“If women sat on the jury, there would be no doubt that this young woman would be convicted—and the question is, will they bring such pressure to bear on their menfolk that the results are the same?” In his own cases, Rutledge made it a point to be absolutely certain that his evidence, clearly presented, left no room for doubt. In his mind or the jury’s. But jurors were often contrary—convicting where there was only circumstantial evidence and acquitting where proof seemed indisputable.

“Burns—the fiscal—is too good a man to allow a prejudiced jury.”

But was he? The woman was already set for trial on purely circumstantial evidence. What if, Rutledge thought, he himself proved that the bones on the mountainside were Eleanor Gray’s and that she had borne a child before she died? The assumption would be that it was the child the accused was raising. A natural assumption—but not necessarily a true one. Would there be justice—or a miscarriage of justice? And for the child’s sake, it was imperative that Rutledge got it right. He could feel tiredness seeping into his shoulders and into the muscles of his neck.

“Are ye up to it, then?” Hamish asked.

Rutledge let the subject drop. At the end of the meal, David Trevor studied him for a moment, then said, “It’s still on your mind, isn’t it? That problem in Duncarrick. You’ll be leaving for good in the morning, I take it.” There was a note of regret, barely concealed, in the pleasant voice. “I’m glad you came. You don’t know how much it has meant to me to have you here.”

Rutledge looked down at his plate. “I wasn’t sure I could face coming back to Scotland. It seemed insurmountable, just thinking about it.”

Trevor said, “Yes, it’s different, isn’t it?” With a sigh, he added, “I suppose a time will come when I don’t listen for him in the late afternoon, just before tea. Or lie awake at night, thinking I’ve heard his key in the lock. Or look for him at breakfast in the morning.”

But Rutledge hadn’t been thinking of Ross Trevor. His mind had turned to the dead Scots soldiers who had not come back at all.

ON THE BRINK of sleep that night, the nagging doubts began.

Hamish, listening to the questions that Rutledge was mentally cataloging, said, “You canna’ know the whole of it. You havena’ interviewed the prisoner nor looked at where they found the victim. You havena’ spoken to the neighbors nor even seen the child. You’ve heard only yon constable’s view of the matter, and he’s prejudiced in the woman’s favor.”