'Got the bugger!' Gunshot echoed across the hill-side and Fraser Maclean re-loaded and fired again. Beside him, aggressive and concentrating, Rona Malcolm continued to take shots at rabbits lurching in many directions down the brae. She was accurate and confident.

'Shot!' he said, and turned to pee into the heather. He felt relaxed and relieved. In the broad sunlight, the heather sparkled all colours, and she desired him.

'Bloody pests,' he swore, as their shooting resumed. 'There seem to be more and more of them.'

'Then why do you object to a few poachers?' she teased.

'Because I own this land. It's my land and I'll say who shoots on it.' Rona laughed.

'You won't stop them!'

'I'll have'... he fired ...'a bloody good try.'

She watched him, as his shots rang out, and took a flask from her basket. She unscrewed the lid.

'Here!' she cried, sitting down in thick heather. 'Come and take some of this.' They sat, in the lap of the hill, her hand relaxed across his tweeded thigh, which felt pleasing and rough like the heather around them.

'Whisky!' he announced, tipping the flask. 'And bloody good whisky at that!' It was sweet to the throat and he lay back and swallowed some more. He was relaxed and felt basic, instinctive.

'Gi' it here now,' Rona said sweetly, and snatched it away. 'It's too good for you.' Fraser made feeble complaint. She lifted the flask up clear of her face and let it flow slowly into her mouth, the golden water catching the sun and looking like flame.

She felt hot and moist, and the whisky stung her lips and played on her tongue. She breathed in deeply and stretched back against the hill. Overhead the sky was blue and brilliant, bright clouds coursing freely from the west; and beneath, rock and soft scrub, and all the world joyful, alive. They lay, side by side in a deep rest and stillness, feeling the touch of each other close by, the process of thought not disturbing their minds - but just an awareness of physical contact and physical nature all round.

Beyond them the roll of the hills stretched away toward Moidart, silent, remote, and unchanging. And westward the sea. A light breeze blew in from the distant coast, shadows and sunlight chasing each other, and stealing soft on the face of Beinn Dearg, coming, going. Down below, through the woodland, the grey walls of the Castle merged with the landscape, just a few windows glinting in sun. The valley rivers bent, tumbled, converged and their waters glistened, but their constant chatter and uproar were quite out of earshot. The land was beautiful and wild, untamed.

Rona Malcolm looked at the man beside her, his eyes closed to the sun, his body outstretched, at rest. He was a large, physical man : powerful, attractive, with rugged good looks and something compulsive within him. She liked him. There was an almost innocent drive in his nature that appealed to her and made him seem younger than forty. Yet his dark black hair had just started greying at the temples.

Whereas she was young - twenty eight - and she loved it.

She knew her strength and independence. She liked her body, her looks and the insistent demands of her sexual nature. Why shouldn't she? She, too, was powerful, attractive and she recognised the same directness and aggression in Fraser. They enjoyed it in each other. Reddish, auburn hair was pinned back behind her ears. She felt the sweat on her brow and gasped, open-mouthed. His presence made her hot, feminine.

She turned onto one elbow and smiled gently. 'I can see Charlie,' she grinned, looking at the top of his trousers.

'Can you now?' Fraser replied without moving.

Rona felt pleased and stroked one finger up along the ridge of the cloth.

He turned his face calmly to hers, and they stared at each other, eye-to-eye. She was looking with stillness into his eyes, not averting her glance; her still, sharp eyes reading him, meeting him, hitting him, liking him - and his, playing, contending with hers, yet coming together like a stillness on the surface of water. And then in the deeps : they knew the mutual aggression of their desires, yet it was agreeable to them.

'Does your wife suspect that we meet like this?' she asked gently.

'Of course she does : she suspects me of everything.'

'So she should.'

'But I'm not guilty!'

'I cannae say I blame her : if you were mine, I'd keep you locked up.' She laughed at the thought. It amused her.

'Be mine, Fraser' she demanded, kissing Charlie fondly through the trousers and licking the tweed material.

'And be locked away? No thank you!' he answered.

Then she bit him gently but firmly and leapt to escape. He jumped to give chase, smiling angrily, and rushed at her through the undergrowth. But, at the moment of capture, turning aside, she caught his ankle and sent him tumbling into the heather.

'Fuck you, Fraser!' she shouted.

She felt aroused like an animal.

When he caught up with her, laden with guns and baskets, jackets and hats, she was standing astride a small burn, cooling her face in its peaty water. She splashed him playfully and shouted 'Yeee!' but she felt soft and gentle toward him, and gave him the smile of a friend.

They walked on, mostly in silence, down the side of the hill, Fraser leading the way so that she could enjoy looking at his body.

A curlew was calling somewhere in the grass to the right.

'You've got a beautiful bum,' she said.

'I know,' he answered, and walked on quietly.

As they loaded the Land-Rover up, Rona stopped him and caught his eyes sharply. He met hers directly and stared.

'I want you and I'm going to have you...'

'Can you be sure?' he replied.

'You know the answer to that,' she insisted.

They jumped in her vehicle and she started the engine.

Shaking her hair loose, she drove down the track, a scar of a road on the face of the hill, blasted out several years earlier for the sportsmen and their ghillies.

In the brightness of the afternoon, they returned to Ardfinnan Castle through the wooded policies - its Gothic turrets reaching upwards, the original building burnt down in the '45. Scott, a manservant, came over to meet them and Fraser passed him his gun. Tall, ancient, moustached, he was wholly discreet and the two men understood each other. Once there would have been scores of servants, but now the Castle was reduced to four : Scott, a housekeeper and two gardeners.

