed by the mist, so I didn't catch up with her until she reached the lodge."
Asta said weakly, "I'm afraid I've made something of a fool of myself. Could we go now, Carl?"
She was acting up to the hilt and Dillon, an actor himself, saw that, but not Morgan, who put an arm round her, instant concern there. "Of course we will." He glanced at Dillon. "We'll drop you off on the way."
"That would be fine," Dillon said.
Murdoch took the wheel on the way down the glen and Dillon and Morgan sat on the large bench seat, Asta between them, the Doberman on the floor at their feet. Dillon fondled its ears.
"Guard dog, they said." Morgan shook his head. "With you he's more like a big pussy cat."
"An emotional thing between me and him, Mr. Morgan. He likes me."
"Loves you, more like," Asta said. "I've never seen anything like it."
"I still wouldn't like to be the intruder who comes over the wall and finds him there."
"So Brigadier Ferguson is your uncle?" Morgan said. "I haven't had the pleasure yet, but then I only arrived at Loch Dhu Castle myself yesterday."
"Yes," Dillon said, "so I understand."
"Is the Brigadier retired or in business or what?"
"Oh, he was in the army for years, but now he's a consultant to a number of businesses worldwide."
"And you?"
"I help out. A sort of middleman, you might say. I've got this thing for languages, so he finds me useful."