‘Will you listen to them?’ said Nettie, hands on hips. ‘You’d think I was half-mad Mona the way they’re carrying on. Should be ashamed of themselves; they didn’t count on me recognising my best friend.’ She laid out some bannocks on a griddle, passing it over to Beatrix who put them over the fire. ‘Would you believe, I had to bribe them to come up here with me?’ She held up the bottle of whisky to show what she’d used to persuade them.

Sorcha burst out laughing.

Beatrix chuckled. ‘It’s well known I’d do pretty much anything for a dram. Including take on a group of drunken soldiers — and at my age!’ Leaning back on her heels, she stretched out her bony arm, holding up her wooden drinking cup, the quaich, by the handle for a refill.

Nicolas swooped on it, holding it steady while Nettie topped it up.

‘Just as well we came by, hey?’ said Nicolas, passing the cup back to Beatrix. ‘Those men meant business.’

‘I’ll give young Jamie business next time I see him,’ said Beatrix, shaking her head and frowning. ‘The lad deserves a thrashing, and if the captain doesn’t do it, I’ll be happy to oblige.’

Nicolas lifted her dram. ‘I’ll drink to that.’

‘Wait!’ cried Nettie and, depositing a plate filled with cheese, pieces of smoked fish and some chunks of mutton on a stool between them, knelt beside Sorcha, one hand on her knee, the other holding her quaich aloft. ‘I want to propose a toast.’ The women raised their cups expectantly. ‘Now, I ken you weren’t due home yet,’ said Nettie, one brow raised, which Sorcha understood meant there’d be questions aplenty. ‘But I’m glad to have you back.’

‘We’re all glad,’ added Nicolas, and Beatrix nodded vigorously in agreement.

‘Here’s to Sorcha,’ said Nettie. They knocked their cups together and tossed back the contents.