Maclean and Scott had a good understanding. Scott enjoyed a good life, with plenty of informal benefits to which his employer turned a blind eye. In return, Scott was scrupulous in meeting the demands of the household and he, as well, turned a blind eye to Fraser's informal activities. Indeed he respected Fraser, as most people did, finding him fair, straightforward and down-to-earth.

They went in.

Rona was familiar with the long panelled rooms, high-vaulted, and decorated with the aristocratic furnishings of an earlier age. Caroline always ensured that the house was well-ordered. Cut-glass decanters and silver candlesticks, long mahogany tables ready for guests - small delicate porcelain which she collected, and flower arrangements on table-tops blossoming everywhere. The younger woman found it oppressive : she wished she could set Fraser free from it all. They entered the sitting room and he walked to the long west windows overlooking the meadows and ancient woodlands. It seemed dark inside. Rona helped herself to a drink from the cabinet, and passed one to Fraser. They sat down, and Fraser's pair of deerhounds lolled over to greet her. She stroked their rough shaggy coats, and handled them affectionately.

She asked him how his children were, how they were getting on, what they might do in the summer. Her interest was sincere. They were part of him and, besides, she loved all children. She could not understand sending them away to a school. When Fraser complained that Roberta should behave more like a girl, Rona teased and annoyed him. How could he be so sexist? It surprised and upset her that he couldn't take his own daughter seriously; that he would consign her to ... flower-arranging. But she put it down to his age and upbringing. Certainly, he was a magnanimous man deep down. So she made allowances because she loved him, desired him. Around them, in the sitting room, stalking trophies festooned the walls, and portraits of ancient Macleans looking down from departed centuries.

'These are my bloody ancestors!' he boasted. 'Our family goes back a thousand years. One day, Alasdair will be up there with the rest of them. Just think!' He was pleased with the idea. The tradition and continuity mattered to him.

Rona waved her hand irreverently.

'Look at them! Old farts like you!'

'I'm not old,' he complained.

'You are, Fraser,' she said fondly. 'You're ancient.'

He looked at her, as if to say, I will show you you're wrong about that, you whore, but challenged her to a game of squash instead.

'I expect you'll have your portrait up there one day,' she continued.

'I already have.' He pointed behind her.

Rona turned and she frowned, privately. This tradition, this history : it seemed to rule people's lives, to constrain them. She looked round again at the man in the flesh. Did it hold him back from giving himself to her? She knew, too, that hers was new wealth, something different. Investments and projects : commercial interests in town, and the best hotel in the area - The Kilchreggan.

She tossed her hair back and finished her whisky.

Outside, in the drive, they felt the furtive brush of each other's clothing as they walked along, reluctant to part. He leant over her door.

'I'll get Scott to send round some salmon tomorrow - if the poachers haven't made off with the lot...'

She smiled brightly, kissed her finger and pressed it to his lips.

'Look after Charlie,' she whispered, and sped off down the drive.

More cloud was beginning to push in from the sea, and the day was growing cooler. Fraser, feeling alone, looked down across a couple of paddocks and a meadow towards a turn in the valley where the river flowed deep and the fishing was sometimes good. The Ardfinnan estate reached thousands of acres back into the hills, but the banks of the River Tornish were probably its most profitable asset. The Tornish also marked the boundary of his property. It adjoined Kilnacraig which was owned by a Londoner, Brigadier Dennis. He was rarely up in the North. An hour later, Gordon arrived. He had overtaken the others on the road. Scott took some of his baggage and Fraser showed him to his room. They did not have a natural rapport, but Fraser talked cheerfully enough and tried to be civil and courteous.

'This is the library,' he said, showing Gordon the Castle. 'I expect a historian like you might find something of interest in here. Don't get much time for it myself.' Gordon peered at the shelves, and the large antique volumes smelling of leather. Then they pressed on.

They got back outside just as the children arrived. The deerhounds were bounding all over them, and Alasdair was excited to see the beautiful dogs. Caroline asked Scott to take them inside. Fraser cried out.

'Hey son! How are you? You've grown even taller, I'd say.'

He grabbed hold of Alasdair and pressed him to his side in a playful head-lock. 'It's good to see you!'

'Listen,' he continued. 'There's this brilliant climbing-wall at the new Sports Centre. Thought I might take you along one day, if you like?'

Alasdair agreed hesitantly.

Roberta had loped up and locked on to her father as well.

'Can I come too? I went on this rock-climbing course, dad, at school. It was great.'

'You lass? I can't see my Piglet climbing Mount Everest.' He laughed. She hated his nick-name for her.

'The instructor said I did well' she complained. But he was already walking away. She felt disappointed. She adored him.

'We could take Harry down to the river. Show him where we build the dams,' said Alasdair. 'Would you like that, Harry?'

Harry quietly assented.

'Do you need to use the cloakroom first?' said Caroline.

Harry stared, lost for words.

'Harry hasn't got any cloaks,' said Roberta. 'Come on!' and she led the way. Drawn by the water, Harry followed the brother and sister down across the paddock.

'I'll keep an eye on them,' Gordon declared and followed their trail through the tall grass.

'Needs help blowing his nose, that one...' said Fraser, nodding after the teacher. It annoyed Caroline that he could be so dismissive.

'Don't be so mean,' she protested. 'He's a first-class teacher.'

'I dare say, but I want Alasdair to grow up to be a proper man.'

'Like his father?' she suggested. 'Did you have a good day?'

'Had to see the accountant this morning.'

She knew he was lying.

* * *