Then she recalled last evening.

Turning her head slowly, she studied the man sleeping beside her.

After bathing her yesterday, a bath that saw three changes of water before Sorcha was satisfied, he’d given her a cloth for her teeth, then helped her dress before serving a rich meal of mutton, fresh bread, kale and neeps. Unable to eat much, she nonetheless downed what she could, slowly fighting her stomach’s urge to rebel. Understanding she was struggling with eating and talking, the captain filled the silence with quiet conversation, telling her more about his life until, about an hour after the meal was finished and they were seated by the fire and she’d enjoyed her first dram, she begged him to tell her about what had happened while they were locked up. What happened when he went to Edinburgh all those times. How he’d finally succeeded in getting the Privy Council to order their release.

‘I didn’t do much, Mrs McIntyre,’ he said.

‘I think, captain, the time for you to address me as Mrs McIntyre has passed, don’t you?’

Colour flooded his cheeks. ‘Aye.’ He cleared his throat. ‘In that case, please, call me Aidan.’

The sun had set and Aidan lit a couple of candles. Not because they needed them, but because after being denied something as simple as candlelight for so long, Sorcha wanted it. Seated in her parents’ old chairs, Sorcha wondered what her da, her mor, would make of Aidan Ross, an incomer, and couldn’t help but think they’d approve.

‘I couldn’t do as much as I would have liked,’ he added, bringing her back to the present.

‘But what you did — the letters, the representations — they made a difference. Camron MacGille overheard the bailies saying as much. Sometimes we could hear bits of what the men in the room above were saying and would try to make sense of them. It was evident your involvement changed things. Not only did it mean the authorities couldn’t ignore what was happening here, it had us released.’

‘I think I played a small part. Once my commanding officers reminded the advocate and the Privy Council that by law, witches — sorry, lass —’

Sorcha dismissed his words. Apologies weren’t necessary from this man.

‘— are not meant to be tried by locals or in the jurisdiction where they live, they understood something had to be done. There have been too many tragic outcomes in the past to tolerate it any longer.’

‘You’re thinking of Bargarran and Christian Shaw.’ Sorcha repressed a shudder. To think they could have suffered the fate of those accused.

‘Aye, and others. Once I managed to reach my colonel and remind him of this, he spoke to his cousin, the Earl of Rothes, and that’s when things really started to happen.’