‘It was my fault.’ Because Mamaidh knew why I wasn’t dressed. Why I couldn’t go down there. Why I couldn’t go to the church and sit with all those coffins, all those people. I couldn’t. They’d see what I’d done. They’d know.

‘I told you to stop saying that.’ She yanked me away from the window with fingers that pinched. And when they looked at me, her eyes weren’t only furious, but afraid. It was the same fear that wouldn’t let me sleep – that waved white arms in the light from Àird Èinis as it swept over my bedroom walls; that muttered in the dark between grey and white-silver.

She pulled me close enough that the fear was all I could see: dark and wild, like the ocean.

‘Don’t you say that again. Don’t you ever tell anyone what you did. If they knew, they would hate you. They would hate us. Forever. You have no idea what it’s like when a place like this turns against you.’ The finger that pointed at my face shook. ‘And I will no longer have a son. Do you understand?’

And I believed her. I obeyed her. Because I no longer had a mamaidh.

*

Until the rain becomes a merciless downpour and I have to herd the sheep back into the barn, I force myself to keep working. There’s still so much to do before winter takes proper hold. It’s freezing cold now; I can feel my skin shrink against my aching bones as I push open the blackhouse door. I can hear voices in the kitchen: Mary and someone else. Even before I realise it’s Charlie, the beating at my temples has returned.

‘Charlie.’

They’re standing too close, heads bowed together. Mary springs away from him so quickly, her hip knocks against the oven and she winces.

‘Good to see you, Robert,’ Charlie says, but this time his too-easy smile can’t hide what’s underneath. Guilt. I can always recognise it, like an old friend.

I turn to Mary. ‘Where’s Calum?’

‘He’s playing in his room,’ she says, and her chin goes up like she wants to say something else.

‘What brings you here, Charlie?’

‘Not much.’ Charlie’s smile rallies. ‘Just wanted to see how you were doing.’ He blinks, glances briefly between me and Mary. ‘Both of you.’

Something has changed in him. The way he looks at me is different, but I can’t work out how. And it makes the cold anger in my belly start to heat.

‘Mary,’ I say. ‘Give us a sec?’

I see the moment she thinks about saying no. But she doesn’t. Instead, she gives Charlie her best smile, saying ‘It’s nice to see you again,’ before spinning on her heel and leaving the room without looking at me at all.

‘What do you want, Charlie?’

And still that smile won’t quit. ‘I just … wanted to say about the whole Land Fund thing, you shouldn’t take what Thom said to heart. He’ll be jealous is all. You’re a farmer – you’re already doing what he’s suddenly taken it into his head to do. Christ knows, envy can make arses of the best of us – and Thom’s certainly not that.’