Her vision swam. Instead of Aidan, it was Robbie, proudly announcing to her and their mor that he was off to fight for the duke in Flanders. Darling Robbie, the last of her brothers. Her brother whom she never saw again…

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she buried her face in them, wrapping her arms around her legs to prevent him coming near. She was a fortress.

Instead of moving away, Aidan’s arms encircled all of her. ‘Sergeant Thatcher and I rode from Edinburgh as soon as my orders were signed. I wasn’t meant to leave the barracks, but I had to see you, explain in person.’

She could feel his breath against her, the pulse in his neck where it rested against her forearm.

‘Why now? I thought you were needed here, in Pittenweem.’ I need you.

‘Apparently there’s a treaty being negotiated and they require officers accustomed to dealing with the French, the Spanish too.’

‘Why you? There must be others.’

Aidan gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Och, there are, lass. And I believe my name cropping up was no accident, nor was the approval for this new posting. I think someone arranged for this to happen. The order was from on high. Not even my superiors knew from whence it came, but I have my suspicions.’

Sorcha raised her head and met his eyes. The answer was writ large. ‘Cowper.’

Aidan grimaced. ‘I’ve no evidence, not yet, but that’s what I think. I don’t ken who he knows or how he did it, but I’ll get to the bottom of it.’

‘Not that learning how he did it will change anything, will it?’

‘Not this time.’

Sorcha frowned. A sour taste rose in her mouth that had very little to do with all the whisky she’d consumed. A sour taste tinged with needles of anxiety. ‘The bastard. He’s paying you back for what you did for us, for me. For alerting Edinburgh, for writing all those letters and ensuring justice was served.’

‘Aye. Or —’ Aidan hesitated.

‘Or what?’

Half-standing, Aidan lifted her into his arms just as he slid onto the seat, depositing her onto his lap. Waiting until she rested her head against his chest, and he was able to stroke her hair, he continued. ‘Or… and, Sorcha, this is what I fear most, the reverend is planning something and wants me out of the way.’

Sorcha raised her head and gazed at him. ‘What could he possibly be planning?’ She didn’t tell him he was merely saying what she suspected. She didn’t want to alarm him. Not now, when he was about to leave and could do naught. Her heart ached. For him, for her. Oh, how she would miss him. Please, God, if You be there, keep him safe.