‘Och, lass,’ said the captain. ‘Please don’t weep. I’ll leave you to wash and come back later to make sure you’re fed.’ When she didn’t move or answer, he gestured to her mor’s chair. ‘The drying sheets are there along with fresh clothes… I wasn’t sure what to get you, but there’s a clean skirt and shirt and underclothes. If you leave what you’re wearing by the hearth, I’ll take them to the laundress who does my clothes on the morrow.’

‘Burn them,’ said Sorcha, staring at the tub with longing. How she’d dreamed of immersing herself in hot water. Of soaping her body, her hair. If it was within her capacity to do so, she would have peeled her skin away, turned it inside out and washed it as well.

‘Are you sure, lass?’

‘I never want to see these ever again.’ With a desperation she didn’t know she possessed, she began to undo her shirt, pulling so hard, the ties snapped. Ripping at the sleeves, she tugged her arms free.

‘Whoa there, Mrs McIntyre,’ said Captain Ross, turning his head away and holding up his palms. ‘You must wait till I go.’

‘Go?’ Sorcha froze. The thought of being alone filled her with dread. ‘Why would you go? Who will wash my back? Help me wash my hair?’ She ran her hands over her head. ‘What remains of it.’

‘Madam,’ said the captain, stepping forward and gathering the two pieces of her shirt together and pulling them over her breasts, ‘just as I protected your cottage, I would protect what remains of your reputation. Your modesty.’

Sorcha threw back her head and laughed. It was a low, dark sound, filled with bitterness. ‘Och, captain, you of all people know I’ve no reputation left to protect and, as for my modesty, it has been trammelled these last months by men who have no honour. You think I care if you see me naked? It is the very least of my concerns. Worse men have, why not you who seeks to help me, to see to my well-being? I’ve no maidenly blushes, sir, no shame that has not been felt.’ She took a deep breath. God damn it. She had no pride… or perhaps it was pride that gave her the strength to ask. ‘I would you stay.’

She waited until his eyes met hers.

‘I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been pricked, poked, and beaten bloody. I’ve been watched while I shit and piss, while I vomited, bled, writhed in pain and succumbed to nightmares. Having you remain while I bathe is nothing to what I’ve been forced to tolerate; what I’d no choice but to endure. So, I ask you to stay. Please. Not just while I bathe. I would also you stay… longer. This is my wish if you could but grant it to me.’