but their expression wasn’t the same. Peter’s eyes held an essential kindness, but Richard’s were hot and demanding. He wasn’t offering her love. What he wanted was possession. He wanted to hold and control and enter her, not for her pleasure but only for his own, and he meant to have his way.
Beneath the outer layer of sheer sexiness which enveloped Marion like a rich velvety cloak was a girl who not only had at least some moral sense but a knack of understanding people, too. It had been part of her attraction for young men. She always looked at them as though she knew them quite well already and longed to know them better still.
She said carefully, “You’re kind, Master Lanyon, payin’ court to me like this. But I couldn’t. I mean, I don’t think it ’ud be fitting. My father wouldn’t like it!” The last sentence was an inspiration. It was surely the one thing that might impress this man.
“I’ll talk to your father.” They were nearly up to the rock outcrop on top of the Rock, although they could hardly see it, for the cloud around them was thickening swiftly. “I’ll make him an offer he’ll look at twice, or maybe three times. Marion!” He stopped and swung her to face him once again, grasping her upper arms. “Can’t you see I’ve fallen as deep in love as a man can fall? I’ve fallen further than if I jumped off one of these here cliffs. Don’t let me land on the rocks! Say yes!”
“I can’t! I’m sorry, but I can’t!” Marion was really petrified now. She could not have put into words what she sensed, but if someone had said the words snapping pike to her, she would have said at once, yes, that’s it.
“Why not? Why not?” He hadn’t meant to get angry but the anger rose up in him by itself. He’d never wanted anything or anyone in his life as he wanted this girl. He hadn’t even known one could hunger like this. “What’s wrong with me, eh? What is it about me that’s not good enough for the likes of you?”
“Please! Please don’t. Let me go!”
“No. Say yes. Marion, say yes!”
“Oh, please let me go. I want to go back. My grandmother and my aunt’ll be waiting!” She tried to free herself, and the basket of fish, still dangling from one arm, swung wildly to and fro.
“We’re not going back yet. Not until you say yes. Not even if we have to stay up here all today and all tonight. I’ve got to have you, Marion. You’re a temptress and I can’t say no to you, any more than you can say no to me. Let me prove it!”
“No! Let go!” Marion shouted it at the top of her voice and jerked backward, kicking him on the shin in the process. Richard swore and released her, but remained planted like a wall between her and the downward path. She wanted to get away from him so much that she found herself turning and scrambling on uphill instead. He came after her and caught her up at the foot of the outcrop. It towered above them. There was grass beneath their feet, and a wide place to stand, safe enough close to the outcrop, but perilous at the edge, for here they were immediately above the sea and the grassy space ended at the edge of a cliff.
“I said, let me prove it. Let me show you!” He had hold of her again and when Marion tried once more to shout no! he muffled the sound by crushing her mouth with his. Not that there was anyone who could have heard her, anyway, for the goatherd was now out of both sight and hearing, even if the cloud all around them hadn’t become as dense as a damp grey fleece. “There!” said Richard, lifting his head at last. “Doesn’t that tell you all you need to know? Don’t you know now that you can’t refuse me?”
“No, I don’t!” Marion shrieked, kicking him again. He pulled her hard against him and this time she lowered her head and sank her teeth into his wrist. He swore, and she stamped on his foot. They wrestled, swaying back and forth. The cloud, as much drizzle as vapour, got in their hair and their mouths and confused their vision. For one moment, with the greyness all around them, they couldn’t even see the looming wall of the outcrop. It was only feet away, but they couldn’t have told in which direction. Marion, struggling, kicking, shouting, “No, no, no!” at last broke free and threw herself sideways to avoid his clutching hands.
And then was gone.
It was as sudden, as total, as incredible as that. One moment she had been there, a crazed harpy, fighting him; the next, he was alone on Castle Rock, in a world that seemed to be made of blowing cloud and wetness. But not a silent world, or not immediately, for as she felt herself go over the edge, the rock and grass vanishing from under her feet, Marion screamed.
Till the day he died, he would never forget that scream. Throughout all the years to come, it would echo in his ears. It went on for what seemed an eternity, fading downward but continuing, continuing—and then abruptly ceasing, as though a blade had cut it off.
Seconds ago she had been here, with him, alive and shouting and struggling against him. He couldn’t believe that she was just—gone.
And gone forever, at that. The capricious wind tore a rent in the vapours and he walked, trembling, to the edge to look downward. Stupidly, pointlessly, he shouted her name. “Marion! Marion, Marion!” There was no answer. Between the wisps of cloud blowing past beneath him—how unnatural, to look down upon cloud!—he glimpsed, briefly and horribly, the sea and rocks at the bottom. His head swam. He staggered backward to safety, before that yawning drop could drag him to oblivion, as well. It occurred to him, thinking of that final struggle, that it could have been him just as easily as Marion.
In which case, he would have been dead, as she was. No one could survive that fall. The tide at the cliff foot was rising; he had seen the white foam boiling in over the fallen rocks, which were a peril to ships all along this coast. Marion had fallen into that. The rocks had broken her and the sea had swallowed her up. She had been wiped out of the world, and if he hadn’t actually pushed her, well, he had frightened her into falling. It was a poor distinction.
He slumped down with his back against the outcrop. The cloud closed in again. He still struggled with disbelief, but the silence slowly brought it home. He was, as near as made no difference, a murderer.
No one knew he was here, though. He had not told anyone he was coming here; he was supposed to be out looking for sheep. He had ridden over the moor, taking the shortest way, and not seen a soul on the way. He hadn’t ridden through Lynton, either. And in this weather he wasn’t likely to meet many people on the way back. In fact, he’d be glad of Splash’s homing instinct. People got lost in mists easily, but horses didn’t.
He could go home. He could pretend he had never come near Lynton or this valley. At least there was one thing. He couldn’t marry Marion now, but neither could Peter. He almost felt a sense of relief, as though she had put a spell on him, which was now lifted. Perhaps she had been a witch, and in that case the world was well rid of her.
He repeated this to himself, firmly, several times. Then, careful of his footing in the bad visibility, he started down the winding path around Castle Rock. Down on the floor of the valley it was drizzling, but it was below the cloud itself and he could once more see where he was going. He glanced back once at the Rock. It stood tall, wreathed in the drifting vapours, but with an air of menace, as though it was aware of him and was ill-wishing him. Hurriedly he turned his back and made off to where he had left Splash. Ruff was lying down but got up at his master’s approach, whining with pleasure. Splash, too, seemed glad to see him. He bridled the horse, removed the hobbles, tightened the saddle girth and mounted, to begin the journey home.
It would take time but that was all the better, for his hands had trembled as he bridled his mount. He needed time to recover. Thank God no one had seen him. Thank God no one knew he had ever been here.
The goatherd, a lad of fifteen, had in fact seen Richard and Marion arrive, leave the horse and walk on along the valley to start climbing the Rock. He had noticed that the woman had remarkable hair, and a very attractive, not to say come-hither way of walking, and that they had a dog with them and that their horse was an odd colour, with dark grey dapples all running into each other. He had never seen any of them before as far as he knew. Most of his life was spent in the valley, along with his master’s goats; even Marion had not hitherto crossed his