"I've never walked this far in my life," she moaned.
"I once walked the entire length of Kashmir-"
"Oh, shut up." She was limping away before she had to listen to any more of his tale. "It hurts enough already," she muttered.
It was late afternoon before they reached the Rosslyn Chapel sign which pointed down a lane off the main road. Between wet fields and under a slate-grey sky, it took them in to the village of Roslin.
"Did you know," Shavi began, "that the Roslin Institute is nearby, where they cloned Dolly the sheep. A place of mysteries both old and new."
"Whoop de doo."
They were barely in the village when another tiny lane led them off to the right. A little way down it they reached the chapel car park; they could tell they were nearing their destination from the stark change in atmosphere: it grew oppressive and brooding, as if the mystery that lurked there was potent enough to affect the air itself. The chapel was completely obscured by trees, a visitor centre and high fences which made it difficult for anyone to get inside. The custodians had already locked up for the day.
Shavi checked the sky and rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but before he could speak, Laura said, "Pull yourself together. We're not going in there today. I'm not going to be caught anywhere near the place after night has fallen."
Shavi smiled. "Then we make camp."
They needed to find somewhere where they wouldn't be stumbled across or reported to the authorities. Picking their way down a steep path, they came to the graveyard, with its neatly tended plots, ancient and new stones mingling together. Another footpath led off to one side where the trees grew thickest. The whole area was still. No traffic rumbled, no birds sang.
"Maybe it's just the weather, but I can feel something like… despair." Laura glanced into the thick vegetation beneath the tree cover where the water dripped from the leaves in a steady rhythm.
Shavi nodded, said nothing.
The path wound around until the graveyard was lost behind them and the branches closed over their heads, sealing them in a gloomy, verdant world. A rabbit started at their approach and dived into the undergrowth. Eventually they could hear the splashing water of a stream or falls, and then they were out of the trees again, suddenly confronted by the breathtaking view of a treeclustered glen far beneath them. The haar drifted eerily in white tendrils among the treetops. Everywhere was still, waiting.
"It's beautiful," Laura said. "But there's something not natural about the place. Which is a pretty stupid thing to say about the countryside."
The path wound round until it crossed a tiny stone bridge which soared high above the glen. On the other side, hanging over the steep sides of the valley like some fairy-tale fortress, were the majestic stone ruins of Rosslyn Castle. Just beyond the broken turrets and fallen walls they could see lights; part of the building was still in use. They picked up a rough track just before the bridge which led them scrambling down into the glen and then the trees were closing over them again. Oak, ash and elm mingled all around, hinting at the great age of the woodland, and this was reflected in the diversity of the undergrowth that prospered beneath the tree cover: wood sorrel, ransoms, golden saxifrage, dog's mercury and wood-rush.
The place was so lonely Laura couldn't help but feel unnerved and when she glanced at Shavi she could see it reflected on his normally stolid face too; it was in the air, in every tree and rock. They trekked along the floor of the glen by the banks of the white-foamed North Esk until they found an isolated clearing where the smoke from any fire would not be seen from the castle.
"Are you sure we shouldn't go back and find a B amp;B?" Laura ventured. She was even more disturbed when she saw Shavi almost considered it.
They pitched the tent with its rear end in an impenetrable cluster of undergrowth to prevent anyone approaching them from behind. To Laura's growing anxiety, the flora all around was so dense, the noise from the swishing leaves and the thundering river so great, it would have been impossible to discern strangers until they were almost upon them.
"If this was a movie," Laura began, "I'd say, `I can't shake the feeling there's somebody watching us."' Shavi nodded. "You're supposed to say, 'Don't be so stupid, it's just the trees,"' she added irritably.
"I think we should take a chance and light the fire now." He looked up at the streaks of drifting white in the gloomy treetops. "It will get dark here much quicker than if we were out in the open."
"You can build a beacon they could see in Holland for me."
Shavi spent the next half hour collecting enough wood to last them all night while Laura sat morosely in the mouth of the tent. Her anxiety eased a little when he finally had a small fire glowing in the clearing a few feet away from them. They boiled up a little rice while Shavi roasted kebabs of peppers, onions and tomatoes, which they ate while listening to the crack, drip and shiver of the living wood around them.
Shavi was correct about the dark, which swept in unnervingly quickly until it was sitting just beyond the glimmer of the campfire, breathing in and out oppressively.
After a while Laura found herself leaning against Shavi; she had shuffled up to him almost unconsciously, for comfort. He slipped an arm around her shoulders, out of friendship; there wasn't a hint of any of the passion they had shared in Glastonbury. And she leaned her head gently against his shoulder, glad he was there, for so many reasons she could barely count them.
"You seem unhappy," he ventured.
"And you look like a dickhead, but do I take it out on you?"
He smiled and waited for a few moments while the rushing of the river took over. "Romance is by necessity difficult."
"Everything is difficult." Then: "Why 'by necessity'?"
"The value of anything is defined by the effort it takes us to get it. And romance is the most valuable thing of all."
"That's one opinion. Me, I'd go for an iced bottle of Stolichnaya, an ounce of Red Leb and some peace and quiet."
"Jack is going through a difficult time. He has suffered an extreme emotional blow-"
"We've all got our problems."
— and a great deal is expected of him, more than he thinks he can possibly give. He is torn between the things he wants to do, the things his heart is telling him, and what he feels is the right thing to do."
"He's too wrapped up in this whole `heroes have to sacrifice' thing."
"Yes, he is." Shavi gave her a faint, comforting squeeze. "But he is a good, decent man. The best of all of us."
"I know that."
"Everyone knows it. Except Jack."
"And you're about to say I should cut him some slack."
"No. I am just saying this by way of explanation."
"You think I've done the wrong thing by getting in with him, don't you?" She looked round at him, but his gaze was fixed firmly away in the trees.
"I think your romance would have a better chance at a different time. There are so many obstacles being placed before it by external events."
She looked away so he couldn't see her face.
"But you know your heart better than I." He turned and stared at the back of her head, hoping she would look at him, but she kept the barriers up. "And if there is any lesson from all this hardship we are experiencing, it is that things are worth fighting for and fighting to the last, and tremendous things do happen."
"Who do you think he should be with?"
"I-" He struggled to find words that would not hurt her. "My opinion does not matter."
"It matters to me." When he didn't answer, she said in a barely audible voice, "He's my last chance."
"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.
"Nothing."